#and also into the quid pro quo thing

[tomwambsgans]

need tom to get deliriously sick and be really upset about it. he texts greg to bring him some particular thing but aggressively insists that he's fine when greg gets there, and that he really just needed the thing, but also he did in fact need greg to see him. and pity him. all while tom fights it off and pathetically tries to bully greg for playing nursemaid when greg is really just making him tea anyway. and greg tells him he should take a hot bath and tom just snaps back "i already tried that. idiot." and there's silence and tom tells him "you're gonna catch what i have" and greg says "i already did. i've been feeling the beginnings of it since before you left work." and tom stares back at him and doesn't know whether to say i'm sorry or well, good so instead he says "and i suppose you're expecting me to play nurse for you when you're bedridden in a couple days..." and greg shrugs and says not really and tom says almost immediately "i will." greg chalks it up to delirium and otherwise doesn't know what to say so he just carries on, but before he leaves entirely he feels for tom's temperature and tom is just out of it enough to reach up for greg's hand and slide it down to his lips and kiss greg's knuckles. and later greg pointedly does not wash that hand.

[ariestrxsh]

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ─•~❉᯽❉~•─ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, masturbation, getting caught, voyeurism, praise, begging, dirty talk, oral

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Matt caught you touching yourself, and despite knowing better, he watches until you finish. His guilt of knowing what he's done eats away at him, so he decides to put on a private show for you while Nick and Chris are asleep upstairs to return the favor and ease his conscience. A little quid pro quo.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ─•~❉᯽❉~•─ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

I stared down at the cryptic message on my phone, and decided to go see what he could possibly mean by that. He had sent it nearly 40 minutes prior, so I couldn't even be sure he was still up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, but as soon as I took my first step, my foot bumped against something that groaned back at me in response. "Shit. Sorry," I whispered to Chris who had fallen asleep on the floor beside me. I carefully stepped over him and tiptoed out into the hall. In case Matt was trying to prank me or scare me, I had to be stealthy. I used the handrail to guide me, and I took my steps strategically down the staircase to keep from triggering any creaky steps. Halfway down the staircase, I stopped.

digital bath

I woke up disoriented and in the dark to someone shifting in the bed next to me, and through my sleepy haze, I remembered I wasn't in my own room. I'd stayed the night with the Sturniolos and had fallen asleep in Nick's bed with him after watching some cheesy scary movie. I reached over to the nightstand to grab my phone, and I peered at the time through one eye. 1:58 a.m. I also had a text from Matt? It read: "If you read this before I fall asleep, come downstairs. I wanna show you something I don't think you'll wanna miss. Don't tell Nick or Chris."

Matt was nestled into the couch under dim lighting, pants and boxers pulled down mid-thigh, and cock in hand. Is this what he wanted to show me? The first thing I noticed was how big it was, so much bigger than I had imagined, especially in thickness, and it was veiny like his arms and hands. His hand moved skillfully and slowly over his length, and he'd pause every few strokes to pay close attention to the head. I was mesmerized by the pre-cum that glistened as it flowed from his slit. Matt ran his thumb over that wet spot and he shuddered and a smile washed over his face as he let out a heavenly sigh. He continued stroking it, rolling his eyes back and relaxing further into the couch.

The way he looked in the soft lighting, the sounds pouring from his mouth like honey, the fact that he was putting on a private show just for me. How did he know this was something I wanted to see? I hadn't told a single soul about the late nights I'd spent lulling myself to sleep with my favorite vibrator to my many fantasies involving Matt, so how could he know?

"Oh fuck," Matt whimpered, teasing his tip again. I heard a few more unintelligible moans, and then my name? Did he just moan my name? Did he have any idea what he was doing to me? Moaning my name, playing with his cock, teasing me with his text. My legs started to grow weak, and I felt a warm wetness forming between my thighs. I started to squeeze my legs together to get some kind of relief from the tension Matt was causing, but the sudden weight shift elicited a loud creek from the stairs beneath me.

Matt looked up at me, but he didn't skip a beat. He kept stroking away, pleasuring himself in front of me. "How long have you been standing there, pretty girl? Is it making you wet to watch me?" He smirked. I descended down the rest of the stairs and yell-whispered, "Matt! What are you doing?!" He still kept going, massaging the head once again, coaxing a few more drops of pre-cum out of his slit as he let out a sweet sound. "I have to get something off my chest," he whispered. "What is it?" I asked, biting my lip while I watched his hand on his dick. "You remember last week on video chat?" He asked. I nodded. "We both forgot to hang up on our video call, and when I got out of the shower, I could see you, hear you.. what you were doing to yourself while you were moaning my name," he smiled and looked right up at me. "I knew it was wrong, but I didn't end the call. Instead I stayed up and listened to the whole thing.."

"You're lying!" I whispered loudly, but I knew he wasn't lying. My face grew hot. I started playing back the week before in my head. I remembered having my laptop open, video chatting with Matt. I recalled only minimizing the tab, because I assumed Matt would hang up. Hell, I didn't even close my laptop or tilt it away from my bed. I remembered being so horny after talking to Matt, because he was wearing my favorite flannel of his and he just looked extra good that day. Plus he had just woken up from a nap, so his voice was all tired sounding. I did have some fun with myself that night. I couldn't help it, Matt looked so hot and had turned me on so much. I was mortified, thinking about how many times I had moaned his name or even more humiliating things, like how his tongue would hypothetically feel or about how bad I needed his cock in me. I thought about how many times I had edged myself that night with my vibrator to the thought of him tying me up, getting on top of me, and pounding me senseless.

