Ree

Anonymous asked: “I never thought I would be so glad to defy Heaven,” murmurs Cas quietly, stubble tickling at his neck. Dean has no words for a coherent reply and instead kisses him, long and slow, hoping that his mouth can convey what he can’t find clumsy words for. He curls a hand into the hollow at the back of Cas’ neck and pulls him down to his mouth, sighing into the kiss, wondering for the thousandth time already why it took them so long to put the pieces together.

SUPERNATURAL FIC IN MY ASK

I’VE DIED AND GONE TO SWEET SWEET HEAVEN

THAT CAS IS SO WONDERFULLY, EXPERTLY DEFYING RIGHT NOW

FNEJKSLDAHYFUESAHFRIOLSHDGLVBHSDFKJLXGNESJKL

destiel

these two, man. ;A; They need to just stop dancing around it already and yeah. YEAH.

Thank you anon <3

You have made today even more awesome, which is such an achievement considering how epic it had already been!

completelysane asked: P.S. in response to your Topher fic, I secretly ship Topher/Ivy (even if only one-sided from her) and you could write that if you want?

Juice boxes.

The great Topher Brink was out of fucking juice boxes and it was somehow her job, her, the one with the years of study and prestigious experience, how the hell did he think she got this job anyway, by proving how fast she ran out to the grocery store at a moment’s notice?

But he had called her “babe” and what did that matter anyway, she never liked that word, “babe”, she wasn’t a baby in any way and who was he to say that to imply that, the being a baby or even implying their relationship was one where he had the right to make the mistake of calling her that and -

Ivy sighed as she looked at the text message she just received - “Ivy, I lied, get grape instead. I’m not feeling the apples atm.”

—-

She never knew he was afraid of rats, but she was too busy being nervous at seeing him freak out to laugh at how quickly he climbed on top of the furniture, how frantically he pointed at the creatures as they scurried. She laughed later, after he had stormed out of the room like a scared child, after they had all been contained, she looked at the footprints on his glass desk and laughed.

He was behaving oddly, oddly for Topher, which is astronomically oddly for anyone else. It worried her, it freaked her out, and even though she was laughing there was that edge to her voice at secret he kept. The one that made him itchy and jumpy and

and how fast he jumped on that desk once they spilled out of the cupboard and he wouldn’t tell her who put them there even though he called the person and she overheard he was too busy being scared to care and she overheard and there was that edge of anger and then the odd twinge of guilt. (It had to be guilt, what else could it be? It had to be guilt because she’d never heard it from Topher before.)

Later, when Dr. Saunders left, she pieced it all together and really wished she hadn’t.

—-

Something was different after DC. He wouldn’t talk about it, and neither would Victor-Topher, but she could tell something had happened.

Victor-Topher was an odd thing to behold for her, all mannerisms and quirks and manners of speech but coming out of a different face it was so surreal, he even called her “babe” and she wasn’t sure why but she snapped and said she was going for a walk and she got to the elevator and rode it up and down for ten minutes, getting off again and apologizing and blaming it on the fact that she was bitter Victor was even called in when she could have taken over just as easily, if not better, blaming it on a thing she knew was a lie because he had called her “babe” but Topher didn’t know that and she wasn’t about to tell him.

He let it slip, the name, “Bennett”. She went on the database that night, secretly, quietly, looking up Rossum employee photos until he got to Halverson, Bennett.

“She’s pretty,” she said the next morning, awkwardly, accidentally, and she was treated to a stream of praises he couldn’t say fast enough and the odd, so-very-Topher statement of “I really wish I didn’t have to punch her.”

She smiled.

—-

She watched with an odd, curious, forced smile as he stared at her, at Bennett as she tried to put Caroline’s wedge back together again. She smiled because it wasn’t like her to do anything else when he waved her off with “take a message”, when he continued to stare and she had to get out before the grin fell, before it came to her that Topher was capable of liking people beyond ordering them around, beyond “babe” and juice boxes and reluctant, roundabout praises, praises because they weren’t insults, he was capable of loving someone, it just wasn’t her.

She came back to the muffled sound of a gun, just one shot, just one needed, to Topher and blood spattered on his face, to Bennett and her head bent back in the chair, to a computer screen covered in red. She called out, she got help, but it was far too late and she was sitting in the chair Topher had a few minutes ago, in that vacant chair because Topher was behind her muttering, mumbling, Adelle comforting him against seeing Bennett die, as if words could ever do that, could ever comfort that.

Her hands were shaking and she knew she could do this, she had to do this, she had so much training and she knew the wedges inside and out but she’d never had to reconstruct one and she was still an assistant, she was still very definitely not Bennett, whose blood was next to her head, whose brain had been splattered on the wall and the air smelled of iron and death and her hands shook

He put a hand over hers, and she stared, unsure when he had gotten up or when he had sat down next to her in the chair (in her chair), but she’d been chanting to herself without knowing, and now his hand was over hers.

She stared as he gripped her, such intense contact, such intense need, such longing she had wanted to feel at his hands but not now, not here, not like this, she couldn’t leave him, but he pleaded, he pleaded with “Ivy, don’t become me.”

So she left. She left because she couldn’t see him lose his mind, not like this, not over someone else. She left and she tried to pretend that she left for his good too, she tried to pretend that if the same ugly death had happened to her, he really would have lost it. She tried to pretend she meant something as much to him as he meant to her.