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ohworm-writes · 1 year ago

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「✰」 ━━ CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE CHARACTER FAMILY OUTLINES

RATING PG-13 - Parents strongly cautioned [ Content warnings : references to sex, references to breeding kinks, heavy fluff, children, both pregnancy and adoption scenarios, toxic family relationship dynamics, minimal cursing, brief mention of Ghost and Farah's traumas, brief mention of transphobia and homophobia ]

SYNOPSIS In my opinion, what having a family with an assortment of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare characters would look like, be it how many kids they would have, their reasonings for having kids, their relationships with their kids, et cetera.

WORD COUNT 6.8k

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

Three sons and one daughter - ages ten, seven, five, and one

I'm certain we're all more than aware of this man's painfully obvious and present breeding kink, so it's no surprise to anyone that he would want to have a lot of children to call his own. He won't just be satisfied with one or two children - he's always wanted to have a full, bustling home, and he'll be damned if he doesn't try to make that a reality.

Every child of his is planned, both in pregnancy and adoption scenarios. He meticulously calculates and works to space each child out a certain range and number of years apart from one another in an effort to give himself extended experience with each developmental stage - or so he claims.

He wanted kids of his own, he decided, the second he met you, and he just hopes and prays that you'll be open to the concept of having quite a number of them. And, in his favor, you do and indulge him in his little fantasies.

And, in the ingenious words of @ghostlywhiskey , "i said that man has SWIMMERS AND THOSE MFS ARE PRICE BOYS". So, there's a very obvious patten that begins to form as more and more members are added to his little family. But, of course, there's one token daughter added into the mix, who he loves all the same as he does his boys.

In my eyes, the ideal father figure. He's extremely open and honest with his children, listens and talks with them whenever they have an issue or question, is very understanding and accepting overall, and, more than anything, works tirelessly to be a present, positive figure in their lives.

Because of all of the experience that he has with his own children, this results in the members of Task Force 141 and associated parties going to him for help or to have him answer questions they may have around their own children.

He tries to be as present of a father as he can be, given the challenges and distance that comes with his line of work, but always makes an effort, at the very least, call his kids whenever he can to ask about how they're doing, what they're up to, et cetera.

Refuses to talk about his job or entertain his children in the very idea of joining the military - the horrors he's seen is not in the slightest something he wants his children to witness for themselves. He knows the job best, and he will not allow any of his children to join.

Raises his sons right - they're respectful, mind their manners, don't start fights (but finish them, should the need arise) and instills all the necessary core morals and values they'll need to be good people when they grow up. All the same, he teaches his daughter not to take shit from anyone.

LIEUTENANT SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

Three daughters and one child (non-binary) - ages ten, six, three, and nine

Originally, he had never even spent a moment in time thinking about or entertaining the possibility of him having children, much less actively putting effort into reaching that goal. Especially when considering his own history, he can't even begin to see himself as a father, fearing he'll end up like his own.

So, when you get pregnant for the first time on complete accident/enthusiastically bring up the idea to him of adopting a child seemingly out of nowhere to him, he's completely shell-shocked. This is something he's ever put considerable thought into, and now it's being dropped into his lap without a moment to process it or breathe.

So, when he lays eyes on his first little girl for the first time, he's terrified. He's a dad now, whether he wants to or is ready for it or not. And no, it's not like he didn't tell you to get an abortion/refuse to sign the papers, but he isn't fully ready for such a heavy responsibility yet. But when he has her in his arms for the first time, he's done for.

After the first, he's so open and willing - and, quite frankly, pushing for - trying for/adopting another child. Yes, he was scared for his life to become a dad at first, but now that he's one now, he can't help but want another - and best you believe that his children are his absolute world.

Curse of the military. That's it, that's the tweet. He had all girls, plus, of course, his one gender non-conforming, non-binary kid, and all of them have equal ownership over his heart.

He's the perfect girl-dad, letting them do whatever they want with him - their own personal dress-up doll, if you will. Painting his nails, putting make-up on him, styling his hair, making him attend tea-parties and playing make-pretend. Whatever they want him to do, he does it.

When his second-oldest comes out to him (they came to him first before they did you), his heart absolutely melts. To know that his kid trusts him so wholeheartedly and isn't scared to share such a private thing with him lets him know just how good of a dad he is.

He's quick to use the right pronouns, allocates a separate room for them, helps them go shopping for clothes and items they may want, tests out new names for them should they want to, et cetera.

He's not at all a strict parent, as much as one might believe. He's stoic, cold, and cruel, sure - but that's to everyone but his family. For them? He's the biggest pushover in the world. If his children want anything, best believe he's doing everything in his power to fulfill their wishes.

SERGEANT JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

One son and one daughter - ages four and five

He's always wanted children, that mindset and dream having been set long before he ever even joined the military in the first place. He used to take care of and watch his nieces, nephews, and younger cousins a lot when he was younger, so it eventually evolved into him wanting little rascals of his own as time went on - to be able to nurture, care for, and have fun with.

So, when the opportunity arises to actually start a family of his own, something that he's always dreamed of, he's so giddy. In complete honesty, he's practically beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet, so willing and ready to make this into a reality. He has his own fears and anxieties, yes, but his excitement far outweighs it.

Both of his children are planned, of course, wanting them to be close in age as he can get them, and he's ecstatic that he gets to have both a boy and a girl. He gets the best of both worlds that way! And, when he finally gets to hold each in his arms for the first time, his heart shatters, melts, and crumbles in the best ways possible.

He isn't just a solider, a boyfriend, or a husband anymore - he's a dad now.

He's such a fun dad in general, always joking around with his kids, letting them - safely - do things that they aren't supposed to do, messing with them, taking them out for desert and sweets, et cetera.

But, as much as he's the "fun dad", that doesn't mean that he's any less strict. If his kids mess up or do something bad, he's often the one responsible for determining punishment, telling them off, and teaching them not to make the same mistake again.

His work is demanding, yes, and that often takes him away from you, his partner, and his kids for long periods of time, but he always comes back, ready to be a dad again and put "Soap" on the backburner.

The perfect role model for his kids, in all honesty - the best combination between a best friend and a parental figure. His kids tell him everything and they aren't scared of him to keep secrets from him, always telling him the truth without shame or hesitation.

SERGEANT KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

One son and one daughter - ages seven

Both of children are twins

Having children wasn't something he had ever planned for, in his mind. Not to say that he never entertained the idea of having children of his own, nor is it to say something that he's against, either. He simply hadn't ever thought about making it a reality before.

But, when the opportunity to have/adopt children comes up into his life, it's welcomed, allowing himself to go with the flow of things and let them play out as is. He thinks about it a lot more now, daydreaming about what his child's personality will be like, what they'll look like, who they'll like more...

And then boom! Twins!

He's starstruck when he first gets the news that he'll be having/adopting twins. It's like a two-for-one deal, or so he says, genuinely shocked and excited at the same time. The way he sees it, his kids will always have a best friend (or, a partner-in-crime) and he's all for it.

Twins are a lot, he knows, but that doesn't mean he isn't up for the challenge. If anything, it only spurs him on to push to be the best dad he could ever possibly be.

For better or for worse, his kids adopt his sarcastic nature as their own and increase it by tenfold. It's his fault, given that whenever his kids are around, he's talking to them as if they'd understand his points and smart comments. They don't, most of the time, but they know their dad's tone, and they're quick to match it.

Takes the most time off out of anyone else in Task Force 141 to spend with his family if and when he can allocate it. He wants to be as present of a dad as possible, and if that means taking work home when he could easily finish it on base and then come home, maybe a day or two later, he's doing it.

Very adamant on having days out with his kids, be it for the purpose of a mental health day or just for fun. Takes them out to get breakfast and lunch, plus going to do another activity. Maybe the park, the playground, watch a movie at the cinema, go to the zoo/aquarium, et cetera.

He's not a super strict parent but that doesn't mean he isn't going to disciple his children if they misbehave or do something wrong. His punishments are lax, focused more towards talking out the issue that giving harsh lessons.

STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL

One son - aged sixteen

She and her wife decided that they really wanted to have a kid of their own a few years into their marriage and, especially given that neither of them aren't getting any younger and didn't necessarily have the energy, time, or willingness to take on the challenge of pregnancy for themselves, they choose the more sensible option available and adopt.

It's a long, deliberate process that they have to go through in order to be so much as be approved for being able to adopt, but, once that hurdle is overcome, the two of them waste no time and immediately begin their search for the newest member of their own little family, allocating time to meticulously decide who they'll, inevitably, choose.

Their hearts end up settling on a little boy whose four years old, somehow resembling the both of them in different ways - be it personality wise or by appearance.

The two of them decide that they want to be able to escape and skip the issues that come packaged with newborns and toddlers, but also have a hand in the development process of their son, thus explaining the age they chose to adopt him at. This accomplishes both of these "goals" they have in mind, and it works out beautifully in their favor.

No matter their son's ethnic background, the two of them make a conscious effort to try and introduce practices, traditions, holidays, ideals, et cetera from their son's culture into their own as a means to keep him connected with his own past and history.

Although her job is connected with the military and does, to an extent, seperate her from her families for periods of time, that doesn't diminish the relationship she has with her son. He's fascinated with his mom's career, allowing for lengthy, in-depth discussion about what her job actually entails with him.

She and her wife are such good moms in general - always supporting him in everything he wants to do and encouraging him a thousand times over. There isn't a second in his life where he isn't being supported or loved, but it by his moms or the numerous different adult figures in his life.

Laswell gets in a fair bit of trouble with her wife for not disciplining her son in any way, shape, or form. She may have no issue with doing so with the military individuals she works with - she can be scary and intimidating when she wants to be - but with her son? She's absolutely a pushover.

Quits smoking the second she and her wife make plans towards actually adopting. It's a harsh line she draws, and one she abides by without hesitation or question.

VALERIA GARZA

None

Now, this isn't because I want to exclude her from this concept for any reasoning whatsoever, but rather because I can't really see her having or wanting any children in the first place. She's "El Sin Nombre", after all. And, in her defense, the cartel isn't necessarily the best enviroment for a child to grow up or develop in - surprising nobody.

She knows this fact better than anyone, and, having sworn her life to her role in Las Almas and the cartel, she chooses to not have any children. Additionally, she isn't going to be irresponsible and make herself vulnerable like that where, to have someone to love and care fore, only for the possibility of them being used as leverage against her later on hanging over her head, putting them in danger.

And, in any case, she has a breeding kink to make up for it, eh?

But, in all seriousness, as wonderful as I think she could possibly be with children in general, I doubt she plans on having or adopting children of her own unless she actually makes the move to leave the business of the cartel altogether - which, lets face it, with who she is and the role that she plays, is highly unlikely.

To make up for this, let's talk about her relationship with kids in general - be it the children of Las Almas and nieces and nephews that she has and interacts with.

She fits the "cool aunt" persona to a tee, always bringing gifts and/or cash to her younger family members, getting them whichever they desire, playing games with them, talking shit about people and listening to them vent, et cetera.

If the children have a problem with someone and, if aren't family, she has no issue doing something about it, be it using a scare tactic on them or completely removing the other person from the equation in more serious scenarios.

All the kids love her, no matter if they're family or if they know her or not. If she isn't busy and one of her men have a child of their own that they need to tend to while they're on the clock, she'll let the kid stay around in her office, so long as they don't disturb the peace.

VLADIMIR MAKAROV

One son and one daughter - ages eleven and five

Now, as cold, cruel, stoic, and heartless of a character that Makarov is, I personally believe that there would be select factors that would influence him to actually want children. Technical, albeit, and not for the sake of having someone to nurture and care for - at least, in the beginning - but I do believe that, for his own reasons, he would still want children as he progresses on later in his career and plans.

The only reason I could ever see for him to so much as bring up the concept of having children, in a way that makes sense when considering his character, would be due to the result of a close encounter that has him just barely scraping out of whatever altercation with his life to spare and hold onto.

He decides then and there that he wants to have a child - a son, specifically - who will be able to take his place and lead the groups that he controls and reigns over when he, inevitably, passes because, like he stated: "even I'm replaceable". It's a morbid phrase, yes, but it makes sense for him to have this be his reasoning.

He wants his replacement to be his own, too, and not for one of men to simply be promoted after he passes. After all, their ideologies, morals, and values could change over time and alter from his own, and he can't have that. However, if he were to have a child, he could foster and tailor their beliefs to match his own.

And besides, there's a certain charm that comes with saying his son is going to be the next in line. So, to his favor, he gets a first-born son, just as he had wished. His daughter, however, is completely accidental and unplanned/an abrupt decision when she is born/adopted. (In the context of pregnancy, though, its entirely his fault that she's conceived out of nowhere - wear protection, folks.)

For the longest time, his relationship with his son is, for lack of better wording, toxic - but this does change! If only with your intervention. All he wants in the beginning is for his son to be able to take over for him in the future - that being his sole purpose. And, unfortunately, he makes that a known fact.

Brings his son in with him to work on base often, working to teach and show to him the empire that he'll be taking over once his dad is gone. He gets a front-row view to the horrors his father is behind and in control of, be it the planning process for strategized and organized attacks, his cruel methods for dealing with traitors, and otherwise.

As much as he might, at heart, want to be a boy-dad, his relationship with his son is so strained and, frankly, falling apart, even if he refuses to acknowledge it, and so toxic in nature that it's only natural he becomes a girl-dad when his daughter is finally born. It's unfair, yes, but it's the truth of the matter.

He keeps his daughter far away from his work, shielding her completely from the badness of the world - the badness that he himself helps to create. She's his his pride and joy, and she's such a daddy's girl, leaving his son to fall to you, his other parental figure, for comfort and support - that of which his dad fails to provide.

COLONEL KÖNIG

Four daughters - ages two, three, seven, and fourteen

Interestingly enough, he's actually always quietly desired and yearned for a family of his own, though, he's never had any open discussions about it until it came to you. It's almost funny, the way that he's so awkward and tends to shy away from others any chance he's allowed to, and yet, he wants nothing more than a sizeable family for himself.

To have someone to fight for, to come back home to... it's all a soldier ever wants - himself included. And, for him, that includes a family that doesn't just consist of him and you (as content and happy as he is with it for now). The mere prospect of coming home to children of his own who can greet him and adore him is all he could ever ask for.

Though, even given this, he's especially nervous to actually become a father. He overthinks it a lot, wondering if his kids will even like him, going over the multitude of different ways that he could mess up even when he has no reason to. Because after his first, that fear melts away into enthusiasm.

Four children, especially when they're all girls, is a lot, yes, but he handles it with ease. He doesn't let the stress of it get to him, simply taking everything in stride and dealing with it rationally. He wants to preserve the positive relationship he has with his daughters, and approaching things from a logical standpoint is just the way to do it.

The true curse of the military - all girls, and so many of them, too. His younger children are all girly to an extent, too, so he's no stranger at a tea party and getting his make-up and nails done messily by his daughters. His oldest, although she may not be as girly, still has her moments, be it certain musicians maybe that she's forced her dad to listen to the entire discography of.

His girls love use him as a prop and character in their bouts of playing "make pretend". He's played a tree, standing still for them to climb all over, a dragon, protecting them from all of the bugs and critters that threatens to offend the, and even a race car, holding onto one or two of them as tight as he can and breaking into a sprint. It's strange and exhausting, sure, but he loves it.

Teaches his daughters to stick up for themselves - it's one of the first lessons he ever teaches them. Whether it be in terms of don't let people see you as a pushover, don't let anyone tell you what you can or cannot do, or stick up for yourself by any means necessary, he instills those ideals into his kids. Teaches his eldest how to fight, too - per her request - as another measure and precaution.

Although being apart of KorTac and being a colonel in general keep him busy and occupied and away from his family, that doesn't stop him from trying his hardest to be with them. He sends each and every one of his daughters, with the inclusion of yourself, gifts he picks up while he's away that reminds him of you all, just as a means to remind you all that he's here and he loves you.

COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES

Two daughters and two children (transgender) - ages seventeen, six, and thirteen

Both of his trans children, female-to-male, are twins

In his daydreams, he's always imagined himself with a family of his own. A nuclear family, the American ideal - married with two and a half kids, a dog, a big house with a white-picket fence, a stable job. The whole lot. That's all he's ever had in mind for himself and he yearns to make it a reality.

So, when the topic of children come up after the married, dog, house, and job things are already figured out, he's eager to speak his mind and give his input on the matter. He's got the biggest, most lopsided grin spread out across his face when he lays eyes on his eldest daughter for the first time, and that only solidifies his dreams.

Though, ironically enough, he always had in his mind that he'd have more boys than girls. He loves his daughters wholeheartedly and without shame, mind you, but... still, the sentiment remains. He always imagined himself with one, maybe two or three boys - someone he could play catch or watch sports with.

He doesn't get that, until he does, and his twins come out to him (albeit, at separate ages) as trans ftm. Of course, the whole "trans" thing is new to him, and while he may be a little clueless, seeing how happy it makes the two of his kids is more than enough to convince him him to put in effort and be the most supportive dad he can be.

I don't want anyone coming to me saying "oh, he's transphobic" because no he's not. He may fit that all-American persona of his to a tee, but I refuse to say that he would go as far to be transphobic or homophobic, especially with his own children. (Also, I'm petty, so you get two of them).

He fights and works hard to be present in his children's lives. He may be the Commander and CEO of Shadow Company, but that doesn't mean his men can't function without him from time to time. His family means everything to him, all of his time off being spent towards treating them.