"Dude. No fucking way," I said, blushing hard and burying my face in my hands. Matt looked ashamed, "I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself. It was like something took over me." Tears of shame started to well in my eyes. The humiliation and the sexual frustration were starting to blur together, to the point that I no longer knew which one I was feeling. "Don't be embarrassed, sweetheart. I'm the gross pervert who shouldn't have stayed and watched," he smirked.

"Well I can't judge you too harshly because if you hadn't caught me watching you a few minutes ago, I would've done the same thing," I said, biting my lip and nervously giggling. "Would you have watched until I busted all over my hand?" He devilishly grinned at me. "Yes," I whispered. "Well that's why I put on this little show for you, to return the favor," he moaned again, still pumping away at his shaft. "Oh fuck, I can barely hang on," Matt whimpered, looking up at me, his blue eyes practically begging me to suck him off.

As if I had no control over my body, I fell to my knees in front of him. He stopped stroking it and angled it towards my face, silently asking me to accept it into my mouth, and I did. "Oh, good girl," he softly moaned, moving his hand to the back of my head and gently pushing it down. He let out a loud groan as he hit the back of my throat and it elicited a gagging sound from me, "Yes, please, choke on it," he cooed, holding my head down for a few seconds. He released my head, and he started reaching for my chest. He slipped his hand under my shirt, and I felt his cold ring graze my nipple. I used my left hand to run up and down his length while I flicked my tongue over the tip. He smiled at me as he watched my tongue dance across his skin. "You're doing so good making me feel like that with your mouth," he muttered. I could feel him throbbing against my lips and I sucked on the tip every time I slid my mouth back up his length. He kept eye contact while I did this as if he'd die if he missed a single second of watching what I was doing. This made me even more wet.

"I dont think I'm gonna last much longer," Matt said, breathlessly. His eyes started to glaze over, and I watched his mouth fall open as he let out a few final glorious sounds. He put his hand on the back of my head again and started fucking my face. "Swallow for me, princess," Matt whimpered. I felt his whole body tremble, and he shot his load onto the back of my tongue. He let out one last guttural moan that I was sure would wake Chris and Nick. Matt leaned back, out of breath, looking disoriented but well-satisfied.

I started to stand, but Matt pulled me on top of him so I was straddling him. His still mostly erect dick felt so good pressing between my legs. He pulled me in for a kiss, tasting himself on my lips. All that separated us were my thin pair of shorts and my panties, I couldn't help but to start grinding against Matt's lap. "Mmmm, needy girl," Matt whispered into my ear while I rolled my hips in circles.

I was humping him like a dog in heat, and I could already feel myself getting close when he suddenly stood up, gripping my ass, and laid me down on the couch where he previously sat, so that we were now in opposite positions. Matt looked into my eyes while he slowly pulled my shorts off my body. He spread my legs open and started leaving a trail of kisses on the inside of my thigh. Every time he'd get close to my tender core, he'd tease me and skip over it. I couldn't keep my eyes off him and where he was putting his mouth. After teasing me for what felt like an eternity, he moved my panties to the side. I watched as he lowered his mouth but instead of making direct contact with my aching center, he blew hot air over my clit, as if he were fogging up a window with his breath. "Please..." I begged him, watching his tongue get close to my bundle of nerves but then pull back, driving me crazy. My hips bucked forward trying to coax his tongue to meet my clit, but he grabbed my hips and pushed them back down against the couch. "Not yet, angel. You gotta tell me what you want, and you gotta beg for it," he whispered. "Please please please. Please eat me," I pleaded with him. "How bad do you want it?" He sneered. "More than anything. Please lick my pussy please please please.." I mewled. "Keep going," he whispered, taking his finger and tapping it against my sweet spot. "Fuck Matt I'm begging. Please make me cum on your tongue," I pleaded once more. I watched his expression change to one that was much darker and much more devious. I could tell he fucking loved the pathetic writhing mess I had become, asking for him to show me some kind of mercy.

"I suppose I've kept you waiting long enough..." He said, and his lips engulfed my sensitive bud. I let out a sigh of relief as he worked his magic on me. He looked up at me as I watched his tongue flicking over my clit again and again, eliciting more soft whines from me. "You taste too good, princess. I could eat you for hours," he cooed. I felt an orgasm start to build deep in my core.

His praises, his mouth, the sound of his tongue lapping against my wetness... I was reaching my breaking point. Matt moaned with my clit between his lips, which sent electric waves throughout my whole body. The way he brought me to orgasm was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. Instead of being a quick and fleeting explosion, the feeling engulfed me for several seconds. I lost track of where the orgasm began and where it ended. I was shaking violently, moaning Matt's name over and over again, completely enveloped in endless pleasure. I nearly crushed Matt's head between my legs, but he seemed to relish in it. I could tell how much he loved making those sounds come from me. He cleaned me off with his tongue and looked up at me with a shiny smile. "Was it better than what you imagined the other night?" Matt bit his lip. I looked at him wide-eyed, still breathless, and slowly nodded. "Better than anything I've ever experienced."

[cobaltperun]

The Beat of Our Hearts

Bottom Wednesday Addams x Top G!P Female Reader (Request) (Smut - minors do not interact)

Well, this is the second Wednesday request, a smut, so, characters are aged-up and this is some time after Nevermore. Also, going right into the smut, so, keep that in mind as well. Hope you enjoy @jmkjournalblog

Masterlist

Word count: 1.7k

Ferocious.

If there was one word that could describe the way Wednesday Addams made love it would be ferocious. You barely made it through the door of your room when she pushed you against the wall, her hand, firmly holding onto the back of your neck pulled you down until her lips slammed against yours. You groaned, feeling her teeth digging into your lower lip before her tongue soothed the aching, though not wounded, lip.

It wasn’t that Wednesday wasn’t passionate, it was just that she was passionate about only several things, and as touch-starved as she was, this became one of the things she put all of herself into. Loving you, taking you, harder than you would have expected from her back when the two of you met back in Nevermore.

There was a certain sense of madness in the way you made love, and you were more than willing to participate in this dance to the beat of your hearts with her. You reached down, lifting her up by her thighs and pulling her closer, her cold body making you shiver. You pulled your lip free from her kiss and latched onto her neck, your teeth grazing against her flesh, rough enough to already leave marks. The ones on both of you from a few nights ago just barely faded away and here you were, making new ones. Wednesday may have been ferocious, but she wasn’t vocal, but you knew her body by now. You recognized the way she pushed against you, the way her breathing sped up ever so slightly. You recognized the way her fingers slipped under the collar of your shirt, and she pulled, ripping it slowly.

By now you’ve given up on complaining about your clothes, not that you were any better as you walked over to the bed and lied down with her beneath you. “Quid pro quo,” you whispered in her ear, ripping her own shirt in half as she lifted her body just enough to take the ruined article of clothing off her body as you pulled what was left of your shirt off as well.

“Of course,” she said, not wasting one moment as she took the rest of her and your clothes off while you fondled her breasts, even though Wednesday just wasn’t sensitive there and the only reason it had any effect on her was because you were the one doing it. Her neck on the other hand. You sucked on a particularly sensitive spot, earning a small whimper as Wednesday made the two of you flip around. And as usual, you were doing everything quickly, with her spreading her legs and lowering her pussy down to your face while she leaned forward and pulled your cock into her mouth.

She hated how well you knew her, she loved it at the same time, how you knew exactly how to grab her hips, how to pull her closer as you dragged your tongue between her folds. How she was left at your mercy as you spread her pussy and slipped a tongue inside her. She needed it like this, rough, fast, otherwise she might admit to herself that she loved being intimate with you, that she enjoyed your touch no matter how rough or gentle it was. As it was, she could brush it off as primal, instinctual, that it wasn’t sensual, and she still had to dig her nails into your thighs as you slowed down. Just to remind you to speed up.

She dictated the pace, the intensity, and she eased into the rhythm she made you follow as well, moving her head up and down, making sure she pressed her tongue against the tip of your cock every time her lips reached it. It always made you hum, and the vibrations from your lips against her pussy, and more often than not close to her clit made her swallow down a moan. You still took your sweet time, torturing her with your teasing as one of your thumbs rubbed circles around her clit.

“You taste amazing,” you moaned as she kept grinding on your face, chasing that orgasm, the first one that would leave her ready for the next part. The anticipation of it, your tongue, your fingers, as it was, she wouldn’t, couldn’t last long.

You knew her too well, no matter how hard she tried to hide it you knew exactly what to do, how to drive her mad and you did it expertly. She gave up on sucking your cock and sat up, grinding harder against your face, moaning as your tongue reached deeper into her pussy. And she threw her head back, feeling that familiar sensation of the pressure within her being released and her pussy clenching as her thighs shook and she came for you.

Wednesday took a couple of deep breaths as you continued licking her, humming softly as your hands rested on her waist, holding her up. When she managed to catch her breath she moved until she was straddling your abs while facing you, and she bent down, kissing you on the lips and groaning as she tasted herself. Your hands slid down to her ass, keeping a firm hold on it as she went lower until the tip of your cock rubbed against her opening.

“Condom,” you groaned as your lips separated, and she nodded, reaching over to grab one from the nightstand drawer. She ripped the package open with her teeth and raised her hips as you took the condom and placed it on your cock. Finally, with both of you ready she lowered herself on it, moaning as you penetrated her, stretching her.

“Damn, Wednesday,” you hissed as she began riding you, hard and fast, each time taking you balls deep. She looked you in the eyes, at the glint within them that told her everything. That you understood all of her needs, physical, emotional, each and every one, in and out of bed. And you raised your hips, meeting her halfway and speeding up the pace.

You sat up, latching your lips onto her neck, biting the sensitive flesh, marking her as she cried out, her pussy clenching around your cock as the pressure began building up once again. Your hands, as well as her own, roamed your bodies, nails leaving marks on the skin until you turned the tables completely, switching your positions and pushing her onto her back. You moved back up, kissing her once more as you fucked her just the way she needed you to. Hard, fast, desperate.

She was no longer in control, she was barely in control in the first place, driven by her need for you. “Right there,” she moaned louder than she intended when you hit the right angle. Her breathing grew erratic as she quickly approached her second orgasm. And she could no longer even try to prolong it when you began rubbing her clit, your thumb hard and fast against the already sensitive bud.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, cumming with your cock deep inside her only to moments later feel your cum filling up the condom as well. And you pulled out, a bit out of breath, but overall still ready for more. And she smiled, knowing you weren’t done yet.