Not the parent who pushes for his children to each be involved in a million after-school activities, but encourages them to take up something. His oldest plays volleyball, his second-oldest plays baseball, his second-youngest plays the drums, and his youngest dances. Takes them all to practice and helps them however he can.

Genuinely just copy and paste Jeff Sadecki from Yellowjackets and that's him as a parent. Except... with less of the drama. He's dedicated to being involved in his children's lives, making memories and having fun with them, telling horrible dad jokes from time to time, and whatever else.

SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO "RUDY" PARRA

One child (agender) - aged sixteen

He never actually planned on or anticipated becoming a father in the first place, more focused on dedicating his efforts towards his career and not spending more than a passing thought on creating a family. Not to say that he doesn't want one, it's just a concept he hasn't spent too much time thinking about or worrying over.

So, this means that you have to be the one to bring it up to him. And, granted, it somewhat catches him off guard - you want to try for a baby/consider adoption with him? Since when? It throws him off, to be honest, and he genuinely has to take some time to reflect and decide if this is actually something that he wants.

And, in your favor, it is.

He's somewhat nonchalant about the whole thing, not really realizing how big of an event it is until you're close to the due date/you're approved for adoption. And then it hits him full force that, yeah - sooner than later, he's actually going to become a dad and deal with the responsibilities of one and have a child of his own.

It's humbling, funnily enough, and he revaluates his priorities when it comes to his career, you, and child-to-be.

Even though he never anticipated or saw himself as someone who could accurately fill the role of a father, he's a good one. More akin to a close friend at times whereas others he can more accurately be described as a mentor, but it's important for fathers to share both of those factors, in a way. Which he absolutely does.

His child comes out to him before they reach double-digits, and its another moment that he has to pause for. Of course he's going to love them unconditionally, no matter if they identify as something else or go by different pronouns or want to use a different name, it's simply something he hadn't expected.

Doesn't really at all punish his child if they do something wrong. He'll have a conversation with them, sure, but it never truly extends to anything beyond that. Simply a "hey, don't do that again, okay?" and moving on with life. All that matters is that they understand and acknowledge their faults, in his eyes.

Involves himself in whatever his child is interested in and tries to understand it as best he can. They have a sport they're really into? He's buying them merch and watching matches or games with them. They're really into a certain video game? Start up a new save file, he'd love to play. Genuinely super supportive.

Does not at all plan on having another child. He's content with the one and, quite frankly, even one can be a lot at times. He can't count how many times he's had to go to those parent support groups just to ensure he's being as good of a dad as he can be.

COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS

Four sons and one daughter - ages twelve, eleven, nine, and eight

His oldest sons are twins

The absolute definition of a family man. He, somewhat akin to Price, always imagined himself with a family of his own later down the line in his life - a large, lively one, too. He grew up in a larger household himself with a number of brothers and sisters, both younger and older, and he always imagined the same for his future family.

He's so enthusiastic about it, too. He isn't scared or worried at all, confident in his own abilities to take care of children, given his own extended experience, so he has little to no fear in what he'll be like as a parent or his own capabilities. He knows what he'll need to do, how to do it, what to buy, what to say, et cetera, so he's confident.

He doesn't really have a plan for what their ages will be, more so allowing everything to flow naturally, but he can't deny the fact that he has his own picture in mind for what he wants his family to look like. Ironically, he always imagined himself with more girls than boys, but it seems like life had... a different plan for him.

He loves it, though. He's extremely good with newborns and toddlers especially, and when he laid eyes on his twins for the first time, holding both of them to him, it was over. Plain and simple. With the first step taken, he can now fully immerse himself in being a father and cultivating the lives of his children, and that's all he could ask for.

His boys are rowdy. Especially his oldest twins and his youngest son, his eleven-year-old acting much tamer and calmer in comparison, but still has his moments. They roughhouse with one another, mess with each other, talk shit - the whole lot. Typical sibling behavior, yes, but they had so much energy.

Takes a lot of time off to be with his family when he can spare it. If he isn't physically out for an operation and instead is at the Los Vaqueros base, he sometimes will bring one or two of his children to stay in his office while he works. That is, if he doesn't up and leave to go home the second the opportunity arises.

Defiantly the one responsible for disciplining his children and dishing out punishment. It's not to say that he's cruel or mean in any sense, but he can be strict. If they do something wrong, he's quick to decide on a punishment that appropriate and relevant, dedicated to correcting that behavior as swiftly as possible.

He's an absolute pushover with his daughter, though. Not to say that he doesn't love his boys, because he does, but he'd do anything for her. Tea parties? Dress up? Make believe? You name it, no matter how embarrassing or emasculating it may be, and he's doing it if his little girl asks.

Messes around with his boys a lot. He has a positive relationship with all of them, one that's open and honest, which leaves room for him to be able to roughhouse and taunt and poke fun at them from time to time. They might have to be smart with their own words and responses, but he's making smartass, cheeky remarks whenever he can with a grin.

OPERATION OFFICER ALEX KEELER

One daughter - aged eleven

He's thought about having children before, yes, but never in a realistic context. For him, in the past, it's always been more of a "let me imagine a scenario of how myself and a future family would look" but never actively taking strides or realistically think about how he would achieve that.

So, when you bring the topic up to him, he kind of stills and... actually thinks about it. There's a difference between putting yourself in a scenario and imagining it, and actually taking steps to make it into a reality. He sort of panics, too, because... would he actually make a good dad?

He's the most apprehensive and anxious person out of anyone when it comes to considering the path of parenthood. Of course, he agrees, more than willing to try for a baby/go through the adoption process with you, but he's endlessly terrified of messing things up.

Even when he actually gets to meet and hold his daughter for the first time - he's a man who has no shame in crying, because he absolutely does when he sees her - that paranoia remains. But even so, it solidifies his goal to become the best father he can be for his little girl.

So clueless at first at how to even approach fatherhood, purchasing so many parents books and listening to an abundance of podcasts and going to classes and everything of the like. He's confident in most aspects, sure, but parenthood is something he's never dealt with in the past - it's no surprise he wants to do everything in his power to be the best dad he can be.

As anxious as he is, though, he, in my opinion, is probably the best father he could possibly ever dream to be. He's attentive to his daughter's wants and needs, can gauge her emotions correctly and acts accordingly, is responsible in terms of taking precautions to keep her safe, and he's present as much as he can be.

Number one cheerleader in everything she does. Whether it be getting a passing grade or an outstanding one on a test, he's hyping her up. If she joins and becomes a part of a particular activity of interest, he's taking her out to a celebratory dinner. All words of encouragement and praise from him.

Is a very active an present parent, too. Takes her out on little father-daughter days whenever he can to wherever she wants to go. The mall to look at the one obscure candle store? Sure, he's down. The zoo to go make up conversations between the animals. Absolutely. He loves hanging out with her, and seeing the way she lights up whenever he offers to take her out is all he could ever dream of.

COMMANDER FARAH AHMED KARIM

Two sons and one daughter - ages seven, four, and eight months

In the beginning, actually, she was very opposed to the concept of having/adopting children. Given her involvement with the ULF and that the current climate in Urzikstan was far from safe to raise any child in, she had no reason to even entertain the thought. Especially considering her own past, she was against it.

For a while, most conversations of having or starting a family were shut down by her - she yearned for it in the back of her mind, sure, but it wasn't a realistic goal. That was until she and Samara had a conversation about the topic, Samara telling her that while, yes, there were dangers to it, there's nothing more fulfilling than family.

So, after long deliberations, she began to consider it more heavily, leading to discussions where she finally agreed. She has her own reservations, fears, and anxieties about it, yes, but considering all the work she's done, she's allowed to have this. To have a child or children, to make her own family that loves her unconditionally.

She keeps her family completely separate and distanced from her work. As much as she's passionate about what she does, there's that lingering fear in the back of her mind that, one day, her family could get hurt or even possibly used against her as leverage if they're discovered. So, there's a clean separation between the two.

But it's all worth it when she meets her first born son for the first time. She's playing such important roles in her life - the Commander of the ULF, a resistance fighter, someone associated with Task Force 141, and one of the few key figures tasked with liberating her country in its entirety. But, now, she's more than that. She's a mom.

Even though she's never had children of her own before, she handles motherhood like a seasoned professional. Even before her other two children, she never got too overwhelmed with the work and responsibilities that come with being a parent, handling everything with a level head and a calm voice, turning out in her favor.

Though, she's somewhat a bit stricter with her children - not in the sense of being overbearing and not trusting them, or even that she has high expectations and standards for them. Rather, she wants to ensure the safety of her children and that their childhoods never turn out like her own, so she takes extra precautions.

She doesn't actually send her children to school, rather taking time to teach them herself - with your aid, of course. It's partially for those same reasons of fear and wanting to protect her children, but she's actually really good at it. She's taught her children how to write, how to read, how to speak two different languages... it's a way that shows how invested she is in her family.

As serious as she can be with her work, she's much more laid back and relaxed when it comes to her family - just another perk and upside, she supposes. With all the stresses she deals with, being able to come home to her sons and daughter, being overwhelmed with love - it's rewarding in a way she's never experienced before.

NIKOLAI

Two daughters - ages eight and three

He's always imagined himself with children, in complete honesty, even when he was younger - to have maybe one to three of his own. To your luck, he's open about it too, so he's actually the one to bring up the idea to you in the beginning, having no shame whatsoever in his willingness to try for/adopt a child... or two or three.

He isn't scared to become a parent, per se, nor does he have many anxieties or worries about becoming one, but there is still that subtle worry in the back of his mind that he won't be the most fit parent.

Everyone jokes about how he can be reckless and unethical, and he enjoys the banter, but it does make him self-conscious and second guess his own ability to be an adequate father.

He doesn't really consider or worry about what ages his children are, simply allowing things to fall into place naturally, as they should. He may have imagined himself with children in his own daydreams, sure, but there was never any clear specifics for age or gender he had in mind.

But once he actually gets to meet his daughters for the first time, those worries fade away partially - they still linger, yes, but for the most part he lets them simmer on the backburner, not allowing them to interfere with him as he directs his focus away from worrying and more towards becoming the father his girls deserve.

His daughters are just as much of a menace as he is. Maybe not in the "I deal with sketchy people on a daily basis and have done some questionable things" kind of way, but they have their own mischievous streaks like their father. Be it orchestrating pranks or smaller acts of the like, sometimes they even outshine the father.

He's playful by nature, yes, and he is with his girls, but you'll also never meet a more protective parent than him. He may be sly and smug and appear all cool and collected outwardly, but when it comes to his daughters, he's doing everything in his power to protect them from anything, be it people... or ants.

Likes to be his daughters' own personal jungle gym, letting the two of them hold onto him and climb all over him without a care in the world. Additionally, that means he makes for the perfect mode of transport for them, too - having them cling onto him as he walks around, moving them from one place to the other.

He can act like a child in his own right, but he's still a good father nonetheless. In line with that protective nature, he does everything he can to both foster a positive relationship and set rules and boundaries. Bed times, chores, punishments, et cetera - he's in charge of those things, and, while he isn't strict, he's responsible.

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nocoastposts · 1 month ago

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(I added this list to my pinned post here, but I also wanted to make it a separate post for easy reference.)

※ My Skin Starts To Burn | E | 1.7k ※ roommates to lovers | platonic touching (but not really) | sexual tension

※ See Attached Bibliography | E | 2.5k ※ domestic Firstprince | fluff and smut | light dom/sub

※ Silence & Sound | E | 2.8k ※ (part two of Dom Henry + Sub Alex) cock warming | rimming | porn with feelings

※ An Incomplete List: Drabble Collection | ? | 1.5k ※ A series of 100-word drabbles written for The Brownstone Discord Server's weekly drabble prompt. Ratings and tags vary with each drabble.

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year ago

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Background: During adolescence, bullying often has a sexual content. Involvement in bullying as a bully, victim or both has been associated with a range of negative health outcomes. Transgender youth appear to face elevated rates of bullying in comparison to their mainstream peers. However, the involvement of transgender youth as perpetrators of bullying remains unclear in the recent literature. Objective: The aim of this study was to compare involvement in bullying between transgender and mainstream youth and among middle and late adolescents in a general population sample. Methods: Our study included 139,829 students in total, divided between a comprehensive school and an upper secondary education sample. Associations between gender identity and involvement in bullying were first studied using cross-tabulations with chi-square statistics. Logistic regression was used to study multivariate associations. Gender identity was used as the independent variable, with cisgender as the reference category. Subjection to and perpetration of bullying were entered each in turn as the dependent variable. Demographic factors, family characteristics, internalizing symptoms, externalizing behaviors, and involvement in bullying in the other role were added as confounding factors. Odds ratios (OR) with 95% confidence intervals (95% CI) are given. The limit for statistical significance was set at p < 0.001. Results: Both experiences of being bullied and perpetrating bullying were more commonly reported by transgender youth than by cisgender youth. Among transgender youth, all involvement in bullying was more commonly reported by non-binary youth than those identifying with the opposite sex. Logistic regression revealed that non-binary identity was most strongly associated with involvement in bullying, followed by opposite sex identity and cisgender identity. Transgender identities were also more strongly associated with perpetration of bullying than subjection to bullying.

Secondly, we found that transgender identity was generally associated with perpetrating bullying and that the association was stronger than that of transgender identity and being bullied. To the best of our knowledge, past research has not examined perpetration of bullying among gender minority youth, thus rendering comparisons to prior research impossible. In a study by Dank et al. (2014), however, it was reported that the few transgender young people in their study were the ones most likely to perpetrate dating violence among their sample.

Thirdly, non-binary identity was more strongly associated with involvement in bullying than opposite sex identity. Past research has found elevated rates of being subjected to bullying among youth (Lowry et al., 2020; van Beusekom et al., 2020) and transgender youth (Gower et al., 2018) who perceive themselves as more gender non-conforming (i.e., masculine females or feminine males) than youth with no such perception. Non-binary identifying youth particularly may display gender expression that does not conform to either masculine or feminine roles, and this may make them vulnerable to being bullied either due to simply being different from the mainstream, or as a result of heterosexist control. We found, however, that not only being bullied but also engaging in bullying was even more common among non-binary (perception of gender conforms to both or neither sex or it varies) than among opposite sex identifying youth.

"Non-binary" is just a new way to bully other people.

Trying to make people refer to you in stupid, language defying ways, like "schglie/schglem," at the threat of being called a bigot, when you're a completely average man or woman, is the modern day equivalent of making the kids in the playground bow and call you "the god of the jungle gym" at the threat of being beaten up, when you can't actually do that flip from hanging by your knees into a standing position.

When, unlike the playground, society has given you the power to actually carry out that threat, you're not "marginalized," you're the ruling class. (What's that "power plus" arithmetic again?)

Whenever you enter the room, people tense up. And you love it. It's the whole point. Gay and transsexual people just want to blend in, but "nonbinary" is about the opposite. Everybody pays attention to you and you steal the oxygen out of the room. You say it's about "being kind," but you and everyone else knows what you are, which means it's really about being in control, but from a false position of vulnerability.

So it's no wonder it attracts narcissists and bullies. Especially when it's an effort-free way of being celebrated for a month - and on and off the rest of the year for an endless parade of "awareness" days - for being completely unremarkable and average.

Not being a tired stereotype is not an achievement, least of all one that needs to be celebrated.

#non binary #nonbinary #narcissism #narcissistic personality disorder #bullying #trans violence #gender ideology #queer theory #gender identity #religion is a mental illness #authoritarianism

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probablyasocialecologist · 29 days ago

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A paper published in the world’s largest science journal, Nature, in March 2020 — ironically hidden behind a paywall (you can buy the article pdf for £29.95) — by D’Alessandro et al find “several drawbacks to green growth”. By modelling what would happen in France over the period 2014–2050, green growth was indeed found to reduce emissions to just 23% of the 1990 baseline level; degrowth got it down significantly further to 17.8%. But presumably the degrowth model came at a greater social cost? In fact, unemployment went up to 11–13% in the green growth scenario; under degrowth, it came down as far as 2%. The Nature paper also looked at labour share, “defined as the fraction of post-tax value added that is paid to employed workers as wages”. In other words, a higher labour share means that employees, as a group, are getting a bigger slice of the income pie. Under green growth, inequality continues and labour share suffers. Under degrowth and associated policies for social equity labour share greatly benefits. We finally enjoy the full fruits of our labour, wealth is more evenly distributed, and emissions approach zero. And yes, GDP is negative. But if we are wealthier, healthier and happier — is that a bad thing?! In Jason Hickel’s influential 2020 book Less Is More (which has since become something of a degrowth bible), he asks: “once we have 100% clean energy, what are we going to do with it? Unless we change how our economy works, we’ll keep doing exactly what we’re doing with fossil fuels. We’ll use it to power continued abstraction and production at an ever-increasing rate, placing ever increasing pressure on the living world, because that’s what capitalism requires. Clean energy might help deal with emissions, but it does nothing to reverse deforestation, over fishing, soil depletion and mass extinction. A growth-obsessed economy powered by clean energy will still tip us into ecological disaster.” Hickel is not, to be clear, advocating against green tech. “Technology is absolutely essential in the fight against ecological breakdown”, he writes. “We need all the efficiency improvements we can get. But scientists are clear that they will not be enough on their own to fix the problem. Why? Because in a growth-oriented economy, efficiency improvements that could help us reduce our impact are harnessed instead to advance the objectives of growth, to pull at a larger swathes of nature into circuits of extraction and production. It’s not our technology that’s the problem. It’s growth.” Hickel calls green growth “a comforting fantasy… and in an era of ecological emergency, we can’t afford to build policies around fantasies.”