The thing about Wednesday and making love was actually quite simple. She needed to tire herself out, to go rough, right to the point, with little to no gradual progression. And then, only when she was tired, did she allow you to slow down, to pepper her entire body with kisses. It was all backwards, but that’s how things worked between you. Once the ‘primal needs’ as she called them, were satisfied you could take your time, and she could always say she was tired instead of admitting she loved gentle love making, soft kisses and touches, easy, light caresses, and everything in between just as much as the hard and fast fucking.

So, with her breathing still erratic from the orgasm, you began kissing her, starting from her hands, up her arms, leaving butterfly kisses all along the path to her neck and shoulders. She hummed, and she will blame it on being tired later, but she hummed, moaned softly as you kissed her neck, soothing the marks you left all over her neck and shoulders.

You took your time, your hands gliding along her body, feeling the muscles underneath your palms, you massaged her, spending extra time on the more sensitive spots, pulling barely audible moans from Wednesday’s lips as you dragged your lips lower, to her breasts. Again, you were in no rush, you kissed beneath her breasts, the underside, between them, occasionally dragging your tongue closer and closer to either of her nipples as she arched her back and her hands lowered from your neck and the back of your head to your shoulders and back, pulling you closer to her.

“Y/N,” she whimpered as you finally flicked her nipple with your tongue. You sucked on it lightly, just gently pulling it into your mouth while you rolled the other one between your thumb and finger.

“Hmm?” you hummed, her nipple still between your lips.

“Love me,” your eyes widened just for a moment, because she never said it like that. But you wouldn’t deny her, you slipped your hand down to her pussy and began fingering her slowly while you moved up to kiss her.

You swallowed her moans, shuddered as her hot, damp, body pressed against yours, groaned into your kisses as her pussy clenched around two of your fingers. And in that soft, gentle way you made love to her she reached one more orgasm. And though she would deny it you heard it clearly, the beat of your hearts, the way it affected her. It wasn’t intense, it wasn’t fast, or rough, it was gentle, and it made her fall apart even harder, gushing around your fingers precisely because of how loving it was.

And then, when she fell apart, when she came for you the third time, only then did you pull her into your arms, cuddling with her and whispering into her ear how much you loved her.

[bidisastersanji]

Canon-ish AU where by some weird misalignment of stars Sanji is the only one on the crew who doesn’t know the ship cat that he can’t always find is actually Zoro who sometimes shapeshifts into that form.

From Zoro’s perspective the cook is really weird because sometimes he’ll feed him some nice fish cuts and cuddle and pet him and let him nap on/near him, tell him about his day in a soft, pleasant voice- and then the next moment (he doesn’t have enough brain cells to réalise the difference in treatment is linked to what form he’s in) he’s being kicked and he’s « in the way » for napping in the galley and stealing food from the kitchen and called a « shitty marimo ».

Make up your fucking mind curly 😤( He must be some kind of tsundere or something, he thinks. Well, he’ll come around someday. Zoro is a patient man)

So Zoro is annoyed at Sanji for his hot and cold treatment and Sanji doesn’t understand why Zoro just doesn’t ever learn not to do certain things and sometimes acts weird and a bit affectionate, gets more tactile (and also wonders where the cute little kitty disappears to)

Meanwhile Nami, Robin and Usopp figured out that Sanji for some goddamn reason doesn’t know the cat is also Zoro and are biding their time and giggling whenever they see Sanji pet Zoro on his lap, giving each other knowing smiles.

More and more quid pro quos about Zoro and his cat form pile up- making it funnier and funnier that Sanji hasn’t made the connection, until one day Zoro turns into his human form in the middle of a nap on Sanji’s lap and Sanji suddenly has a lap full of swordsman with his head nestled in his neck.

[lovebugism]

Virgin!Eddie thoughts?

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | quid pro quo

summary: eddie muson is a virgin and doesn't want anyone to know (because being an adult who's never fucked anyone is a total reputation ruiner). but you, his favorite customer, are more than willing to change that. pairing: eddie munson / f!reader word count: 6.5k (holy shit this was supposed to be a blurb) warnings: talks of virginity and masturbation, the word "tit" too many times, a handjob (sorta?) 18+ mdni a/n: you asked for thoughts but i had way too many of them for a single post so i might turn this into a whole virgin!eddie series that will only see the light of day if you guys are into this so... no pressure <3

( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

You were Eddie’s favorite customer, though that went without saying. It was something both of you were more than aware of. Albeit it, it was a little strange, since he — the supplier of your weed — was essentially paying for your high. He doesn’t mind it, though. He never did. You made it up for him in other ways; and, no, it’s not as perverted as it sounds.

It’s actually much, much weirder.

It was your fourth time meeting with him but your first time without any money to give him in exchange. You’re all pink and fidgeting and feeling like a total loser as you shift on the hard wooden bench across from him.

Your gaze is tilted away from his and down at your hands where you twist the rings on your fingers — “I was supposed to get paid last Friday, but my boss is paying me weekly now instead of every two weeks, so he completely changed my payday on me, and he swears he told me about it, but he totally didn’t— anyway, that’s beside the point. I don’t have any money to give you, or like, at all. Genuinely. I’m gonna be lucky if I get to eat anything other than top ramen for the next few days.”