15 November 2024

#degrowth #green growth

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adverbian · 1 year ago

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O You and Me at Last: a new Good Omens fic

Content notes:

Explicit sexual content; possessiveness/mild jealousy; exhibitionist fantasy. More detail in AO3 tags.

Rated Explicit. 4,256 words. 1/1 chapters.

Read on AO3

(Image adapted from Spleen et idéal by Carlos Schwabe, 1907. Public domain image in most countries. Available via Wikimedia Commons.)

Summary

News of one of Aziraphale's past admirers has Crowley feeling a little… possessive.

Excerpt

“And all your admirers in Portland Place—if they could see you now—”

“They’d expire on the spot,” said Aziraphale cheerfully, sliding a slow, deliberate hand from Crowley’s hip bone down the furrow of his pelvis. “Or ask to stay and watch the show.” His fingers found soft curls, reached a little farther down. “Oh, they’d have coveted you,” he added. “Gorgeous creature that you are. But I would have kept you all to myself.”

“Oh,”’ sighed Crowley. “They could — oh — they could watch — ah — just to see that you’re mine.”

Continue reading on AO3

Acknowledgements

Thanks to @goodomensafterdark and to the Good Omens After Dark Writers Guild! Special thanks to my lovely beta readers: @gaiaseyes451, cheeseplants, @kotias, @springofviolets -- they helped me make this so much better. Any remaining errors are, of course, my own.

Written for the @goodomensafterdark Smut War!

#good omens fic #ineffable smut war #my fic writing #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens after dark #writers of after dark

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adoptourcrew · 3 months ago

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While clowning is fun we’d like to provide some additional context about Netflix and their history of reviving canceled shows on their platform.

https://www.cnn.com/2021/09/10/entertainment/lucifer-and-netflix/index.html

After a robust, fan-led renewal campaign on social media, Lucifer was rescued by Netflix after cancellation by Fox due to budgetary concerns and a slight decrease in ratings. Lucifer went on to have 3 more successful seasons.

https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/tv/la-et-st-lucifer-netflix-tom-ellis-20190513-story.html

Lucifer was inherently expensive to produce because it is a DC property which requires licensing through WB, and because it was produced by an outside studio, however, Lucifer was a major ratings boon for Netflix and well worth the price tag.

https://www.indiewire.com/features/general/netflix-lucifer-season-5-nielsen-streaming-ratings-1234646785/#:~:text=The%20premiere%20of%20the%20first,by%20Netflix%20in%20June%202020

Cobra Kai was initially produced by YouTube Red, but when the platform moved away from more expensive scripted programming after the second season, Netflix swooped in to save it, and it is now in its 6th and final season.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-news/cobra-kai-moves-netflix-1299581/

Longmire was highly rated on A&E, beating out other cable shows like Mad Men. A slight drop in ratings by the S3 finale and less interest from advertisers due to an older audience led to cancellation. It went on to do well on Netflix with 3 more seasons.

https://www.looper.com/371526/the-real-reason-longmire-season-7-was-cancelled/

Designated Survivor was canceled on ABC after reduced ratings, budgetary concerns, and issues behind the scenes. Netflix ordered 1 season, but it was canceled again after ongoing issues behind the scenes.

https://www.slashfilm.com/1314648/why-designated-survivor-cancelled/

Manifest was canceled by NBC in 06/2021, then added to Netflix. Its surge in popularity once added to the platform prompted Netflix to order a fourth and final season, and while the writers had a 6 season arc planned, they were able to finish their story.

https://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/tv/a41984394/why-manifest-canceled-season-5/

You was initially produced by Lifetime, but it didn’t find its audience and they didn't order a 2nd season. When it streamed on Netflix a few months later, a boom in popularity and chatter on social media prompted Netflix to order subsequent seasons.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/you-was-ignored-on-lifetime-then-it-blew-up-on-netflix-what-does-it-mean-for-tvs-future/2019/01/17/900fab9c-1a86-11e9-88fe-f9f77a3bcb6c_story.html

While licensing on Netflix can lead to a revival of a series, this is not always the case. There is a threshold of streaming hours weighed against the budget, and recently it was announced that Warrior failed to meet this.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/paultassi/2024/09/23/some-disappointing-news-about-warrior-season-4-on-netflix/

Heels has recently been added to the Netflix roster, with hopes from creators that high viewership numbers could lead to a third season, although sources caution that logistical challenges may make this difficult.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-news/heels-licensed-netflix-season-3-hopes-1235869552/

While the dream is that Netflix buys OFMD with the intention of producing an additional season, even just acquiring the licensing rights for streaming leaves room for hope. Until we know more, we can keep our beautiful show alive by doing what we do best, talking about it.

#our flag means death #ofmd #adoptourcrew #Adopt our Crew

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thetormentita · 1 month ago

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ad astra per aspera - chapter 2

Dulce et decorum est pro cor cupiditatis mori.

Pairings: Ofc! Princess x Lucius Verus, Ofc! Princess x Marcus Acacius.

A/n: Julia seems to know well how to enjoy the time bro Caracalla is out. Haven’t seen the movie yet, but I prefer Lucius to not stick to the so famous “arma virumque cano” 😌

Warnings: smut, blood, mentions of slavery, mentions of prostitution, mentions of abuse.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen @mmkkzz

They have to be quick and act before the arrival of their eldest brother—he will have enough time to throw a tantrum and even display his anger at them both if it is his wish. Repalandecent and magnificent, they enter the box covered by the dais and this time Julia takes the seat originally belonging to Caracalla, throwing a side glance at Geta as any possible comment is masked by the people of Rome gathered there to witness the first day of munera, carefully scheduled to match with General Acacius’s celebration for his triumph.

“Princess” greets Marcus when he approaches her, taking her hand between his with care and leaving a soft kiss on the back, his brown eyes always upon hers. “Or maybe I should call you ‘Augusta’.”

She smiles, polite, observing the face of Rome, his dark locks carefully kept in place, grey hairs here and there giving him even a better look to her taste, more of a seasoned commander and experienced strategist.

Somehow, she has always liked that man.

“This may be my only chance to not lay under the shadow of nobody, legatus.”

“Then I must encourage you to enjoy it.”

She nods as her brother stands up, arms stretched as if he wants to reach all the corners of the amphitheatre, and starts with the usual speech for the opening of the season. With her back straight, she observes all her eyes can reach, and for a mere moment she gives herself the chance to imagine herself there usually, of people addressing her as ‘Augusta’ and not ‘princess’, of being the matron Rome needs and not the daughter she was assigned to be.

It had taken her quite a lot of work to convince Geta to contribute to the ludus with gold from the imperial treasury, pushing him to believe the great victors of before were celebrated by Rome, making herself put Marcus Acacius in the same sack as Scipio Africanus, Julius Caesar or even Marcus Aurelius.

What a fool.

She knows she has to enjoy the time without her brother present to work hard, with Aeneas and her dear Hala going here and there with messages and donatives to different personalities of the city, the pain from the last encounter with her eldest brother still lingering upon her body, making it an obligation to take revenge against him.

Once the duels with the beasts have taken place, with her answering vaguely the comments that flow from Geta’s lips as he gives up to his thirst for blood and looks like a part of him truly enjoys the show, her eyes are upon the gladiators, observing them with curiosity, and perhaps a hint of admiration.

“Are these new, Macrinus?” Julia finds herself saying, feeling Acacius’s sharp gaze upon her as if trying to decipher her thoughts from afar. The bustling arena around them fades into a dull roar as she waits for her question to be answered.

“Yes, princess. Prisoners from General Acacius’s last campaign.”

“Numidians.”

“Exactly. Strong and fierce, they make excellent contenders in the arena. It is believed that their spirit and resilience add to the spectacle,” Macrinus replies, his voice carrying a note of pride, as if the ferocity of these prisoners was a personal achievement.

The princess’s eyes sweep across the sand-strewn arena, and she can swear the man in chains from the general’s triumph is among them, stern face as he observes her again, his gaze unwavering, almost challenging. The memory of their brief encounter outside the gates of the palace flickers in her mind—the intensity in his eyes, the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him even then, bound as he was. It was a moment that had left an indelible mark on her consciousness, a spark that refused to be extinguished despite the layers of royal duties and decorum that demanded her attention afterward.

“Maybe you can claim one for yourself later, dear sister” murmurs her brother, a sharp gaze upon her as he realizes her distraction. His words, meant in jest, carry an undercurrent of truth that resonates within her. She quickly masks her fleeting emotions, almost forcing a cackle, her cheeks fighing their best to not blush.

“We can share if you wish, Augustus.”

Brother and sister exchange a look, long enough to show the rest of the people gathered with them that she still is the pliant sister, the one to comply to her brothers’s wishes, the one to bend but not break under the weight of tradition and expectation. Yet, there is a glint in her eye, a silent promise of rebellion, a hint that she is not as compliant as she appears.

The mumbling behind her fades as the gladiators fight, blood and sand mixing in a ballet of violence and spectacle. The crowd roars, a beast made of a thousands of throats, hungry for the spectacle, the carnage. But her thoughts are elsewhere, her eyes upon the man whose gaze had burned inside her soul. He fights now, his movements a dance of desperation and skill, each strike a testament to his will to survive, to prevail. She watches, heart pounding, as he navigates the chaos, a warrior poet amidst the brutality of the arena. His blade glints under the merciless sun, a flash of silver in a sea of red. With every opponent he strikes, her admiration grows, intertwining with a fear she refuses to acknowledge.

“That man should be leading armies, not risking his life for the amusement of the masses,” she muses quietly, her voice lost in the cacophony of cheers that erupts around her. The intensity in his gaze does not falter, as if he hears her thoughts amidst the noise.

“And I thought you did not like the munera, sister” Geta groans, amused. His enthusiasm for the games had always been more pronounced than Julia’s, who finds the violence distasteful, yet intriguing in a manner she couldn’t quite explain. It is the strategy, the skill, the sheer human will to survive that captivates her, not the bloodshed.

They both approach the edge of the arena, their eyes drawn to the spectacle below. The gladiators move with a grace that belies their deadly intent, each maneuver a dance of death and survival intertwined. Julia watches, fascinated as the man with the defiant gaze beats every man who comes before him, his movements almost poetic in their brutality. There is an elegance to his violence, a beauty in the way he anticipates and counters his opponents. The crowd roars with every fall he executes, their cheers fueling the fervor with which he fights.

Only with the deaf thump of the last body on the bloodied arena, the gladiator turns to the box and raises his sword to it, like a sort of offering to those who had gathered to witness his might. Julia feels a chill run down her spine, her heart caught in the thrall of the moment. The intensity in his eyes, even from this distance, seems to pierce through the crowd, connecting with hers in an unspoken acknowledgment of his victory.

“You must be proud, Macrinus. The ludus will receive much renown from this victory. Your gladiator has proven himself exceptional,” the magistrate by her side comments, breaking the spell of the moment.

Julia nods in silence, her eyes on the man who now stands as the epitome of victory in the arena.

“That is no Numidian” she mumbles, feeling the presence of Lucilla near her, the matron’s hand upon her lower back, a gesture of support and solidarity among the women of their stature.

Numidians were praised five centuries ago, when they took part of the Carthaginian army who dared to defy the power of Rome. After that they fell into oblivion, more a people prone to take care of their crops and fish their meals rather than learn to swing a sword with such dexterity.

“Where are you from, gladiator?” Geta’s voice booms across the arena, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over the crowd. The gladiator, standing tall and proud in the center of the sand-covered arena, turns to face Geta, his expression unreadable. The sun glints off his armor, a testament to his battles fought and won, yet his eyes hold a depth of sorrow that belies his formidable appearance.

“Obstipuit primo aspectu Sidonia Dido, //

casu deinde viri tanto, et sic ore locuta est: //

“Quis te, nate dea, per tanta pericula casus //

insequitur? Quae vis immanibus applicat oris?”

The gladiator’s voice is rough but clear, echoing off the stone walls that encircle the arena. The spectators, a motley assembly of citizens and nobles alike, fall into a hushed silence as they strain to hear the words exchanged in the center of the arena. A sigh escapes Julia’s lips as she recognizes the verses, his bright eyes not losing her face among the people gathered in the box.

“We have a poet fighting among gladiators, such a novelty!”

With a gesture of her hand Julia shushes Geta, letting the words of the gladiator wash over her, a poignant contrast to the violence that is expected to ensue. The man, armored only in the scars of past battles and a simple leather tunic is forced to leave the arena, his departure is marked by a hushed reverence, a collective breath held by those who had come expecting bloodshed.

“Princess” Senator Gracchus greets her by the entrance of the tunnel to leave the amphitheater once the munera has finished, his expression one of cautious respect mixed with a hint of curiosity. The man had shared a part of his political career with her father when they were young, serving under Marcus Aurelius “Such a way to start the season.”

“Nobody could have expected to have a gladiator quoting Virgil, that much is true.”

Around them an escort with Praetorian guards encircles them discreetly, offering them a sort of privacy. Julia’s eyes go to the senator’s, her mind still replaying the spectacle they just had witnessed.

“That man is hiding something.”

“I am afraid I don’t follow you, princess.”

She takes a deep breath, her fists clenching at her sides as she tries to set her own thoughts in order.

“No uneducated slave knows about Virgil.”

“Well, let us say that man is Roman, so what?”

“Senator, please indulge me and go to the markets yourself and ask how many commoners can recite the Aeneid out of thin air.” Gracchus throws a glance at her, big eyes hiding behind a veil of skepticism. The princess's insinuation bears a gravity he hadn’t anticipated, and Julia knows it. “Exactly.”

Roman nobility had always enjoyed a good fight between skilled gladiators, but it would be a stupidity to search for glory in a place like the amphitheater, close to death every moment there, seen like less than a commoner by the rest of the people, not allowed to even have a proper rest after the arrival of goddess Nemesis.

Or that man is the biggest fool on the Empire or he has something important to hide.

…

“Domina.”

She turns to observe her companion as she closes the door of the room, careful.

“Did you gave her the parchment?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Good.”

If there is somebody she can fully trust it is her sweet Hala, her confidante since childhood, the only one who has been by her side constantly, almost since the beginning, since Caracalla had started to hit her out of nowhere. The servant smiles at her, softly, when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a familiar gesture brimming with affection.

“What would I do without you, my dearest?” Julia mumbles, closing her eyes when Hala takes her wrist and gently kisses its inner part, raising goosebumps on her skin.

“I can soothe your troubles, Domina.” Hala’s voice is sweet, grounding, her lips fluttering against the soft skin of Julia’s arm.

“Hala” her voice catches in her throat, the whisper a plea caught between desire and hesitation.

“Just let me do.”

Julia is about to give up and surrender to the proposition when somebody knocks at the door, disrupting the moment between them. Any hint of desire gets trapped as she opens the door, one of the soldiers of the imperial guard standing still at the other side, his eyes on the front, as wanting to avoid her gaze, possibly thinking that she could have a nature as volatile as her brothers.

“You gave order to tell you when the meals had finished.”

“Is the emperor busy?”

“Yes, princess. The scorti are keeping the emperor and the rest of the guests entertained.” The guard’s voice is cautious, aware of the delicate nature of the news.

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

She closes the door as the soldier leaves after standing to guard, and she has to take deep breaths to keep herself composed. It is the perfect time to take advantage and play her own cards. In order to gather any courage and take her interrupted arousal a bit farther, she cups Hala’s face and brushes her thumb gently across her cheek, only to kiss her afterwards, almost devouring her, as if trying to reclaim the moment lost. Hala responds with equal fervor, her hands threading through Julia's hair, pulling her closer.

Only when their lips part she takes a deep breath and with a reassuring nod from her companion she leaves her quarters, her feet carrying her through the corridors of the Domus Flavia with one target in mind, soldiers of the Praetorian guard stationed at both sides of the corridors, the safety of the imperial family as their priority.

Her target is lying on a triclinium as his eyes observe the scene before his eyes with a hardly concealed grim upon his face, half hidden behind a golden cup.

“Enjoying the views, Legatus?”

If he is surprised by her presence, he hides it neatly.

“What else can you offer me, Augusta?”

Augusta. Any of her brothers could cut his tongue for it.

“What about a walk? I want to speak with you.”

A last glance at the bacchanal before them is enough for the general to stand up as he nods, signaling his compliance with her request. She leans and takes the cup he has been drinking of and takes a sip from the wine left behind, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her as she turns, to which she answers with a raised eyebrow.

Julia Septimia is fully aware of the potential of the man who is strolling the hallways with her, of the obsession her brothers have with him and his ability to inspire and command, to fight and slaughter, but she also knows that there is something deep down him that mismatches with the ambitions of the emperors.

“I know Numidia has left a sour feeling in you, my brother thinks of it as a trifle, but the only bloodshed he knows comes from the munera.”

She feels empowered. She knows that her time is limited, and that there are huge chances that Caracalla may retaliate against her for anything, the wine and the teasing from Hala run through her veins almost fogging her common sense, blending with the echo of the verses of the Aeneid still lingering in her mind. She has to risk everything if she wants a chance to win.

And it starts with Marcus Acacius.

As they walk through the sprawling palace corridors, Julia’s thoughts race with possibilities and strategies, always with her nephew in mind, a way to get things back to normal as they should have been from the beginning.

“My duty is with Rome, princess. If I am needed to lead my legions against the Parthians, so be it.”

She scoffs.

“I am not my brothers, so please do me a favour and do not woo me.”

“Princess—“

“I can offer you something in between. I have started to talk about it with my brother, so it would only take the other bastard to accept it.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.”