“Damn,” he laughs, not in amusement at your situation but rather pitying you for it. “That sucks—”

“That sounds like I’m guilt-tripping you, doesn’t it?” you keep rambling. “I’m really not. I’m just trying to be honest. I’m not, like, trying to do you over or anything. I swear. You probably don’t even care. You’re my drug dealer, not my friend, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't— I’m making a total fool out of myself, aren’t I?”

“No, not at all,” Eddie assures sincerely, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his lips. That’s all he can muster. He feels like the fool right about now because your words sting a little harder than intended. 

He always considered you a friend. Or, at least, a whole lot more than just a client. You’re the only customer he has fun with, who he can laugh with, who doesn’t just hang around long enough for him to hand you your drugs like everyone else does, who actually cares enough to make conversation with him.  

Maybe that’s why he chose to give it to you for free that day. 

Because he’s started to grow fond of you (and because he genuinely believes that you’re in a bad way and that money’s a little too tight for you right now. He knows all too well what that’s like.) 

But he asks you for a favor in return when you take the plastic baggie from him. It has him blushing with embarrassment like you’d been just minutes before. He can’t meet your gaze as he says the words, but he can feel the incredulous beam of it piercing holes into him.

“You, Eddie Munson, are willing to give me weed, for free, as long as I… help you pass your next English exam?”

You weren’t repeating it to mock him or to make him feel bad for being a third-year senior. You’re just actually shocked because you know a thing or two about the Munson’s. You know that his Uncle is working two jobs, and his nephew has resorted to drug dealing to compensate for their being strapped for cash. You also know that suppliers giving out anything for free is bad for business, so it’s essentially unheard of. 

And aside from all that, Eddie wanting to study — to want to try to be good at something rather than just winging it and hoping for the best — was almost as surprising as him wanting you to be the one to help him. You literally have Gareth, his best friend, in your English class, and he’s way better at it than you are.

You try to find what makes you somehow special but come up short.

“Is that, like, really weird?” he wonders meekly, scrunching his nose and peering at you through his lashes. His eyes are the color of chocolate syrup, you notice then. Like, exactly. And they have a sort of sheen to them beneath the sun, like he's trapped a star inside of them.

“Yes,” you answer with a laugh that's as light as air. “Considering you could’ve offered literally anything else. Like, I don’t know— groping my tits or something.”

It’s what you were half-expecting. Not because you thought Eddie was that kind of guy, but because that’s how it often went down, at least in porn. A busty (broke) blonde orders a pizza, a man with an enormous dick delivers it… It’s a tale as old as time, really.

Your words make him tense for the second time in five minutes. 

He almost wants to be offended that you’d think of him that way, but his yearning far overpowers his wounded ego.

He’s got a soft heart. That offer never would’ve crossed his mind, and even if it did, he’d never be stupid enough to say it out loud. But he didn’t realize how much he liked you until right then. It wasn’t just a friend caring for another friend, but a boy with a crush on a girl eons out of his league (with boobs he would happily touch if she’d let him).

He clears his throat and irrationally prays that you aren’t a mind reader.

“I’m down if you are,” he answers with a playful lilt to his voice that makes you giggle again. He’s happy to hear it. Your laugh is like being basked in sunshine. He wants to keep it in his pocket when he gets lost in the shade. 

That’s the moment that started it all — the strange friendship that formed out of practically nothing. Who knew what being poor, free weed, an historically low GPA, and a missed opportunity for tit-groping could do to two people?

From then on, all your weed was free. As long as you broke down all the themes in Of Mice and Men for him, of course. And then, when he ultimately aced that paper, he wanted to run his D&D campaign by you — “So, you know, it isn’t totally lame when I show it to the rest of Hellfire.”

“Of course, it’s gonna be lame,” you deadpan from across the rotting bench. “It’s Dungeons and Dragons.”

He goes red at that, a flash of pink blotched around his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He glows cherry with embarrassment and smiles faintly as he looks down at his hand, fidgeting with his silver skull ring. It’s cute. Too cute. The kind of cute that makes you grin to yourself without even thinking about it.

“I’m kidding, Eds—”

Eds. That was new, the boy remarks to himself. Not the nickname itself, perhaps, but the fact that you were the one calling him by it. You’re getting more comfortable with him. He likes that. It gives him a false hope; that one day he’ll be a friend to you and not just your dealer.

“—It sounds really fun actually,” you assure him with nod and a twinkling gaze that proves you sincere. “As long as you’ll smoke with me during.”

“I don’t really like to use my own product…” That was a lie. Mostly. He didn’t like to smoke his own stuff because that burned a hole into his profits. But that didn’t mean he didn’t do it. It was far too tempting to have a tin full of so much weed never more than just a few inches away.

Now he’s got a pretty girl in front of him, wanting to smoke with him, wanting to spend time with him. Hell’s freezing over as they speak and that certainly calls for a celebratory smoke session.

A smirk pulls at his pink lips and he tilts his head, bringing his ear to his shoulder, as he looks at you with a glimmering umber gaze.

“But I’m willing to make an exception. Just for you.”

Eddie swears you blush at that, but he catches only the shortest glimpse of your crimson cheeks before you duck your gaze to the table. The beam on your face is only half-washed away, however, when you turn up to look at him again. You look shy, almost, as you peer at him through your lashes.

“You’ll basically have to start from scratch too, you know that, right? I don’t know anything about that shit.”

“Well, I’m glad I can be your first,” he quips.

You laugh again. It’s like the pinky-orange of a sunset. He could paint it if he had the right supplies. And a set of hands that were good for things other than rolling die and playing guitar.

It was his first time, really. In every aspect of the phrase.

It was the first time a girl’s ever offered to hang out with him and not the other way around. The first time a customer’s ever offered to share their weed with him. The first time someone’s ever wanted him to explain his favorite hobby and not care that he’s been rambling for the better part of an hour. 

He doesn’t even notice that he hasn’t shut up since he started talking, mostly because you aren’t giving him that look of annoyance people usually have when he hasn’t gotten the hint. Most couldn’t care less about goblins and villains and battles and knights and princesses — princess knights.

It’s more interesting than you ever hoped a board game could be, but less so as enchanting as the glow Eddie’s got about him as he rambles on and on about something that makes him so happy.

He’s beaming and he doesn’t even realize it. He has no idea he could light up an entire solar system with the smile on his face. You’d tell him if it didn’t feel totally inappropriate.

It takes two weeks to perfect the campaign, which isn’t at all long if you compare it to the year it took him to build it from scratch. When the Cult of Vecna (you pat yourself on the back for coming up with the name) is polished and Hellfire worthy, Eddie starts giving you weed... just because.

There’s nothing left for him to offer in exchange. And he isn’t going to turn his favorite customer down for anything.

“What? No tutoring? No D&D campaign?” you wonder with furrowed brows and a face contorted in confusion.

Eddie shrugs and swings the baggie full of greenery back and forth with the tip of his pointed finger. “Nope. I’m passing English and the campaign’s all finished — the guys love it, by the way. Thanks to you. You’ve helped me out with enough shit, so… just take it.”

“Well, now I just feel bad,” you reject with a scrunched nose, displeased at the idea of taking something and not doing anything for it in return. He can hardly afford it to begin with, much less without anything in exchange. “You're basically paying for my weed already. I can’t just take it.”

“You could,” the boy lilts with a sardonic nod. “My hand's getting a little tired here, sweetheart.”

You huff and reach across the bench for the plastic baggie. Your face is still twisted with an absentminded annoyance and your gaze still uncertain. “You sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah. Cross my heart.”

“Fine.”

“Unless groping your tits is still on the table, of course,” he squints playfully over at you and then smiles softly at the recollection of the conversation from many moons ago.

It was supposed to be a joke. But you’re not laughing.

And when you nod at him, he isn’t either.

It’s got him nearly choking on air and sputtering for a response. “No, I was— I was just— It was a joke. I was just kidding.”

“I know. But, I don’t know, I’m down if you are,” you shrug. “That’s what you said before, right?”

And Eddie has no idea what to say to that. Of course, he wants to. There are a billion things he wants to do. He wants to graduate, he wants to play a show at the Madison Square Garden with Corroded Coffin, he wants to bend you over this table and fuck you silly.

He could do all those things if he were a different person, but he wasn’t. He’s just some guy who can’t pass an English class he's already taken three times, with a mediocre band that plays in front of about five drunks (if they’re lucky), who has a crush on a girl who’s offering to let him feel her up for a short-lived high. 

He repeats that last part to himself in his head a couple times. It sounds like a dream he had once. He pinches the skin of his wrist, just to make sure, and winces when it starts to hurt.

It’s real, you’re real, and that’s the scariest part. 

Because he’s never actually seen boobs that weren’t projected from a television screen through the grainy film of a VHS tape, or pictured in a crinkled magazine he stole from a gas station — let alone touched one. And the second he puts his hands on you, and you feel him shaking like a leaf and totally unsure of what to do, you’ll know that. 

That is, if he doesn’t come in his pants first.

He’s terrified that when you do realize that he’s a complete and utter, absolute and proper virgin, you’ll think he’s significantly less cool. And he can’t have that.

It’s bad for clientele. They’ll stop seeing him as the mysterious metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks but rather as some teddy bear who’s never actually been inside a woman.

He could probably handle the potential drop in income and the talks around school. Hell, he could even handle all the shit Jason Carver would spew at him if he knew. But the idea that you’ll stop wanting to hang out with him — he isn’t sure if he could take that.

He doesn’t notice that he hasn’t said a word until you’re speaking again. And even then, it’s all muffled like he’s underwater. 

“I can come over tonight, if you want.”

No, he thinks to himself. That’s far too early. I have to lose my virginity and learn everything there is to possibly know about sex first.

“I... I can’t. Hellfire,” he answers, almost slurring, still caught in a stupor.

“Tomorrow, then,” you challenge at his rejection. You cross your arms and lean over the table as you squint at him. The wind rustling through the trees carries the warmth of your floral-vanilla scent over to him, like a lullaby, or a magic spell.

As though he needed something else to make him all stupid.

Suddenly you're ten feet tall. Eddie feels like an ant. You could crush him if you wanted. You have all the power and the look you give him tells him that you know that. He fidgets on the hard wooden seat but can’t seem to break your stare. His voice is tight and a few octaves higher as he answers — “Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good. Great, even.”

“Cool,” you’re suddenly beaming. You stand from the bench and saunter off, tossing a look and a wave over your shoulder as you shout, “See you tomorrow, Eds!”

He has to jerk off after that one. He counts himself lucky that he made it to his van before he exploded completely.

Eddie has to become a sex god in twenty-four hours and he doesn’t know where to start. 