A smirk curves the edges of her lips as they come into the gardens with the big marble fountain in the middle, resembling an oasis.

“This is my territory. The people you see here are loyal to me.“

She wishes she could fully trust it, to have somebody ready to protect her at all costs.

They make their way to the library, far enough from the bacchanal to be able to speak freely. Here and there there is a soldier, or a servant, making their best to ignore them but, at the same time create a diversion in case it is needed. Those were her father’s people, the ones who had kept their place for so many years that the brothers even thought some of them to be a bunch of fools.

“You called me Augusta by the amphitheater.” A pair of brown eyes observe her. “Why?”

A smirk tugs from the corners of Marcus Acacius’s lips, matching the confidence in his eyes.

“Look at me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t do better than your brothers.”

“It is my nephew’s right to sit upon one of those horrid golden eagles, not mine.”

Julia’s voice falters slightly with the weight of her words. She has told nobody about her wishes, and she cannot tell if she truly thinks the general is a trustworthy man or her impulse is talking instead of her brains.

“They are truly disgusting. I think your father fancied a throne much… Discreet.”

It isn’t needed an invitation for Marcus to sit once they have arrived to their destiny, and he observes him with a thoughtful pout upon his face, lost in contemplation.

The library is vast, lined with ancient scrolls and volumes, shadows from the flickering lamps casting patterns on the walls. One of the most important sources of knowledge in the entire empire, only accesible to a handful of people.

“Caracalla murdered our brother. Gaius was more fit to rule” she clenches her jaw as she speaks, pacing in front of him like a caged lioness. “He was wise and impetuous. He would have been a proper ruler after my father…” she raises her eyes to Marcus as she stops in front of him. “How was the empire before?”

Both know the answer well enough.

“I cannot grant you the temporary retirement you seek, but I can name you commander of the Praetorian guard. I need someone I can trust, someone not corrupted by the allure of ambition. Help me put my nephew on the throne and you can spend the rest of your active time in Rome close to your wife, and your retirement with a handsome pay being a lazy fuck in your villa along your loved ones.”

“Princess…” his voice wavers for a moment, struggling to keep steady. He considers her proposal, the weight of the decision pressing on his shoulders, and for a moment Julia is afraid of a negative answer.

“Somebody told me once that there are people outside this walls by my side, ready to support me if I choose to take action,” she continues, eyes glinting with a mixture of determination and desperation as she comes closer to him, looming over him despite her being smaller and thinner than him, easily beaten by him. “You called me ‘Augusta’ in front of my brother, knowing he could have had your tongue for it.”

He tilts his head to look at her, eyes half narrowed in the dim light of the room, and Julia can observe his features properly, shaped by the dancing lights of the candles around them, her eyes tracing the shape of his nose, the way the scruff on his cheeks adds a layer of shadow to his face, how he licks his plush lips as his gaze goes over her figure, the flickering lights playing with her garments and softly revealing her curves hidden under them.

“I am afraid I have lost my fidelity to Rome, princess.” He mutters, softly.

“I am not asking you to be faithful to Rome, but to me” she takes one of his hands, rough and big, and encouraged by something she cannot name drives it to her calf, letting his fingertips brush a yellowed bruise on her skin. “I need somebody to protect my nephew, legatus.” His touch goes further as her hands drive his up her body, and she ends up sitting on his lap, her breath mingling with his as she whispers, “The gods seem to see fit that I may not be able to do so for much longer” as she speaks, she reveals fading marks upon her body, silent witnesses of the outbursts from both of her brothers.

She leaves his hand free as she cups his face with both hands, her thumbs softly caressing his cheeks as he strokes her waist over her robes. His eyes search hers, filled with resolve and a newfound purpose.

“Princess, I cannot…” she leans over him and he lets her do, accommodating her on his lap, his free hand roaming under the clothes, his rough touch finding delight with the soft of her thigh “Your maidenhood—“

Julia’s lips find his jawline, leaving small kisses and teasing nibbles along it, her hips grinding against his, tempting him. When they kiss, he feels her urgency, her desperation for solace and strength, mingling with her desire, and a part of her mind betrays her and imagines she is not sat upon the lap of the most acclaimed general of his time, but the man with the piercing gaze and a hidden secret who prefers to fight in the arena and recall the tragic queen Dido of Carthage.

“That is something long gone” she whispers against his lips, her fingers roaming free in his dark and grey curls as he gasps when he finds how her folds are getting wetter with her arousal. “Fuck Rome if you please, Legatus. Fuck me under my brothers’s roof—“ she whines as his fingertips start to tease her, a rough digit rubbing long circles over her clit “Swear to me that you will do whatever it takes to keep the boy safe and your name will be remembered until the end of time.”

Her lips go down his neck as she awaits his answer, her mind half hazy with a desire half faked. One of her hands grasps his tunic as a way to ground herself into reality as the other tugs from his hair, earning a soft grunt from him, pushing him to tilt his head to leave her more space. A half pretended moan escapes her lips as the teasing digit comes into her, quickly meet by another one, and her hips go up and down them at their own pace, searching the bliss nobody but her lovely Hala had made her reach.

“I will do it” he pants, quickly removing his fingers from inside her and taking his erection to coat it with her arousal before teasing her folds again, making her whimper in need. “I swear to do all I can to protect you and the boy.”

#aapa2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator 2 fic #lucius verus fanfic #lucius verus fic #lucius verus x oc #general marcus acacius x oc #general marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfiction #general marcus acacius smut

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idliketobeatree · 5 months ago

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prompt: mindreading

pairing: crystal/niko (heavily implied, but can be read as one-sided pining if that's your jam), ficlet, 700~ words, T

———

"Wait, you want me to read your mind? You're not scared of someone taking a peek into that brain of yours?"

Maybe it's because of her own peculiar experiences with... not exactly unwanted, but genuinely huge mistakes of wanted guests in her head. But Crystal cannot fathom the idea to voluntarily make anyone privy to your thoughts, on a whim. She's done it enough for other people, sure; usually under the disguise of a case and protected by the motives, but she still had a preference of simply talking to people, hoping for the best that they would disclose the necessary information. Her budding empathy clashes somewhat with her psychic powers. There was a time she vaguely remembers, where she wouldn't bat an eye at using them for her advantage, even if it meant stepping on a few heads. Well. Not anymore.

It made something in her chest feel noble; a sensation she was not used to.

With great power comes great responsibility, et cetera, right?

Nevertheless, the casual allowance of Niko to make herself comfy in her brain, with no specific time slot seems intimate down to a T. Something you would allow under very specific circumstances, preferably after thorough discussion with the subject. A life or death situation, perhaps. It would be reserved for the closest bunch of people, unless your poor judgement decided to omit the jarring red flags and said, you know what, my scarlet matches your ruby.

There are choices you cannot go back from, as she is painfully aware.

In her lap, Niko brushes two fingers along Crystal's knuckles, from where she is cradling her palm. It feels strangely precious, encased in the softness of the other girl's hand. Crystal's gaze glides over to the intricate rings matching the long, beautiful pastel nails, decorated with small pearls and tiny ribbons. The touch brings dual sensations: there are the pads, soft like a cat's and similar to it, the sharper points of the nails leave blunt dents on the top of her palm. She belately realises, I wouldn't mind if you pressed harder. Make me feel it.

Crystal's gaze snaps back upwards, guiltily. She almost regrets it. The way Nico's face twists into a shy smile, Crystal feels the touch spark through her hand and race towards the chest like a livewire, a pulsing need. "I have nothing to hide from you."

"That's not true. Everyone has secrets they want to keep," she protests weakly.

"I promise to keep it G-rated," Niko laughs, and Crystal is lightheaded from it, glad she is already sitting down, because hey, did she just—

"Crystal. You need to see the bird."

Before she can cut it short, Niko lifts the hand she so generously cradled up to her forehead— in a mimicry of the main guy from— uh, was it the X-Men movies? Like she believed touching the temples while mindreading was essential to the process. Crystal's powerless against the flutter of her eyelashes when she's trying to focus and relax at once, the slightest of frowns gracing her forehead.

Her fingers are being gripped harder, determined. She wants to keep her there.

Crystal debates on whether it would work anyway, because how could she think about some stupid bird, when Niko is right there? An open, well-loved paperback, ready to fill you with strange images of her own design.

She gets hit with a memory like a pop-up ad, but without the surge of overwhelm and annoyance, the part where she's prying open inside smoother than anticipated.

The sight comes with a filter of pure admiration and some childlike wonder. The edges of the vision are swimming in bright, peak summer hues, teal sky and rich green bushes with pinkish yellow sparkling in the heat. Niko must have watched the scene from a sidewalk, and she had to be pretty close to see so clearly. The crow inside the memory drops a walnut from its beak right before a car drives over it, cracking open the hard shell, and the bird dives precisely half a second later, catching the remains of the nut in mid-air. Show off, Crystal snickers to herself. Surprisingly, she finds a familiar, amused chuckle reverbating around her temple. It's strange enough that Crystal gets thrown out of the vision far too quickly. She pushes the need to stay, down.

Niko cracks open one eye, apparently much too excited to keep going. "Did you see that? Did you see?"

"Uh. Yeah. I did." It's a tiny shock, to come out of the vision. "That was..."

Unexpected. Amazing. If I saw the world through your eyes, I wouldn't think it's genuine shit all the time.

"...nice."

#wlw pining my utter beloved #niko sasaki #crystal palace #palasaki #twirls my hair and giggles #crystiko #dead boy detectives #ficlet #dbda #dbda fic #snippet #dead boy detective agency #marcela writes #inspired as always by the Loveliest Bunch of People from the DGD server chat 💕

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aloysiavirgata · 1 year ago

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Title: Fern Hill

Rating: NC-17

Timeline: pre-series

Category: XF/The Fall crossover

Summary: For everyone who asked for a Stella/Mulder prequel from my little prompt ficlet

Author’s Note:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

The blonde two stools down is eyeing him unashamedly. She’s got on tight jeans and a white cable knit sweater, summer-wheat hair straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. Eyes like Lake Tashmoo before a storm.

“You’re Phoebe Green’s American,” she observes. It isn’t a question. Her voice is buttery, a burnt-velvet purr that makes the back of his neck tingle. She sips at a rock glass full of something tawny in the subfusc gloom of the pub.

Mulder, intrigued, moves next to her. “What the fuck?”

She blinks, the barest hint of a smirk tightening her lips. “I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not Phoebe’s anything,” he replies. “She stole my Pink Floyd sweatshirt and burned my Knicks hat. She fucked a vegetarian trumpet player.”

The blonde smiles fully now. “You’re marked forever, I’m afraid. You’ve some kind of animal name, haven’t you? Bear, was it?”

He knows she knows his name, this unsettling girl. Somehow, he knows she does. “Bear,” he agrees.

“Stella,” she says, holding out a slim, white hand. “You’re Fox.”

It’s a warm plum in her mouth. Delicious, desirable, something to be proud of. Belongs in the Ralph Lauren ad with her pre-Raphaelite face and flag of golden hair.

“Mulder,” he says, shaking the proffered hand.

“Mulder.” She squeezes his fingers, then withdraws.

Mulder sips his gin and tonic, pondering. “So you know Phoebe socially,” he says. “That must be a hell of a thing. As a woman.”

Stella considers him down the length of her nose. She has the androgynous beauty of a Greek youth. A Roman statue of Minerva.

“Where do you think she got the idea for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s grave,” Stella asks.

He almost chokes on an ice cube.

“If you’re coughing you’re breathing,” she observes, dispassionate, as he nearly hacks up a lung.

Mulder’s heart rate settles back to normal after a moment. He looks at Stella, the hard lines of her cheekbones, her incongruously cute freckles.

He thinks of Stella and Phoebe together. Wonders if he could make that happen, their peony mouths and fine-boned faces. He would be willing to temporarily make up with Phoebe for it. Phoebe would love the theater of a dramatic apology and a threesome.

“Was the grave a hot tip or a shared experience?”

Stella only smiles, sphinx-link. Taps her glass in the bartender’s direction.

“Does it matter,” she asks, watching as her drink is refilled.

Tremendously.

“No. Do people do a lot of Brando impressions?” He clutches his t-shirt with an anguished expression.

She chuckles a bit at that and Mulder feels like the cleverest man in England. In the Northern Hemisphere.

“Plenty,” she says. “Which I like, because it creates a self-selecting population of people to avoid.”

People, he notes. Not men. He thinks of Phoebe again, her dark hair against Stella’s blonde, imagines ringing her up and what he’d say and-

Stella’s hand on his thigh. “Where do you live?” she asks. Her voice is obscene, her high breasts soft against the sweater, slender neck and perfume rich with amber and honey and musk.

He gulps at his drink. “Uni flat. You?”

“Summertown,” she murmurs. “It’ll be nicer than your place.”

Mulder blinks, impressed. His parents give him money but not Summertown money.

“Are you inviting me home with you, Stella?” he asks, low.

She considers him, swirling her glass. “I’m inviting you to my bed. I don’t need you lingering in my home.”

He laughs aloud while wondering if he is capable of falling for a woman who doesn’t have substantial emotional damage. “So you don’t want me to show up with two dozen roses and a box from Charbonnet et Walker?”

Stella sniffs disdainfully. “I’m not interested in the girlfriend role as a concept. I plan to finish school and be a detective.”

He perks up. “I’m planning on the FBI when I wrap up the DPhil. Don’t know that I’m interested in the girlfriend thing as a concept either at his point,” he says, knowing it savors strongly of bitterness.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stella says. “I think you’d make someone a very nice girlfriend.”

Storm-goddess eyes wicked over her glass.

He pays both tabs and watches her finish the Scotch.

***

Her flat is full of solid wood furniture and good upholstery. Some of the framed artwork appears original, and there’s a Cross Townsend pen on her walnut secretary. A stack of leather notebooks that look like Smythsons or Conway Stewarts.

He wishes he could stop this, the eternal analysis.

Her bedroom smells of lemon wood polish and clean cotton and expensive unguents. The queen bed is made, an ivory silk robe draped at the foot of it. There’s no girlish clutter on her shelves, no stuffed bear on the pillow.

There’s a copy of Where the Wild Things Are on the mantel. “Seems a little below your reading level,” Mulder observes.

“It was my favorite book when I was little.” She touches the cover. “Well, one of my favorites at least. I rather wanted to be King of All Wild Things.”

He grins at her. “You wouldn’t have even needed the wolf suit I bet. You’re a bit scary, Stella.”

She snaps her teeth.

Mulder sees the two of them in her gilt-framed mirror, Stella fierce and delicate as a faerie out of Perrault. Her pale throat, her bright eyes. In the moment he wants a cantrip that will bind her.

Her face is serious again. She unbuttons his shirt with focused dexterity, her brows furrowed, her lips pursed. Dior Poison, he sees on the vanity, and gives a name to her scent.

Stella planes her hands over his chest. “Very nice,” she says, peering up through dusky lashes. She pulls her sweater over her head, drops it to the floor. Wriggles out of her jeans and kicks them aside.

He is hard as a fifteen year old.

“I try.” He hasn’t kissed her yet, even though her mouth reminds him of a little Parisian pastry and he wants to nibble at it. Apropos of which, Mulder had expected plain cotton lingerie but it’s all frou-frou lace confectionery trimmed with rosettes and ribbons. Feminine. Delightful. Flawless.

“God, you’re so-“

“Shhh,” she says, pushing him down onto her bed with a single, imperious finger. “I know all that.”

Stella straddles his lap and he’s somehow surprised that such a large presence should weigh almost nothing.

She leans into his grasping fingers, rolls against his tensed thighs. Sighs when he thumbs the front of her panties.

“Stella….”

She leans forward to kiss him, her hard belly against his own. Her clever hands at his fly.

“Let’s see how badly Phoebe fucked up, hmmm?”

***

They had wine from a Thermos and went to bed. She’s lithe and breathless in his arms, spine like worry beads against his palms.

He’d spoken to his father who helpfully reminded him that Samantha had gone missing around this time and shouldn’t he come home to see his mother?

Stella’s fully nude, hair a long braid over her shoulder, and he tugs it experimentally.

Stella makes a liquid noise in her throat, tightens around him.

He unwinds the elastic band and works the plait loose with his fingers. Spools her hair around his hand and pulls down hard until their lips are brushing.

“Fuck,” she hisses into his mouth, and it’s what he needs somehow, the grinding pain of her little teeth and he comes and comes and comes.

***

He’s headed home in six weeks with a DPhil and an acceptance to the FBI Academy and vague praise from his parents.

“Fox,” she groans against his temple. “Fucking hell.”

Mulder nips at her throat, her hair spread behind her like the tail of a comet. “Why did you call me Fox?”

“Why did your mother call you Fox?” she asks.

“She is a very sick woman,” he says into Stella’s patrician ear.

She laughs and bites his lower lip. “Me too,” she mumbles, and her heels dig into his kidneys.

***

They never said goodbye, not really, and he meant to let her go like the tide.

His flight home is in thirty six hours.

“I thought I was ready but I- a pregnant woman,” she says flatly into the phone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He lets her use him, her lean swimmer’s legs against his own and her skirt rucked up at her waist and her tailored Met jacket and blouse fallen open along her breasts, lacy cobweb of a bra fighting for its life.

He gazes up at her, pink and silken as rose petals.

White and distant as the moon.

“Hurt me,” she gasps. “Mulder, please, I want-”

He hurts them both.

***

He leads her into the hotel room shower, washes her princess hair while she stands still, staring at nothing.