So, like any master procrastinator, he doesn’t. He just worries about it all night and the following day. He turns himself into a big ball of anxiety (if you touched him, he'd probably shock you) and it’s left him in the sort of worry that doesn’t let him sit still for too long.

Wayne’s sitting in his recliner, trying to eat his late lunch before he heads off to work the graveyard shift. It’s hard to enjoy his sandwich or the latest episode of Miami Vice playing on the television ahead of him when his nephew keeps bouncing in and out of the room. Making brief conversation, rearranging the knickknacks on the coffee table, coming in just to stand in place for a few minutes before leaving again to rustle in other parts of the small trailer. 

At one point, he comes in with the fucking vacuum and nudges at the man’s work boots until he kicks his feet up. Wayne’s never seen him do a chore in his life.

“What the hell has gotten into you today, boy?” the man complains through turkey, cheese, and bread.

“Nothing. What are you talking about? I’m perfectly normal.”

He’s never been normal a day in his life either.

Eddie disappears out of the room a second later with the whirring of the vacuum in tow. Wayne shakes his head to himself. “Boy’s gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles and takes another too large bite.

It’s unlike Eddie not to tell his uncle things, especially things weighing so heavy on his chest that they're starting to feel like pure steel. But his uncle doesn’t ask any questions, and Eddie’s grateful.

How the hell is he supposed to tell Wayne that a cute girl is coming over and that he’s jacked off three times at the thought of her?

Once in his bed, the first thing he did that day when he woke up from a dream about you that felt a little too real; the second in the shower when the cold water wouldn’t kill the boner he’d gotten; and the third in his bedroom, in the shirt he’d peeled off hardly ten minutes beforehand when he got into a bath. It made him feel dirty again though his skin was perfectly clean.

Wayne would think he was joking. At least with the “cute girl” part. He’d probably pat him on the back for the second one — “oh, to be young again,” he'd mumble to himself while simultaneously deciding to leave well enough alone.

Eddie’s so nervous he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

You’ve got him practicing what to do in the mirror, trying to plan the conversation, ironing out the wrinkles of what might happen. “Hi—” he starts but then shakes his head and clears his throat. His voice is deeper as he continues, “Hey, how are you doing? Oh, that’s cool, I’m good too— shit, this is so fucking lame.”

He wonders how you’ll go about it. If you’ll offer first, or if he needs to ask. If you’ll make small talk or if you’ll just straight up take off your shirt. He’d take either, honestly.

He jerks off one more time, just for good measure, after Wayne’s left for work. He’s already tired and his dick is practically raw with how much it’s been tugged at, but he hopes it’ll stop him from getting hard the second you walk through the door. And he figures with the amount he’s come that day, he’s a whole less likely to do it in his pants when he touches you.

You knock on the door at 7 o’clock sharp, like you planned it down to the minute.

He straightens out his leather jacket when he stands abruptly from the couch. He rushes to the door and then hesitates with his hand on the rusted brass handle — because he doesn’t want to seem too eager, right? 

He leans to the side to look in the dirty glass mirror hanging by the coat rack, brushing through his curly locks in attempts to tame them. Then he shakes his head so they’re wild again.

He finds you standing on his porch in a tight-black sweater that dips down at your chest; the pendant of your necklace sparkles under the yellow nightlight perched on the outside wall. It’s paired with a white nylon skirt that stops at your thigh.

He’s only seen girls on TV in the suede boots you’re wearing — the kind that’s tight up to your ankle with a short and chunky heel. They match the color of your skirt. He wonders if they were expensive and how much you’ve worn them; they look brand new, like you’ve brought them down from the top of your closet just for him.

You’ve got a stack of thick tapes in one hand and a brown paper bag of snacks in the other.

“What… What’s all this?” he wonders, not displeased at your effort but shocked by it nonetheless.

“Thought we could have a movie night,” you shrug then slide by him and into the trailer. He shuts the door behind you and watches from afar as you set the sack down. It’s not quite flat on the bottom so it topples over and spills some of its content onto the coffee table — red hot chips and sour gummy worms.

“You mentioned that you’d never seen Fast Times a couple weeks ago, so I decided to go rent a copy at Family Video, right? And then I started talking to Robin and she started showing me all the new movies that just came in, so I got a little carried away—”

You're rambling, he notices, almost like you’re nervous.

It makes him feel slightly better, knowing this obviously wasn’t your first time hanging out with a guy (or being touched by one, if he ever got to that part), but that you were nervous nonetheless. Like you wanted this — whatever this was — to go well just as much as he did.

Eddie puts the tape into the VHS player when you’re headed back from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand. You sit it on the table before plopping yourself in the middle of the couch — the boy across the living room has no idea you spent the two-and-a-half minutes it took to cook the snack debating on where to sit.

You feared sitting too far on one side might spook him from sitting next to you, that he’d think you didn’t want to sit next to him. So you place yourself snuggly in the middle of the decade-old sofa and hope you don’t seem too eager.

Your heart sinks to your ass when Eddie sits so far on the edge he’s practically sitting on the arm of it.

You muster a smile and try to make a joke of it. “I don’t have cooties or anything, Eds.”

“Promise?” he lilts. The way his voice shakes is purely for comedic effect. Obviously.

“Cross my heart.”

He hopes that by playing it off, you won’t notice how anxious he is about sitting next to you. But when he plants himself beside you, just close enough so that the rough fabric of his jeans scratches your knee every time he fidgets, it’s a little like sitting next to a rock. You spend the first half of the movie wondering if he’s nervous too or if he really just didn’t want to sit this close to you.