***

He left bruises along the softest parts of her. The hidden parts, where she asked. The palimpsest of her skin will be flawless again in a few days, and he tries not to think about how else the dark things in her might like to play. He absorbed her pain like charcoal absorbs poison.

“I truly don’t know if I can do this,” she remarks to the ceiling, palms against her eyes.

He tastes her on his lips, oysters and Sauternes. He wants to nudge his face back between her thighs in the way we are called by water. She is primordial and essential and delicate and terrifying. He has an Ivy League degree in psychology, even if it’s only from Pennsylvania, and he still can’t figure her out.

“You can,” he promises, like a faithful acolyte.

“And what does it mean if I can,” she asks and he wonders the same thing about himself.

***

He fucks her against an alley wall, thick with refuse and ennui. She’s gorgeous the way that supernovas and jaguars are gorgeous.

“Stella,” he groans. “Jesus.”

“You’ll miss your flight,” she mumbles, then laughs at the idea that they care.

“You going to see me off?” he pants into her neck. “Kiss me goodbye at the gate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you I have a meeting in 45 minutes.” She hitches a knee up higher. “Oh, god, like that.”

Mulder grinds into her until she cries out, nipping at his chin, his earlobes.

He follows her into the starburst haze of an orgasm, his back shuddering, and Stella hot and twitchy against his chest.

They breathe together for a moment, riding out the wave.

“We both have to go,” Stella reminds him. “A parting of the ways this time, I think.”

Mulder lowers her to the ground. He ties off the condom and shoves it into a garbage can.

He zips his jeans up, watches Stella smooth her uniform, her hair.

“Here’s lookin’ at you kid,” he says, rather lamely.

But Stella smiles one of her rare, full smiles. “One day when you’re a world famous profiler and I’m Commissioner we’ll team up,” she says.

He brushes brick dust from her shoulder. “Why are you running the Met and I’m a lowly Special Agent still?”

She looks confused. “Because I like to be in charge and you don’t. You didn’t want to be King of All Wild Things.”

He palms her jaw, thumbs her cheekbone. He smiles fondly down at her.

“Don’t,” Stella warns.

Mulder shakes his head. “No. Go, run the Met and remember the little people when you ascend the throne.”

She covers his hand with hers for a moment. “Phoebe fucked up badly,” she says. “Now go back to the colonies and teach them how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“We just throw it in the Harbor.”

Stella squeezes his hand before taking it from her face. She walks briskly out of the alley without ever looking back.

***

He makes the plane, though barely. He falls asleep over Dublin. He dreams of sailboats and lonely islands and even in dreaming he knows Stella is right. He wants to be where someone loves him best of all.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #prompt #stella gibson #fox mulder #bbc the fall

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witchysylv · 2 years ago

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simple negative energy capture spell jar

hello! this is a spell from my bos that i typed out today, and thought i'd share with all of you.

it's a basic energy capture jar. what it does is it takes negative energy that hits it and absorbs it into the jar, keeping a space safe. it can be considered to be a type of ward.

feel free to modify this to your needs! if you try it, let me know how it goes in the notes.

ingredients

a jar or bottle of your choosing

a small mirror to go on top of the jar (i prefer aluminum foil, but either works)

a binding sigil, either handmade or sources from someone else

obsidian for protection

basil for attracting negativity to the jar (and not you)

cinnamon for protection and defense

mugwort for a magical boost

hyssop for purifying the captured negative energy

st. john's wort to handle the negativity

dandelion for added protection

a black candle

optional: mullein, acrimony

steps

create, print, or copy down your sigil. assemble other ingredients and perform any pre-spell rituals you have.

place ingredients into the jar. you can select the order, or you can do it like this: cinnamon, basil, st. john's, dandelion, hyssop, mugwort.

as you place each ingredient into the jar, visualize your intent for it. you can also speak an affirmation such as "this jar will protect me" if you wish.

fold your sigil thrice away from you, tucking it in the jar, and following it with your crystal.

pop the cork, lid, or seal on the jar.

seal JUST the edges with the candle, and place the mirror in the center of the closing contraption.

et voila, you're done! place it wherever you need that protection.

notes

i'm autistic and selectively mute, so i usually don't speak during my spells, focusing more on intention. this is something you can modify.

i would rate this an 8/10. it's a good basic protection jar, and you don't need anything too extensive for protections unless someone is after you or something anyway.

anyway, i hope that's helpful to someone! if you have comments, suggestions, etc., do let me know. part of what i miss about old witchblr is the open dialogue that used to be spread on posts; people don't talk enough now. so feel free to come talk to me, and if you have improvements, i'm all ears!

thank you for your time.

#witchcraft #witchblr #protection #protections #jar spell #witchy #baby witch #beginner witch #green witch #spell bottle #spells #grimoire #bos #book of shadows #left hand path #baneful magic #cleansing

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senashenta · 3 months ago

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Everything I Do

Title: Everything I Do

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Just. All the smut. All of it.

Summary: When Dean calls on Cas to meet up with him, even though it’s only been seven weeks since their last meeting, Cas agrees immediately, and books a bus to Lawrence, Kansas. But meeting Dean in Lawrence isn’t all burgers and sex, things are COMPLICATED for Dean in Lawrence. Always have been, probably always will be. Plus, he’s just coming off a positively DISASTROUS Hunt with his Dad. Over the weekend, Cas learns a little more about his boyfriend—and maybe Dean learns a little more about himself as well.

Notes: If you’re coming into this fic blind, it’s the FIFTH in a series, and I highly recommend you read the rest of them first. Just click on the “Horror High et al Master Post” link under the notes here and everything is listed in order. So much smut though. So much. (Especially in the one-shots.)

Literally ended up writing this just to include one specific scene that I WANTED to include in Cerulean Blue and ended up having to leave out. This one, like Cerulean Blue, has a plot (if you squint), so it’s not JUST about the smut, though there IS plenty of that. Also just, like, so many feels.

A BRIEF, SHINING MOMENT OF TOP!CAS AND BOTTOM!DEAN (that was REALLY weird for me to write) before we return to your regularly scheduled Top!Dean and Bottom!Cas. Is everyone happy now? :D;;

Cas is, again, taking a bus from Tallahassee to Lawrence, and teh google tells me that to drive that distance takes 16 hours and 16 minutes. So, adding on time for stops and transfers, I rounded it up to a 21-hour trip (give or take) for him. Sucks not being able to drive (this is coming from someone who, in fact, does NOT drive, so I know.)

Go listen to “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You” by Bryan Adams, if you never have. It’s a fantastic song and ABSOLUTELY embodies Cas and Dean’s relationship in this particular AU: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0pdQU87dc8 <3

HORROR HIGH et al TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

EVERYTHING I DO By Senashenta

[Motel 6, 6850 W. 108th Street, room 2.]

It was only seven weeks after their week together in New York City and the whole Sally debacle, and Cas was already coming off another twenty-one-hour bus ride, this time to Lawrence, Kansas, where Dean was waiting for him, apparently at an actual Motel 6 this time. He hauled his backpack off the bus with him and headed out to the front of the station to hail a cab, and soon he was on his way to the motel, exhausted from his long trip.

Not that Cas was complaining. It would be nice, to be seeing Dean so soon after their last meetup. Usually there was at least three, sometimes four months in-between, and the time always seemed to go by like molasses, even though they kept in touch over the phone and the computer in the meantime.

But something had seemed… different, this time around, when Dean had said he could take the time to meet Cas again so soon. Something in his voice had been off. There had been a sort of urgency there, for the last-minute meetup. When Cas had asked about it, Dean had brushed him off, but Cas knew something was wrong—maybe not anything huge or life-altering, but something.

When he got to the motel in question—a little run-down but not the absolute shittiest place they had ever met up—Cas made his way down the row of doors until he reached number two, then knocked lightly and waited for Dean to answer, hiking his backpack farther up his shoulder while he waited.

When the locks unlatched and the door opened, Dean just grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him into the room, then kicked the door closed behind him. Cas let his backpack slide to the ground even as Dean pushed him up against the door, kissed him once, briefly—and then just leaned into his chest, the older man’s forehead coming down to rest against his shoulder.

“I missed you, Cas.” Dean muttered.

Cas came back with a murmur of, “tell me what’s wrong, Dean.”

Dean sighed but didn’t lift his head, instead nuzzling closer into Cas’s neck, and Cas brought his arms up around the other man, just holding him quietly for what seemed like forever. “Nothing’s wrong when I’m with you.” Dean replied finally, voice quiet, “that’s the point.”

“Liar.” Cas accused softly, not unkind, and then shoved off the door, jostling Dean in the process, and tugged the other man over to the bed. He quickly stripped out of his trench coat and shoes and then climbed onto the mattress, motioning for Dean to join him. “Come here, Dean.” Dean made quick work of crawling over to sprawl next to him, and Cas pulled him into his chest, wrapping him up in his arms comfortably. “Much better, right?”

Dean just grunted quietly and buried his face in Cas’s neck once more, and the two of them stayed like that for a while, Cas rubbing along Dean’s arm while Dean slowly unwound a little.

Finally, when Dean seemed a little more relaxed, Cas murmured, “do you want to talk about it?”

Dean was quiet for another couple of minutes. Cas just continued stroking along his arm gently, reassuring. “Dad and I…” Dean began finally, then trailed off and pressed his forehead harder into Cas’s shoulder for a second; “we got a lead on the demon—the demon—up in Yakima, and I… I messed up, I…” He made a frustrated noise, then, and huffed by Cas’s neck, “we could have got it, Dad was sure we could have got it, but I fucked up and it got away. It got away because of me, and Dad just—”

Cas could guess that John had just, when it came to that particular demon. “That bad?”

“If we’d had a house, he would’ve kicked me out of it,” Dean said quietly, “he screamed and shouted and told me to get away from him, get lost until I got my head on straight, and so I bailed and—”

“And you called me?” Cas gave a little, brief smile. “Is that why you picked Lawrence, for us to meet up?”

“Lawrence is my home, Cas. Or the closest thing I’ve ever had to one.” Dean admitted.

“I understand.” Cas ducked to kiss by Dean’s temple gently, “what do you want out of this weekend, Dean?”

The older man was quiet for a while, and Cas just continued rubbing at his arm gently, trying to be reassuring. Eventually Dean shifted so his head was leaning properly against Cas’s shoulder. He slung an arm over Cas’s chest, the reverse of their usual positions, and sighed. “Just… be you, Cas. Remind me that I’m not completely worthless, that I’m not a terrible person, just for a couple of days.”

“Dean…” Cas’s hand stopped moving and he wrapped his arms around Dean tightly, holding him close. “Don’t ever think those things of yourself. You’re never worthless and you’re not a terrible person…” Trailing off slightly, he frowned and murmured, “I can’t believe your Dad would actually say those things to you…”

“He’s… hard on me. With good reason. I’m the eldest, and I can’t… make mistakes. Not like that. If I can’t do the job, I’m worthless. If I can’t finish the mission—the big mission—I’m a terrible person.” Dean sounded like he was actively parroting some of the things his dad had said to him. He turned his head to bury his face and mumbled, “I’ve never felt so useless, Cas…”

“Hey. Stop.” Cas slid one hand up to thread into Dean’s hair and tugged gently, “you are none of those things, Dean Winchester.”

Dean made a soft disagreeing noise and left his face buried in Cas’s chest but stopped talking. They were both quiet for a few breaths before Cas began carding his fingers through Dean’s hair gently.

“Dean you are… courageous and strong and fierce, like the heart of a lion. But you’re also loving, giving and caring. You’re the most caring person I know.” Cas hummed softly, considering before continuing; “you’re so gentle, and selfless, you take care of people over yourself. Me. Your Dad. Your brother. Complete strangers. You’re smart, cunning… and funny. You make me laugh all the time. And you’re… passionate, you carry so much passion in your heart, sometimes it’s overwhelming. You have so many fantastic qualities, Dean, I can’t even begin to list them all… but you are not and never will be worthless or useless or a terrible person.”

“Sometimes I don’t think I’m any of those things, Cas.”

“Trust me, you’re all of them and more.” Cas tugged at his hair gently again, pulling Dean’s head up and leaning in for a kiss. “But most of all, you love me. Somehow, for some reason, you love me.”

“For all the reasons.” Dean corrected him softly.

Cas gave him a smile and tipped his head for another kiss. “I love you, too. For all the reasons.” When Dean leaned into the kiss, Cas sighed and murmured, “I’ll always love you, Dean. Until the day I die.”

When they broke apart a moment later, Dean ducked his head back down against Cas’s chest and asked, barely audible, “hey, Cas?”

“Yes?” Cas replied, back to petting through his hair.

And then, just as quietly; “I think I want you to make love to me.”

Cas’s hand paused in Dean’s hair. He swallowed slightly. The two of them had discussed switching things up between them briefly, once before, and Dean had been reluctant at best. Definitely uncomfortable with the idea. And while it was good that he was opening up his mind, Cas wasn’t entirely sure this was the right… time for it.

After a moment his hand began moving again, threading through Dean’s hair gently, and Cas cleared his throat before asking, “Dean, are you… sure about that?”

“You don’t want to?” Dean asked.

“I never said that.” It was just that Dean was obviously feeling… vulnerable, right now. And Cas didn’t want to take advantage of that, do anything that might break the absolute trust they had long ago established between them. Cas hesitated before offering, “Dean, it’s just… with how you’re feeling right now, I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret later.”

The arm Dean had slung over him tightened slightly and the older man paused, licking his lips and then telling him softly, embarrassedly, “I won’t regret anything with you, Cas. Not ever. I never do. And I think… I need this, right now. I need you to take control. Just for a bit. Get me out of my head.”

That Cas could understand. He knew exactly what it felt like to have every coherent thought vacate his brain while Dean worked him over. It could be a reprieve. An escape, when he was feeling particularly badly over something in his life. And how could he deny that to Dean when Dean had supplied it for him so many times in the past, knowingly or unknowingly?

After another moment of frowning up at the ceiling and toying with Dean’s hair absently, Cas finally moved—he disentangled himself from Dean and pushed the other man down onto his back, then propped himself up to lean over him and look at him seriously. “Are you sure about this?”

Dean offered a little quirk of a smile, though Cas could still see the shadows behind the green of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Cas hesitated for another brief moment—then just flashed a smile of his own and leaned down to kiss Dean, firm and decided. Dean seemed to let out a little relieved breath against Cas’s mouth before returning the kiss. He reached up with his hands, one to fist in the front of Cas’s shirt and the other to grab at the side of his neck—and Cas just eased closer, kissed him deeper.

Inside, Cas was freaking out. His nerves were making his stomach twist into knots, though he did his best not to let to show for Dean’s sake. But this was a big deal, and Cas had never done this before—not this part, anyway. He only had the basest of ideas what he was doing. It was almost like their first time all over again.

Which… under different circumstances, might have actually been a turn-on, but with Dean’s current state it just made Cas worry because what if he screwed it up? He really didn’t want to screw it up. He wanted to be good at it. But it would be his first time, and…

“I can almost literally see your thoughts, Cas, and you’re gonna do fine.” Dean spoke up, and Cas hadn’t even realized their kissing had paused, he’d been so distracted by his own spiralling train of thought. “But if you don’t want to do this, we obviously don’t have to.”

Cas let out a breath and nodded, then sat back a bit and pushed at Dean’s flannel shirt. “Take this off. The t-shirt, too.” Then he just reached to strip out of his own shirt, tossing it away with hands that were only trembling the slightest bit. When Dean sat up and pulled off his flannel overshirt, then his worn AC/DC t-shirt, Cas was momentarily distracted by a huge patch of dark, mottled bruising that marred almost the entire left side of Dean’s torso. “Dean…”

Dean lifted one hand to touch against the patch of bruising, knowing what he was going to say. “From… the thing in Yakima. I got off easy.”

“Easy?” Cas repeated, almost incredulous. He supposed there was no blood, but still. That was edging into internal injury territory. Instead of saying any of that, Cas swallowed slightly and carefully pushed Dean down onto his back again, settling over him and leaning to kiss him deeply. When they broke apart a moment later, he pressed another brief kiss to Dean’s lips and whispered, “be right back.”

Then Cas climbed off the bed and went to his discarded backpack, unzipping one of the front pouches and fishing out the lubricant he had packed. He knew Dean always brought some as well, but he didn’t know where it was, and this was just easier. Once it was firmly in his grasp, he returned to the bed—only to find that Dean had taken the initiative to get out of his pants and boxers in Cas’s absence.

Cas’s eyes swept up the length of Dean’s body and he swallowed slightly before dropping the lube on the mattress and shucking out of his own jeans and boxers as well. And it was the same feeling as their first time, years ago, when Cas climbed back onto the bed with Dean: suddenly it was all very real.

Now, Cas settled over his boyfriend again, ducking in for another few kisses, long and deep and drawn-out, before breaking away and beginning to trail little kisses, nips and licks down Dean’s neck, along his collar bone, across his chest… and he paused when he got to the mottled bruising along his side and ribs, making a special point of pressing gentle kisses all along the area.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” He murmured softly.

“You didn’t do it.” Dean replied, just as quiet, “you don’t have to be sorry.”

Cas hummed out a soft disagreeing sound, but left it at that, continuing to make his way downward, paused to lick into Dean’s navel and smiled a little when the other man squirmed. Then he eased farther down until he could wrap his lips around the head of Dean’s half-hard cock and start sucking, softly at first, then deeper, harder and wetter as his boyfriend’s dick hardened up properly in his mouth.

Dean moaned quietly, his head back on the pillow now and one hand down, fingers threading into Cas’s hair. But still—“Cas… not that I’m complaining, but this wasn’t… ah… exactly the point, here…”

“Mmhm,” Cas hummed out an agreement and pulled off Dean’s cock, letting a hand come up to start stroking him instead. He looked up at Dean with a little smile. “But you’re still tense. You need to relax more before I…” Blue eyes flitted to where the lube was sitting, beside them on the bed. “Trust me, you don’t want to be clenched up for that part.” A pause, then, and he added, “and I don’t want to accidentally hurt you, just like you never want to hurt me.”

Dean huffed a groan, hips bucking lightly, and admitted, “that’s a good point.”

Another quiet agreeing sound and Cas just went back to what he was doing, sucking Dean back into his mouth and easing deep, beginning to suck him off lazily, not really trying to get him to come, just trying to get him to relax into it—and it worked. After a few minutes Dean was loose and relaxed against the bed, shifting under his ministrations and offering up quiet, breathy little moans every now and then.

Finally, Cas pulled back off with a soft wet sound and smiled up at him. “You think you’re ready now?”

Dean sighed out another soft moan and tugged at Cas’s hair gently. “Y… yeah, I’m good.”

Okay then. Cas grabbed the tube of lubricant, then nudged at Dean’s legs until he got them into the easiest position to prep him. And yeah, suddenly the nerves were back. Cas shifted slightly and swallowed thickly against the twisting ball of anxiety in his stomach even as he slicked up the fingers of his right hand and then discarded the lube to the side again.

When he hesitated a little too long, then, Dean prodded him gently with simply, “Cas.”

“Right. Sorry. I’ve just never… done this before.”

“Sure, you have.”

“Not from this side of things.” Cas protested softly, but he was already reaching to touch against Dean’s entrance with one finger, just lightly. He looked up quickly for a reaction, but Dean just twitched slightly and didn’t tell him to stop, so he carried on, carefully, slowly pushing his index finger into Dean’s body.

Dean hissed and shifted his hips, obviously uncomfortable but unwilling to admit as much. But Cas knew from personal experience—albeit personal experience in the relatively distant past—that the first time was awkward and weird—at least until the prostate came into play. So, he tried to work through the stretching with the first finger as quickly as possible before gently, carefully introducing the second—and when Dean gave a pained grunt at that, Cas murmured an apology but didn’t stop.

Halfway through stretching Dean with two fingers, when he was pushed as deep as possible for the first time, Cas accidentally bumped into his sweet spot and Dean came alive like a livewire, jolting and crying out loudly. Cas just smiled widely and rubbed his fingers firmly over that spot for a long, drawn-out couple of moments, until Dean was practically begging him to stop.

So, he did, pulling back long enough to add the third finger and going back to fucking Dean on them, though not specifically targeting his prostate now, instead just bumping against it here-and-there while he continued to stretch the other man out.

Soon Dean was reduced to a jerking, twitching mess, gasping out curses every time Cas’s fingers collided with his sweet spot and pulling at the blankets desperately, his cock swollen and throbbing, red and leaking precome against his stomach in sticky blurts. He was absolutely wrecked—and Cas had never seen anything so beautiful before in his life.

Still fucking Dean on his fingers, Cas ducked down to lick up the underside of his cock, then across the head and into the steadily growing puddle of precome… and Dean gave an almost protesting shout at that, shaking his head against the pillow, hips jolting and bucking at the touch: “stop…! Stop, Cas, you’ve gotta… or I’m gonna… fuck…! Oh, fuck, fuck, please…!”

Cas paused, glancing up at Dean, licking his lips absently, and after a moment, finally pulled his fingers out of the older man, then crawled up and settled over him, his own hips pressed against Dean’s firmly. Looking down at him, he swallowed and offered the same deal Dean had offered him the very first time they had had sex: “last chance to back out.”

But Dean quickly shook his head, and Cas flashed a brief smile, ducking to kiss him even as he adjusted them both and took a breath—then carefully, gently, maybe a little awkwardly, pushed his own cock into Dean’s now-pliant body, sinking deep in one slow thrust.

And oh, shit, that was…

They were both still for a long moment, almost holding their breaths, and then there was a collective exhale and Cas leaned to kiss Dean again, partly to distract himself because the feeling of being inside the other man was almost too much. It was hot and tight and slick in all the best ways possible—and he could only imagine how it felt for Dean right then. It was pleasure in a totally different kind of way than he was used to, and if he didn’t distract himself somehow, he was going to ruin this and come way too soon.

But also, he was vaguely worried about Dean, who so far was silent. Did it feel good for him, too? Was he in pain and trying to hide it? Dean could be so stoic sometimes, had been raised to be that way, so God only knew. Eventually Cas broke off from kissing his boyfriend to duck his head and bury his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and groaned out softly, “Dean…?”

“Fucking…” Dean’s reply, when it came, was harsh, his voice strained, with a high little pitch to the edge of his words; “move, Cas. Fucking move, before I explode…!” And it was at that point that Dean released the blankets and brought his arms up around Cas, fingers digging into his back lightly, and rocked his hips just the slightest bit, biting back a gasp at the movement. “Cas!”

Cas began to move. He adjusted himself so he could brace on his knees a little and carefully pulled out of Dean, muffling another groan into his neck, then pushed back in again with another muffled sound—almost a curse. It took a little bit, for him to get the rhythm down, the pace, but eventually he was fucking into Dean deep and hot and slow and perfect—and Dean was arching and writhing under him, head back and moaning loudly, fingers digging hard into his back.

And Cas was pretty sure he had managed to find the right angle—that perfect angle—that made the head of his cock slam into Dean’s sweet spot on every thrust into him, because every time he pushed deep Dean’s cries raised a pitch and his nose scrunched up just a little.

He let his own abdomen rub heatedly against Dean’s weeping cock for the longest time before Cas eased back slightly and slid a hand in between them to grasp at it, beginning to jerk the older man off along with his rhythm. And it was a bit difficult, maybe, coordinating the two things, but he managed it—and Dean arched back with a sharp cry the instant Cas’s hand wrapped around his dick.

It all went downhill very quickly after that. Just a few more breaths of thrusting against Dean’s prostate and jerking him off at the same time and Dean was coming, head back and moaning desperately. Cas stroked him off through it until he was done, then let go and focused on taking a couple more, sharper thrusts—then just pulled out entirely and lifted up on his knees, quickly jerking himself off until he came with a groan, pearly cum spurting all across Dean’s heaving abdomen and chest.

Then he sat back on his heels, panting for a moment, before crawling up to lick up the mess from Dean’s skin, long, hot swipes of his tongue, cleaning up both his own come and Dean’s.

“You didn’t have to… oh, fuck…” Dean had one hand up against his forehead and ran his fingers through his own hair, eyes on the ceiling for the moment, pupils still absolutely blown, as he panted for air; “you could’ve come inside me.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed as he finished tidying up the last of the come from Dean’s skin. He swallowed thickly and licked his lips, then crawled up to tuck into Dean’s side comfortably, “but I didn’t know if you wanted me to… so I figured better safe than sorry. Right?”

After a brief pause, Dean dropped his arm and wrapped it around Cas, holding him close. He licked his own lips and managed, “my legs feel tingly.”

Cas laughed and leaned in to kiss by his jaw gently. “You liked it, then?”

“Did I—” Dean began, then broke off and made an incredulous noise. “Of course I—it felt—fuck, Cas you weren’t kidding about the prostate thing!” A huffed breath and he tilted his head to kiss against Cas’s temple, just warm and affectionate and grateful. “I can’t… imagine… having a better first time at that with anyone else. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Cas murmured softly, then, “I was so worried I was going to screw it up, though. That’s not the kind of thing you want to have a shitty first time with. And I was really afraid I’d mess up and it would be terrible, or I’d hurt you in some way, God forbid, so…”

Dean smiled a little. “So, you didn’t have as good a time as I did, is what I’m hearing.”

“What? No! That’s not—” Cas quickly shook his head, and when Dean began to chuckle, he swatted at him gently. “Shut up. It felt amazing. You felt amazing. But it was very different from what I’m used to. A radically different kind of pleasure, you know? Or, I mean, I guess you really do know.”

“Mmhm,” Came Dean’s reply, sounding a little sleepy now. He settled further into the pillows and his arm around Cas tightened the slightest bit. “It’s very different, being on the other side of things…”

“Think you’ll want to do it again some time?”

“Maybe… maybe if I’m having another day like today, and I just need to get out of my own thoughts. Not that I didn’t love it, I just think… we might fit together better the other way.” Dean shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling Cas into his chest. Cas smiled fondly, understanding the tired look on his face. Between the emotional release and the physical one, it was a lot. “You mind if I just have a nap, real quick?”

Cas shook his head and ducked in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“G’night, Cas. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

-- --

Cas had been determined to stay awake and watch over Dean while he slept, but in the end their little experiment caught up to him and he fell asleep as well, warm and comfortable wrapped up in his boyfriend’s arms. When he woke some time later the blankets were pulled up over him, but Dean was gone—where to, he had no idea. Dean had never been great at the concept of leaving notes.

So, Cas climbed out of bed, cleaned himself up, got dressed, and poked around the motel room until he located some bottles of water in the mini fridge. He made a little victory noise and was just cracking one open when Dean came back in through the door, Starbucks tray in his hand and the faintest hitch in his step. Cas smiled fondly at that last bit.

“Coffee?” Dean offered, crossing over and plucking one of the cups from the tray to hold it out for Cas to take. The younger man happily abandoned the water in lieu of caffeine. Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas was busy opening his coffee and taking the first, blessed sip, but once he was done with that, he let his eyes flit over Dean’s form and asked, “how are you… feeling? Still okay?”

Dean hesitated before giving him a fond look—and then glancing down, almost embarrassed. He was picking at the lid of his own cup of coffee but had yet to open it. “I feel good, Cas, really. I feel…” He trailed off, searching for the right word before looking up again and smiling gently. “Lighter. I guess. It really helped. So, thank you, for… you know.”

“For taking your virginity?” Cas asked around the lip of his cup, tone amused.

A little cough. Dean flushed, just the faintest tint of red, and turned his attention to finally opening his coffee. “Yeah. That.”

If Dean was going to be bashful about the subject, that was fine, Cas decided. Other than the faint embarrassment, he seemed to be alright. He seemed to be feeling better. Said he was, anyway, so maybe he really did just need to get out of his own head for a little bit, and if Cas had managed to provide that for him then… it was good. It was all good.

Cas headed over to the little two-seater couch next to the bed, sat down, took another drink of his coffee and asked, “so, other than the obvious, what did you want to do while we’re in town?”

Dean considered for a moment before wandering over to join him, sitting pressed close against his side, “I know this is my hometown, but I don’t really know much about it. I mean for what things there are to do, that kind of thing. Dad brought us back here a couple of times when we were younger, but he was on business, and we just stayed in the motel the whole time…” And he was talking about all this with ease now, so he must have been feeling better. Cas smiled into his coffee as Dean continued; “so I don’t really know what I’d like to do, except maybe…”

When Dean trailed off, Cas tilted his head curiously. “Except maybe?”

“Maybe… go by the old house? Just to have a look at it. I haven’t been back since the night of the fire.” Dean finished before shrugging and adding, “other than that… I’d be perfectly happy to just stay locked up in here with you until you have to leave. Monday morning?”

“Mm.” Cas hummed an agreement around a mouthful of coffee, then gave him a smile, “my bus leaves at eight.”

“In the morning or night?” Dean asked.

“That’s wishful thinking.” The younger man accused fondly, “of course in the morning.”

Dean sighed and turned his attention to his coffee, taking a couple of drinks before returning to picking at the lid and managing, just softly, “I’m… sorry. For calling you here, like this, last minute. And then being so… blegh, when you got here. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“Dean. Dean, look at me.” Cas waited for Dean to look up again, then shook his head and told the older man firmly, “I will drop everything, any time, if you need me. All you have to do is ask. I would do anything for you, you know that. And if it means getting to spend some time with you in the process, all the better, even if you are being… blegh.” When Dean just blinked at him, Cas hesitated, expression softening, before asking gently, “do you want to really talk about it, now? What happened in Yakima? If you don’t, that’s fine, I’m just offering to listen, that’s all…”

There was clear hesitation from Dean for a long moment before he broke eye contact again and went back to picking at the lid of his coffee cup. “Dad’s been… tracking this demon for a long time. Ever since Mom died.” He began, voice soft, “but you know that, I already told you all about it…”

And he had—years ago, at this point, the entire sordid story about the demon and the fire in Sam’s nursery and his mother dying—about his dad’s single-minded quest to track the thing down and kill it. About how his dad had gone out and taught himself to be a Hunter, driven by revenge alone, at first, and then a kind of twisted sense of justice. The same sense of justice he had tried to instill in his sons—and had basically managed to in Dean.

John Winchester wasn’t a bad man, Cas was sure of that, but he was a broken man, and that could sometimes be worse, more dangerous. He was a hell of a Hunter because of it, though.

“Anyway,” Dean continued after a pause, “we got intel that it was going to be in Washington, doing another nursery thing. So, we high-tailed it up to Yakima to set a trap for it. Dad made Sammy stay back in the motel this time, which, I mean, you know Sammy, he was pissed, and Dad and I went in alone. But the instant the demon showed up, it spotted me and I—”

“You?” Cas encouraged softly.

“I fucking—I froze.” One hand came up to run through his hair and Dean shook his head, expression distant as he thought about that moment. Cas reached to rest a hand against his leg, squeezing gently. “I froze, and by the time I got myself moving again the thing had torn through the entire house. Both the parents were dead. Dad and I were both beaten to shit. The place was on fire, and all I could do was grab the baby and make a break for it.”

“Dean…”

“No, I—I royally fucked up, Cas. I got people killed. I’m lucky Dad didn’t—or that baby? How would I have lived with myself if—” Breaking off again, Dean palmed over his face and sucked in a deep breath. “There were already sirens heading our way, so we left the baby on the front lawn and booked it out of there. As soon as we hit the car, Dad started tearing a strip off me, and—well—it just went downhill from there. And here we are.”

“He literally kicked you out?”

“When we got back to the motel, he made me pack my shit and leave. I don’t—I guess I wait until he calls me. He’ll calm down eventually, he always does, but this time… it was the demon, Cas, and I fucked everything up and…”

“Dean, you can’t put all that on yourself.” Cas told him quietly, still squeezing his leg gently, “you’re human. You know how people say there are two danger responses, fight or flight? Well, there are actually three: fight, flight or freeze. This demon you’ve been Hunting for your whole life is like… the Big Bad, the top of the food chain, right? And have you ever actually come face-to-face with it before?”

Dean shifted slightly. “No. We always get close but miss it by a hair.”

“Okay, so you came up against the Alpha Predator for the first time and your body, your brain, instinctively chose the freeze response.” Cas reasoned, “which, admittedly, isn’t ideal, but think about your whole Hunting career so far, has it ever happened before?”

A short nod. “A few times, when I was younger.”

Cas smiled softly and when Dean turned to look at him properly, he leaned to bump his forehead into the older man’s. “Listen, most people would go up against a—a wendigo or a black dog or—or a ghost and absolutely lose their shit. It’s normal to be scared sometimes, especially in your line of work. You just—you learn from it, and you do better next time, right? It’s terrible that those people died, but you can’t blame yourself for being human, Dean. Even if your Dad apparently does.”

Dean closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads tighter together for a moment before easing back again, returning his gaze to his coffee. “This is why I called you.” He told Cas, “because when I get wound up, you bring me down. And when I get broken down, you build me back up.”

“I try to, anyway.” Cas agreed. “Do you feel better now, even a little bit?”

A huffed sigh and Dean nodded, “yeah. I’ll be okay. Just gotta wait for Dad to call me back in, I guess. For now, I’ll stay here. You sure you can’t just… stay indefinitely?”

Cas laughed at that and returned to his coffee, taking another drink. “I have to take off classes and work for our little vacations together. I don’t think it’d fly if I called the university or the Gas-n-Sip and told them I wasn’t coming back ‘indefinitely’. But especially work, my manager is not an easygoing person. I’m surprised she lets me take these days off in the first place. She really rides me.”

Dean offered a little, but genuine, smile at that and joked, “maybe she has a thing for you.”

Cas paused halfway to another drink of coffee, stared off into the middle-distance for a long moment, then gave a little shudder and shook his head emphatically. “I choose not to think about that possibility.”

“Dude, you’re young, you’re virile, you’re super attractive. That ticks off all the boxes!” Dean gave an actual laugh, “I’m just saying, if you want to sleep your way up the ladder, do it now while you’re in your prime and hot!”

“Dean.” Dean continued snickering to himself while Cas leveled him with a flat look. “Dean, are you telling me to go out and have sex with other people because I was under the impression we were pretty exclusive.”

Dean just grabbed at the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. “We are absolutely exclusive,” He murmured against Cas’s lips, and Cas smiled despite himself, “no one else for me but you.”

“Same.” Cas agreed and kissed him again with a grin.

-- --

They spent the rest of the day in the motel room, just spending time together, doing a lot of cuddling, watching TV, talking about anything and everything, and of course having sex—with Dean on top, the way they usually did it, though when they were done and had caught their breath, they had a surprisingly in-depth conversation about the differences between topping and bottoming. It was only mildly embarrassing at times.

And Dean really did seem to be feeling better about things. He was acting more like himself, though there was still a hint of that shadow behind the green of his eyes—but it was fading more and more the longer Cas was with him. He was laughing and joking again and wasn’t positively despondent anymore. It was good.

That night they ordered burgers for delivery, though Cas gave a token complaint because always with the burgers and Dean promised they could get something else the following night. Dean’s love affair with burgers was nearly as strong as his love affair with pie, and Cas was starting to see why Sam had been so sick of them after years on the road with Dean and his dad. Sometimes Cas thought Dean would happily live on burgers and pie alone.

Well, maybe burgers and pie and Cas.

When they went to bed that night, though, they both climbed in and got under the covers—and Dean arranged them so that he was the one cuddled into Cas’s side, rather than the other way around. Cas just hummed out a soft, affectionate sound and wrapped his arms around the older man, even as Dean reached over his shoulder to turn off the lamp. If Dean needed that little bit of extra comfort, still, Cas wasn’t going to deny it to him.

The night passed uneventfully, and the next morning Cas woke up with Dean spooned against his back, one arm slung over his waist. They had shifted back to normal overnight. Cas sighed softly and pressed himself back against Dean, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest, his warm breath against the back of his neck. Cas stayed like that, just enjoying the moment, the closeness, for a while, until he finally had to carefully extract himself and head through to the bathroom.

By the time he was finished in there and came back out, Dean was sitting up on the side of the bed, yawning hugely and rubbing at his hair. Cas wandered over to leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of his head, lips quirking into a smile when Dean hummed a pleased noise in response. “Good morning.”

“…is it morning? What time…?” Dean muttered around another yawn.

Cas glanced at the clock. “Almost noon but technically still morning.” He informed his boyfriend, even as he lowered himself to sit beside Dean on the edge of the bed. “Do you still want to go to the house today?”

“Ask me again after coffee.” Dean told him, ducking in to kiss by Cas’s jaw. “Shower, clothes, coffee, food. Then we talk about plants for the day.”

A chuckle and Cas just stood again, then reached to take hold of Dean’s hand and tugged him up off the bed, turning to head for the bathroom once more. Certainly, the two of them always took longer when they showered together, but hey, maybe this time they would be able to keep their hands to themselves. Cas seriously doubted it, but stranger things had happened, right?

“This is gonna be one of those forty-five-minute showers, isn’t it?” Dean asked with a little smirk.

“Not necessarily.” Cas replied with a shrug.

Nearly forty minutes later they had run out of hot water but were both extremely satisfied with how the morning was going so far. They climbed out of the chilly shower pleased, relaxed, and sporting goosebumps from the last minute or two of cleaning up. They both dried off quickly, then hurried through to the main room where they pulled on their clothes and finally started to warm up again. Cas made a mental note not to draw out the blowjob quite so long next time, considering the constraints of the water heater. Dean was privately making a similar promise, while simultaneously making a completely contradictory vow to take the lube with them next time so they could have real shower sex.

Being clean, dry and dressed, next came the acquisition of food and coffee. For that they went to a diner down the street (apparently it had been recommended to Dean when he checked in) where they took over a booth along the back wall and were very swiftly served up with two mugs of pretty decent coffee. Dean started drinking right away, but Cas of course doctored his with cream and sugar before taking his first sip.

It turned out to be an all-day-breakfast kind of joint, and Dean ordered the whole shebang: pancakes, eggs, hashbrowns, sausage, bacon and toast. Also, another cup of coffee. Cas was amazed, once again, that he could put away so much food all at once. As for himself, he ordered an omelette with a side of toast—a reasonable breakfast. Dean practically booed him. Cas just laughed.

The coffee was decent but the food, when it arrived, was excellent. They both ate with enthusiasm—Dean more so than Cas, as usual—and Cas actually called the waitress back over to somewhat sheepishly order a side of bacon when he saw how good Dean’s looked. He would have just stolen a piece from his boyfriend, but he rather liked his fingers intact, as a point of fact.

When they were finished eating—and Dean finished every last bite of his positively enormous meal, thank you very much—Dean paid the tab and left a hefty tip, and the two of them made their exit back out the door.

They walked together, after that, just side by side down the streets and roads of Lawrence, sometimes in silence and sometimes talking quietly between themselves about anything—everything. It was always like that between them, warm and easy. Or, at least, almost always. They did have their occasional difficult moments, of course.

When they turned a corner and Dean suddenly grabbed for his hand, Cas knew they were on the same street that his childhood house stood on. He just threaded their fingers together and squeezed gently, reassuring, and even though his steps faltered slightly, Dean kept on walking.

Dean tugged him to a stop when they got to the right house and both of them turned to face it. Dean’s hand tightened in Cas’s, and he took a slightly shaky breath. “I haven’t been back here since… you know. That night. Whenever Dad brought us into Lawrence, he made us stay in the motel.”

Cas looked at the house in front of them and thought it seemed totally ordinary. It was nice, the way it was now. Rebuilt after the fire. “You told me once you carried Sam out of the house that night, do you remember anything else?”

“Just… Dad yelling, and the fire.” Dean told him solemnly, “the flames were so damned hot. I wasn’t even really close to them, and I could still feel them. Fire burns so bright, and so hot. That’s why I told you, way back when… I don’t have nightmares all the time like you do, but when I do have them, they’re usually of fire. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.”

Cas just took a little step over to be closer against Dean’s side and squeezed his hand again. “I’m sorry.”

Dean just hummed dismissively, eyes still on the house. His childhood memories were vague, he’d been very young when he’d lived there, but he could tell it was different, in subtle ways. The size of the front windows. The color of the front door. The fabric of the curtains inside the living room. The cutting back of the tree in the front yard. Just little things that kind of skewed his memory, blurred it even more in a way.

And then it started raining.

Cas and Dean both looked up at the sky almost blankly because they still had to walk all the way back to the motel, damnit.

But then another voice piped up from beside Dean with, “I just knew I was going to need this today!”

Both men’s heads swivelled. A pleasant looking African American woman was standing next to them, holding an umbrella over her head—and holding another umbrella out in their direction with a friendly smile.

“Uh.” Cas said articulately, even as Dean just reached out to take the offered umbrella—black with little silver stars—almost on autopilot, a suspicious look on his face the entire time. The woman watched him open it up and hold it over them (but mostly over Cas), looking pleased. Cas glanced up at the umbrella over him and then back at the woman. “Thanks.”

“Oooh, honey,” She drawled as she looked at Cas, her eyes narrowing into a squint, “you do shine brightly, don’t you?”

“I—” Cas began.

But Dean interrupted with, “I’m sorry, do we know you?”

“Don’t be rude, Dean Winchester.” She gave him a little verbal slap and then returned her attention to Cas, even as she continued to address Dean; “but no, you don’t know me. Not yet anyway. I know your father, though. He and I go way back. You can call me Missouri.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times and then he managed to ask, “you know my Dad?”

“I do indeed.” Missouri agreed, then turned to face the house with a little smile. “I keep an eye on this place for him, look in on it from time to time. Today I just knew I had to stop by, and now I see why.” She glanced at them again, then smacked a hand into Dean’s arm and added, “Dean, introduce me to your boyfriend, already.”

Dean jumped slightly and looked sideways at Cas, then back at Missouri. “Uh… this is Cas.”

Cas leaned around Dean to wave his free hand slightly. “Hello.”

“Cas… Castiel.” Missouri said his whole name without even having been told it, and squinted slightly again before blinking as if she were coming to a sudden realization. Her eyes flickered up to the space above Cas’s head just briefly, then she flashed another smile. “Oh, dear, I must remember not to look too deeply with you, musn’t I?” Then she addressed Dean again with, “you’ve got a good one, here, boy. Hold onto him as long as you can.”

“I plan to.” Dean informed her, still obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

Cas just looked up above his own head, but all he saw was empty air and the umbrella. Missouri gave him an almost fond look. “You absolute dear, you don’t even know, do you?”

“Know what?” Cas asked.

Dean looked at her with curiosity that bordered on suspicion.

But Missouri just shook her head and turned her attention back to the house. “Never you mind, boys. It’s nothing important. You go on your way, now. There’s nothing here but ghosts and memories. And you take care of each other, you hear me? Have faith. It’ll be important.”

Then she turned around and disappeared down the street, leaving them to stare after her, the rain still pouring all around them. She didn’t even take back her umbrella.

“She was a psychic, right?” Cas asked after a moment.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean responded with a shake of his head. He still didn’t particularly trust most “psychics” and doubted that he ever would. Missouri had felt… different, though. “I’m pretty sure she was a psychic.”

-- --

The meandering walk back to the motel was a lot soggier than the walk to the house had been originally, but they did have the umbrella Missouri had left them with, so they just squeezed together to fit under it, and it kept them relatively dry. Relatively being the key word. When they walked in the door of their motel room they still immediately set to getting changed into dry clothes.

“I guess we co-own an umbrella now,” Dean commented once they were changed. He turned on the clock radio for some music and came up behind Cas, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist. “What should we name it?”

Cas laughed and leaned back into him—but when Dean nuzzled into his neck, he flapped his hands and reached up to push him away, laughing, “off. You’re way too stubbly for that right now. You need to shave.”

Dean grinned and rubbed his jaw along Cas’s cheek anyway. “Are you gonna say no sex until I shave? Is that where this is going?”

“Basically,” Cas laughed again and squirmed around in Dean’s arms so he could plant his hands against the older man’s chest and push him back. Then he pointed toward the bathroom. “Go.”

Chortling to himself, Dean held his hands up in a placating manner and backed away a couple of steps, then moved closer again to duck in for a quick kiss before crossing the room and digging through his duffle bag for his shaving kit. Once he had it in hand, he headed for the bathroom, leaving Cas to entertain himself while he shaved.

“You know,” Dean called out from the bathroom a minute later as he worked on getting the shaving cream lathered up and applied, “when I was first learning how to shave, my Dad taught me three ways: regular razor, straight razor, and hunting knife.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Cas wandered over to stand in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe and watching Dean work with a little smile on his face. This wasn’t the first time he’d watched Dean shave, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“It’s funny,” Dean glanced at him in the mirror briefly before picking up his razor and getting to work, “in all the time we’ve been together I’ve only seen you shave a couple of times.”

“Mine doesn’t grow in as fast as yours.” Cas shrugged, “and I get right on it as soon as it gets past where it is now, it gets really scruffy and scraggly. Not very good looking.”

“C’mon, I’m sure you could work it.” The older man teased.

Cas just rolled his eyes and, when Dean was finished, stepped over to pick up the towel. “Look at me.” And when Dean turned to face him, Cas quickly wiped up the last bits of shaving cream with a smile, then reached to run a hand down one of Dean’s cheeks. “Much better.”

Dean tipped his head to kiss against Cas’s palm before turning back around and setting about actually washing the shaving cream residue off his face, then drying himself off with a clean towel and rinsing his razor clean. He tucked everything back into his shaving kit even as Cas tossed the dirty towel over the side of the sink and headed back out into the main room.

The clock radio was still playing, the same classic rock station Dean had picked out earlier, and Cas made his way over to grab a bottle of water out of the mini fridge before leaning back against the counter and opening it, taking a sip. When Dean emerged from the bathroom, fresh shaven but somehow still sporting a little bit of stubble, Cas gave him a fond look.

Coming across to where Cas was standing, Dean stopped in front of him and leaned his hands on the counter on either side of the younger man—then leaned in for a kiss. Cas smiled and kissed back with a pleased hum. “Mmm, you smell nice.”

“It’s just the shaving cream, nothing special.” Dean murmured against Cas’s lips and went in for another kiss—then paused when the song on the radio ended and a new one started. Cas barely noticed, but Dean shifted back a little and took the bottle of water from his grasp, setting it on the counter. He took one of Cas’s hands and tugged him toward the center of the room. “C’mere…”

Cas looked at him, tilting his head curiously. “Dean?”

“Listen. Do you know this song at all?” Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist and Cas automatically lifted his own to slide over Dean’s shoulders and around his neck. Dean smiled softly and leaned their foreheads together lightly, then began roughly singing along with the music: “don’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for. You know it’s true. Everything I do, I do it for you… for you…”

When Cas felt himself being rocked back and forth on his feet, just slightly, he suddenly realized what was going on. “Dean, are we dancing right now?” He asked quietly, incredulous. He actually had to take a second because this was probably the last thing he would ever have expected from his boyfriend.

“Just shut up and move your feet.” Dean instructed. “Have you danced with someone before?”

“I—yeah, once, in sixth grade. The teacher made the girl dance with me, and it was obvious. It was humiliating.” Cas muttered, looking down at his own feet, trying to get them to move in some sort of proper order. He was kind of just shuffling instead. He frowned at his own incompetence. “Dean, I—I don’t know how to—”

“Relax. Breathe.” Dean murmured with a smile, “you obviously weren’t thrilled with dancing with that girl, but this is me. You know I won’t care if you’re awkward. That girl in elementary school didn’t count, okay? And I’m not her. I want to dance with you.” He tightened his arms around Cas just slightly before adding, “all you have to do is kind of… step back and forth in time with the music. Just move with me.”

“Usually when you say that we’re about to have sex.” Cas complained, but licked his lips absently and carefully eased his steps into a relatively decent rhythm with Dean’s. The song continued to play, and from what he was hearing it was nice. Finally, Cas hesitated before leaning his head down on Dean’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d like a song like this.” He admitted.

“Mmm…” The older man hummed out a pleased sound when Cas’s head came down on his shoulder, and he continued the slow dance they were sharing, closing his eyes to listen to the music and feel Cas in his arms. “Power ballads are okay occasionally and Bryan Adams is allowed sometimes. Everything I Do is iconic, and the lyrics…” Trailing off a little, he sighed softly and finished; “they make me think of you. Of us.”

“Did you pick a song for us without even consulting me?” Cas joked softly.

Dean laughed, just a quiet rumble from his chest. “Maybe.”

Cas didn’t really mind. It was a nice song and from the few lyrics he had managed to pick up on, Dean was probably right. It fit them. Cas privately thought he would look up the song online later. “I’m not even mad.” He admitted, “I just never thought about us having a song, that’s all.”

Dean didn’t reply to that, just falling silent as they continued to dance in a slow circle in the middle of the room. Cas finally closed his own eyes and, while keeping one arm wrapped around Dean’s neck, brought the other hand down to rest against his chest, feeling out his boyfriend’s heartbeat as the music continued.

It was… pleasant, once he relaxed into it. Warm and affectionate, a new kind of intimacy. A little smile tugged at Cas’s lips, and he pressed a gentle kiss against the side of Dean’s neck, making Dean hum out another happy noise. This was nothing like the awkward dance he had been forced to share with that unhappy girl back in sixth grade. This was… love, encompassed by a single action. He almost wished it wouldn’t end.

Unfortunately, the song was only about six minutes long and was followed by a much harsher, jarring one. Dean gently slowed them to a stop but kept his arms around Cas—and tilted his head to kiss by the younger man’s temple. “Do you know how much I love you?” He asked, then answered his own question with, “because it’s more than life itself.”

Cas moved his hand from Dean’s chest and wrapped his arm back around his neck with a sigh. After a moment he lifted his head up and leaned in to kiss Dean gently. “You know I love you, too, Dean. More than anything.”

Another kiss, and then he shifted back to take hold of one of Dean’s hands and tug the other man over to climb into the bed, reaching to turn the radio off on the way past. Once they were both settled down on the mattress, Cas tucked neatly into Dean’s side and Dean’s arm around his waist, Cas returned his head to Dean’s shoulder and let one hand come up to play with Dean’s pendant almost absently.

They were both feeling relaxed, loved and closer than ever in the little bubble they had temporarily established for themselves.

“So how was your first dance?” Dean asked after a few minutes of companionable silence, “since that shitty one in grade school didn’t count.”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips, and he buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, pressing a kiss there, then replied, muffled by Dean’s shirt, “it was really nice. Thank you.” Then he turned his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder properly again and wondered, “where did you learn to dance?”

“TV, mostly.” Dean admitted with a grin. “I never really went to school dances; they weren’t my kind of thing.”

“You would have been popular at them, though. You are unreasonably attractive.”

“I think you’re biased.”

“I think you’re trying to be humble, but don’t. Because you are. Unreasonably attractive, I mean.”

“Hate to break it to you, Cas, but so are you.”

“I’m what now?” Cas laughed and swatted at Dean lightly. “Don’t even joke.”

Dean just smiled up at the ceiling. “I’m not. You’re freaking hot. You are not the one who got lucky in this relationship, I am.”

Cas was quiet for a minute, then lifted his head to look down at Dean properly. “You… actually mean that, don’t you?”

Even after years of being in a relationship with Dean, Cas had trouble thinking of them as equals. He still saw himself as awkward and weird, no matter what Dean tried to tell him. He secretly thought Dean was kind of slumming it with him, if he was honest, even though he’d been told time and again that he was beautiful, amazing, something precious to be treasured.

Now, Dean sighed and let one hand come up to thread his fingers into Cas’s hair gently, then tugged him down for a kiss, long and lingering. When they parted, he just asked softly, “why don’t you ever believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just…” Cas leaned into the hand in his hair and closed his eyes with a soft little sound. He had never had the best self esteem, and while being with Dean had certainly helped with that, helped build him up, it hadn’t cured it entirely. “I just don’t see myself like you see me, I guess. That’s all.”

“Cas,” Dean tugged at his hair lightly to get him to look at him, and when blue eyes opened again and flitted to meet Dean’s, the older man gave him a little smile. “I am not the reason people look at us when we go out together. It’s gorgeous, gorgeous you they’re looking at.”

“To be fair I think they’re probably looking at you, too.” Cas managed after a moment.

“So, they’re looking at both of us. But at least half of that is because of you.” His tone was sincere, and Dean continued stroking through Cas’s hair reassuringly. “You have… amazing bone structure. And downright gorgeous eyes. A beautiful smile. Your skin is perfect. And your hair is so, so soft and touchable. It looks soft and touchable, too.” There he paused before grinning and asking, “do I need to start talking about your body?”

Cas flushed red slightly and shook his head. “No, I, ah… get the idea.”

Dean tugged him down for a kiss. “So, just accept the fact that you are a freaking phenomenally beautiful person and lets’ move on.”

“Move on to what?”

“Well,” Dean grinned up at him, “you said no sex until I shaved. And I shaved.”

Cas blinked down at him—and then began to laugh softly. He leaned down to kiss Dean again. “Don’t look so excited, it would make saying no like kicking a puppy.”

“Don’t be that guy, Cas. Don’t kick the puppy.”

Another snort of laughter, but Cas shifted around, sitting up properly and swinging one leg over Dean to settle straddling the older man’s hips. He braced his hands against Dean’s abdomen, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt a little and leaned down for another kiss. After a moment he murmured against Dean’s lips; “I would never kick a freshly shaven puppy.”

Dean laughed, head falling back and entire body shaking with it, and this time it was Cas’s turn to grin. Actually grin—hugely. Then he eased his hands under the edge of Dean’s shirt and pushed it upward. “No, no, come on, no laughing right now, be serious, we’re going to do this. Take this off.”

Dean just kept chortling, but leaned up to pull his t-shirt off, discarding it to the side. Cas continued to smile widely and ran his hands up from Dean’s abdomen to his chest, feeling out his warm skin and muscle. He sighed deeply, eyes going half-lidded and licking his lips. “And you think I’m the beautiful one? You’re a freaking adonis. I thank whatever fates aligned to put us together every day. I am so grateful that I get to be with you…”

“Cas…” Dean reached up to grasp at the side of Cas’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss, hard and deep, and when he eased back it was only by an inch to murmur, “take your clothes off.”

He didn’t believe in fate—not the way Cas did. He didn’t think things were pre-written for them, for anyone, he believed they made their own way in life. What he did believe in was this—what he had with Cas, what had grown between them in what seemed like an instant, so long ago, and continued to this day. He put his faith in Cas, in their relationship—in their love—and he didn’t think he would ever look back from that.

He definitely didn’t want to, at the very least.

Now, Dean watched Cas straighten back up and pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it to the side—and then the two of them were kissing again, hot and wanting. And it was probably unfair of him, to keep Cas all to himself, to hoard him like gold, but he couldn’t help it, not when they came together so perfectly, fit like puzzle pieces, were so obviously made for each other.

After a moment, Cas broke off, giving Dean one more, brief kiss, to start trailing kisses downward, along his neck and over his chest, against the ridges of his abdomen to nip just under Dean’s navel, making him twitch, and shuffling himself down in the process. When he’d gotten as far as he could go, he sat back up and worked open the button and zip of Dean’s pants, then lifted up onto his knees to tug them down a little, just enough to free the older man’s flagging cock.

Then a soft hum and Cas eased to the side on the bed and ducked down to suck Dean’s cock into his mouth, loving the feel of him hardening up the rest of the way against his tongue. He sighed and closed his eyes, beginning to bob his head slowly, an easy, casual blowjob that Dean normally would have enjoyed immensely, however—

This time, after a few moments of his breath becoming heavier and heavier, Dean reached down with one hand to thread his fingers into Cas’s hair and gently tugged him up and off his cock. Cas came willingly, licking his lips as he looked up at him and made a quiet questioning noise.

“I want you, not just your mouth.” Dean explained with a sigh.

Cas smiled at that and crawled up to give him a proper kiss again, his tongue tasting of salty precome. “So, take your pants off, then.” And then he proceeded to ease away and take his own advice, climbing off the bed long enough to get out of his jeans and boxers—and also to grab the lube from the bedside table while he was at it.

Dean just focused on getting himself the rest of the way out of his own jeans, kicking them away, followed by his boxers, before reaching one hand out for Cas, who took it and climbed back onto the bed with him—then stumbled slightly and half-fell on top of him. Cas muttered a quiet apology, but Dean just laughed and pulled him into another kiss, even as Cas slid into his lap, straddling his hips again, and pushed the lube into his hand.

Swallowing slightly, Cas adjusted himself while Dean opened the tube of lubricant and squirted some out, slicking up his fingers before capping it again and dropping it off to the side. Then he reached around Cas’s side and down to start easing his fingers into the younger man, who just buried his face in Dean’s neck in an attempt to muffle himself a little bit.

The first finger hardly felt like anything anymore, and Cas took a couple of deep breaths while Dean worked it into him, in and out gently, before offering softly, “I’ve… tried this on myself before, you know. A couple times.”

Dean actually paused at that, and even though Cas wasn’t looking at him, he could see the kind of blankly surprised look on his face. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“Keep going.” Cas urged, shifting his hips, and Dean finally started moving his hand again, carefully introducing the second finger—and smiling a little when that made Cas gasp. “I—ah—sometimes I miss this so much, especially when we’re… a-ah… apart for a long time, and I just… a couple of times I’ve gotten desperate and—”

Dean shoved his fingers deep at that point, right up against his sweet spot, and Cas broke off to muffle a cry against the other man’s skin. Dean rubbed the pads of his fingers over Cas’s prostate for a long moment before easing off and going back to stretching him out. “Christ, Cas… I would pay to see you do that.”

Cas just shook his head, hips pushing down against Dean’s hand as he gently pushed the third finger in, a stinging burn as he stretched out farther. “S’not the same.” He panted, hands grabbing at Dean’s shoulder, kneading there restlessly, “can’t reach as deep, doesn’t feel as—a-ah!—good…! A poor, mmh, poor substitute at best…”

“Still sounds hot.” Dean told him, and Cas could hear him grin, even as he was easing his fingers out and sliding his slick hand down Cas’s thigh. “Your turn now, Cas…”

Nodding against his neck, Cas pushed himself up, licking his lips absently, and shuffled around until he was in the right position, then reached down to grip Dean’s cock and hold it steady as he slowly sank down over it, plunging deep and taking the other man into himself in one smooth motion. His back arched and his head fell back slightly, a sharp cry in his throat. Cas bit his lip to muffle it, then gasped out, “oh, God, Dean… yes…!”

“Not that I ever thought you were,” Dean told him around a barely-swallowed moan, his own head back and his breath coming faster, his hands moving restlessly as he tried to resist the urge to thrust up into Cas’s perfect, silky heat, to give him a minute to adjust, “but you are not the gawky, awkward high school kid you thought you were anymore, Cas…!”

Cas could only whine softly at the compliment, licking his lips as he began shifting his hips just slightly, so completely stuffed full he couldn’t even put it into words—had never been able to. Somehow there was comfort in the fact that Dean knew how it felt now, too, though.

“You’re amazing,” Dean continued on, hands sliding up Cas’s thighs and in toward his abdomen to feel the younger man’s stilted breath, then farther up to his chest; “you’re funny, you’re smart, you’re loving, you’re loyal, you’re incredible…” he trailed one hand, drifting up to tangle his fingers in Cas’s hair, tugging to get him to look at him, “you’re fucking hot.” He finished with a grin, then; “and the best part is you’re mine.”

“I… I like being yours…” Cas managed to gasp out, a touch embarrassed, followed by; “Dean, c-can we please… have this conversation… when you’re not… inside me…?”

But Dean just shook his head, “you don’t listen when I’m not—ah—inside you.” And then; “Cas, move…!”

A brief nod and Cas licked his lips before beginning to rock himself over his boyfriend, just slow, careful little rolls of his hips that moved Dean only the slightest bit in his body but gave them both some of the friction they were craving. Cas’s hands were down, kneading against Dean’s abdomen—and Dean had one hand tangled in Cas’s hair, the other grasping at his chest, thumb rubbing over a pert nipple before sliding back down to hold at his hip tightly.

Dean was hard as a rock inside him, and Cas was almost painfully hard himself, but he still drew things out, continuing his little, almost gentle rocks of his hips for a while until Dean grew frustrated and bucked up against him—at which point Cas gave a breathless laugh and accused, “impatient…!”

“Just because I want you…” Dean grumbled, but settled himself again, just pulling at Cas’s hair and tugging him down for a kiss.

The new position, leaning over Dean like that, made the older man’s cock grind right up against his prostate, and Cas gasped out an almost startled moan against Dean’s mouth. “Oh, God!” Then he shook his head, pressed one more kiss to Dean’s lips, and straightened again with a groan, going right back to what he had been doing.

When Dean swore under his breath and dragged the hand in Cas’s hair down to his hip, Cas swallowed thickly and managed, “just… just let me make love to you, Dean. Let me have this… slow and deep and not just—ah—screwing... let me feel you…”

And suddenly Dean understood. He watched Cas continued to move over him, now just the slightest bit harder, blue eyes closed—and abruptly grabbed at the younger man, pulling him down and kissing him hard, then tumbling them over so he was the one on top. Cas went down with a startled yelp but didn’t complain when Dean settled between his legs and his cock slid into him again, deep and firm and full.

Cas took a minute to catch his breath, then wrapped his arms around Dean and gave him a vaguely surprised look. “Wh…?”

His boyfriend smiled and ducked down for a kiss, bracing himself on one forearm and sliding his other hand down to nudge at one of Cas’s legs. “You wanted to make love, so we’re going to make love.” He told him softly. “Unless you were really set on being on top.”

Cas shook his head and when Dean leaned their foreheads together, he sighed deeply and smiled fondly, then just lifted his legs up to wrap them around Dean’s hips, ankles crossed just below the small of his back, and murmured, “make love me to me, Dean.”

This time it was Dean who started moving his hips, just shallowly and gently at first, carefully working his way up to deeper, more forceful thrusts—but nothing ever got hard. Nothing ever got rough. Cas arched and panted and moaned into it, head back and eyes closed until Dean drew him into another kiss, pressed their heads together so they could look into each other’s eyes as he continued to move.

Staring into Dean’s eyes when they made love just… laid Cas’s soul completely bare, opened up everything he was, he thought, left him nowhere to hide. The first time it had happened it had been a revelation. Now it was just reaffirmation of their love. Of the trust that existed between them. He saw many things in Dean’s eyes, too; beautiful things that he would never forget. Entire universes.

When Dean finally had to break eye contact and duck to bury his face in Cas’s neck, Cas slid one hand up to thread his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair gently and began rolling his own hips to meet Dean’s thrusts, slow, deep and hot.

And this was exactly what he’d wanted. Why hadn’t he just started out like this to begin with? Then again, they had made love with Cas on top before, so there was no reason to think that it wouldn’t work out. This was better, this time, though… so much better.

Dean shifted slightly, bracing his knees to push his cock deeper into Cas’s body and Cas was left to arch into it with a gasp, his own head falling back against the pillows, hair mussing there, eyes closed again as he panted for air, the hand in Dean’s hair twisting and tugging at the soft strands along with their movements. His other hand, meanwhile, was holding against Dean’s back, by his shoulder, fingers digging in sharply. He had been known to leave marks in the past—and Dean was usually pleased when he did.

Now Cas tightened his legs around Dean, spurring Dean on to increase his pace, moving faster and a little harder but with just as much feeling behind it, fucking into Cas until both of them could do nothing but pant and moan loudly, Dean beginning to trail messy kisses along Cas’s neck and shoulder and Cas eventually dragging his nails down Dean’s back, leaving sharp pink tracks in their wake, to let his hand come to rest at the small of the older man’s back.

Hissing softly at the scratches, Dean gave a breathless chuckle and accused, “tease.”

“Not… teasing…” Cas panted out, loving the feeling of Dean moving inside him—of his muscles shifting and bunching under his palm. “Just feels… oh, God… so damn good…!”

Dean grunted out an agreement and just ducked his head against Cas’s shoulder again, burying his face as he began to move faster, harder, working them up to the edge, finally. Cas threw his head back, panting out a cry as Dean worked him over—and it always ended up this way. The last few minutes were almost always fierce despite their initial intentions—but definitely not in a bad way.

Now Dean just fucked into Cas hard and deep, aiming to purposefully jam against his sweet spot as much as possible, and Cas wailed, clinging to Dean for all he was worth, frantically trying to work his own hips to keep up with the other man. He didn’t last for much longer, his orgasm crashing over him only a few moments later, leaving Cas to gasp out another sharp cry and arch against Dean, coming hard between them.

Dean was next, taking a few more, hard thrusts that made Cas whimper before coming deep inside Cas—and there was something deeply satisfying about that every single time. Dean was still for a long minute before collapsing on top of Cas, panting against his shoulder with a grin. “…awesome.”

“So… so you keep saying.” Cas gave a breathless laugh, head back and eyes closed, and smoothed his hand up Dean’s back, fingers trailing along the new scratches lightly, making Dean hiss in a breath again. “Sorry about the, ah… scratches.”

“Mmm… don’t be… you know I like it when you do that.” Dean hummed and nuzzled into Cas’s neck warmly. “I love you, Cas.”

Cas’s lips quirked into a little fond smile, and he opened his eyes, lifting his head from the pillows to glance down at Dean. “I love you, too.”

After a couple minutes of catching their breath, Cas kicked Dean off of him and they cuddled up together, sweaty and sticky and otherwise dirty, definitely in need of a shower. But later. For now, they were just enjoying the afterglow. It was always nice when they got to do that.

That night, after they got cleaned up, they went back to the diner for dinner. Dean ordered a burger and Cas got pasta, and it was just as good as breakfast had been. Cas watched Dean eat quietly, privately pleased that the other man seemed good again, after the day before, and visiting his childhood house earlier. He had been worried about that; about the effect it would have on Dean. But Dean seemed perfectly happy with his burger and fries and just spending time with Cas like regular people, the beginning of their weekend now just a memory.

When they finished eating, they went back to the motel again—and spent the rest of the weekend, until Cas had to leave on Monday, locked up in the room together, just reassuring each other that everything was alright. Would always be alright. With them, anyway.

On Monday morning Cas woke up early. He always woke up early on the days he was leaving from their weekend meetups, like his body was trying to remind him that he only had so much time left. He rolled over in bed and tucked himself into Dean’s side, and Dean curled around him, wrapping him up in his arms, protective, somehow, even in his sleep. It made Cas smile to himself in the darkness of the room.

When Dean woke up some time later, when the sun was finally starting to properly rise, Cas was caught watching him sleep and could only give a sheepish smile. “Hey… good morning.”

Dean stretched and settled on his back with an arm around Cas and an amused smile on his face, “am I really that interesting?”

“You are.” Cas slid one arm over Dean’s chest and leaned his head down on his shoulder. “To me, anyway.” He hesitated before saying just softly, “I have to leave today, Dean.”

Dean’s smile faded at that. “I know. I hate these days.”

“Me too.” Cas agreed, tightening his arm over Dean. “This sucks.”

“It always sucks, Cas.”

“I know, but…” Cas adjusted his hold on Dean, bringing one hand up to trace his fingers against his chest absently. “I just think it would be nice, sometimes. If we could be together all the time.” Then he added quickly, “I know we can’t! You can’t quit Hunting and I can’t exactly go on the road with you, your Dad would commit murder… but I mean…”

“I hear you.” Dean chuckled, “there’s times when a normal, run-of-the-mill life with you sounds really good. But with the way things are… it’s just not possible. So, we’ve gotta just make the best of it, right? These weekends aren’t so bad. They’re like our own private little world, but all over the place. Like we own the whole country.”

“Sort of.” Cas admitted with a little smile. That was a nice way of looking at it. He lifted his head and leaned up to give Dean a soft kiss. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up.”

“A sad Castiel is no good.” Dean said against his lips with a smile of his own, “so hey, what do you want to do this morning, before we have to go to the bus station?”

They ended up taking a shower together and making love under the running water, and even managed to avoid running out of hot water in the process. Then they went back to the diner down the street for breakfast, where Dean once again stuffed himself silly and Cas watched him with an amused smile the entire time.

By the time they finished eating and got back to the motel, Cas had to pack up his things so they could head for the bus station, and he did so with marked reluctance. Once everything was packed and ready to go, Dean pulled Cas into his arms and held him close for a long, few minutes until they simply couldn’t put it off any longer, at which point they left the motel again and headed downtown.

Goodbyes at the bus station were long and lingering and sad on both sides, but particularly for Cas. These partings were always hard on him—or, at least, he showed it more easily than Dean did, anyway. They stood together at the bus terminal, waiting for his boarding call, facing each other, foreheads pressed together and holding hands, Cas’s backpack at their feet, and completely ignoring anyone and everyone around them—until it was time for Cas to leave.

Cas’s automatic response was to grip tighter to Dean’s hands, but Dean gently eased away, murmuring a soft apology—and that he loved him. Cas just wanted to cry. He always wanted to cry in these moments. But eventually, after another boarding call, Cas had to release his grip on Dean and pick up his backpack to board the bus.

The last thing Dean did before Cas climbed onto the bus was lean in for one last kiss and whisper softly into his ear, “everything I do, I do it for you.”

Cas carried that with him all the way home.

Look into your heart you will find There's nothin' there to hide Take me as I am, take my life I would give it all, I would sacrifice Don't tell me it's not worth fightin' for I can't help it, there's nothin' I want more You know it's true Everything I do, I do it for you, yeah -“(Everything I Do) I Do It For You” by Bryan Adams

THE END

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #spn fic #shut up sena #sena writes #everything i do by senashenta

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