The film keeps playing and he keeps snacking — eating chips and Oreos and popcorn in a rotation before combining all three and marveling at the taste; “You’ve got to try this!” he exclaims to you with raised brows and wide eyes. He eventually forgets to be nervous.

That is, until Fast Times hits 53 minutes and 5 seconds.

The smooth bass of Moving in Stereo plays lowly in the background as Phoebe Cates rises from the pool water, clad in a small red bikini. The chlorine-laced drops of water glisten off of her tanned skin. “Hi, Brad. You know how cute I always thought you were,” you quote quietly along with her.

Your eyes are as glued to the television as Eddie’s when she starts to unlatch her top, like it’s the first time you’re seeing it too. You joked to Robin once that you couldn't wait until they made this movie in 3D.

Eddie gets hard as a rock, then. In every sense of the phrase.

“She’s hot, right?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he answers. He clears his throat when the word comes out too tight. “Totally.”

“That’s how I knew Robin was gay, you know? We watched this when I slept over at her house one time and I woke up in the middle of the night and found her playing this scene over and over again,” you confess with a laugh and hope your best friend won’t be too angry you told him this. “She was sitting, like, two inches away from the screen.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. And when we made out afterward, that really sealed the deal—”

“Holy shit—” he sputters before he can stop it. “—Are you joking?”

Please, say yes before I come in my jeans, he thinks to himself.

“Why?” you challenge, shooting him an arched brow over your shoulder. “Does that change anything?”

“What? No! Of— Of course not!” It just makes you, like, ten times fucking hotter, that’s all.

“Good,” you nod and then turn back to the television. You move on quickly, and Eddie’s grateful. You keep telling the story like it’s one you tell all your friends.

“I asked her why she was watching it without me, and she said she got bored, but I already knew why she was watching it, you know? I guess I just wanted to hear her say it. So I just came out with it — ‘If you want to look at a pair of tits, I’m literally right here.’”

Eddie’s so entranced by your words it’s like you're telling him a bedtime story. He’s looking at you so intently, his gaze locked to your profile like he’s trying to commit it to memory. And when you finally turn to look at him again, he can’t seem to turn away, to even pretend like he wasn’t just hopelessly staring at you.

“So, then it became this whole thing, right? Like, I’ll show mine if you show yours. And then she got all awkward and nervous and lost in her head, kinda like you right now, and then I leaned in…” you trail off quietly, doing it in time as the words leave your mouth. So teasingly and breathtakingly slow. Eddie finds himself drifting closer to you, too, like a bayman to a siren’s call. “Just like this… And then I—”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence.

Eddie’s already kissing you before he realizes what he’s doing. Your noses knock together, the tip of his crushed against the side of yours. The sweet flavor of your strawberry chapstick evades his mouth when your lips press together.

He’s as shocked as you are.

He’s wanted to kiss many pretty girls in his life, but this was the first time he's actually ever done it.

You feel his face burn red against you when he realizes what he’s just done. He tries to pull away from you, but you keep him there with a hand on the back of his head; deepening the kiss and telling him that you want this — that you’ve always wanted this — without actually saying the words.

Refusing to separate from him, you maneuver yourself to face him more as press yourself against his side and tuck your knees beneath you. You caress the rough pad of his tongue with yours all the while, one hand balled in the shoulder of his t-shirt and the other anchoring itself to his curls.

You wait patiently for him to take action. To grip your waist. To lay you back on the couch. To climb over you and take what’s his.

He never does.

He hardly even touches you. He’s got one palm on your hip, but it’s so featherlight that it’s barely even there. His other hand is clutching the pillow on his lap with a white-knuckled grip, like he’s fighting to contain himself in some way. But you want him to let go. To lose himself with you.

The cushion had been there for most of the movie, something to keep in his absentminded hold and get crumbs all over. You wonder, now, if it’s a shield for something else.

Your lips click wetly when you part from him. A small smile forms on your mouth when you notice a string of spit threatening to connect the both of you. It breaks apart, landing cold below your mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Are you hard?”’ you wonder through bated breaths, coming right and just saying it.

Eddie’s eyes go somehow wider and his mouth falls agape. “Uh… No?”

Giggling, you ask, “Is that a question?”

“Maybe.”

“So what’s the answer?” you pry.

“Honestly?” he starts with a heavy breath and heavier eyes, still trying to joke. “Whatever makes me sound super cool and mysterious and sexy.”

“I’ve always thought you were all those things,” you confess with a soft laugh, twisting a strand of his hair with the tip of your finger.

“…Really?” he can’t help but wonder. Those words are about the most shocking thing that’s happened so far this evening.

“Yeah,” you nod, then tease: “Because you've never lied to me.”

So tell me the truth, he can hear the words jumbling around in your head. So does. He swallows thickly and then admits, voice cracking halfway through his confession, “I’m so hard that it fucking hurts, sweetheart.”

You’re smiling like the Chesire Cat at that, big and sly and mischievous. You have all the power and you know it.

“Can I make you feel better?” you whisper to him, lilting like you're taunting him. You mean it, though, and he knows that because you’re already tugging at the pillow in his lap. You don’t fight to snatch it away completely. You leave just enough room to allow him to say no. But his grip on the thing relaxes and allows you to slide the cushion slowly from his crotch.

He can’t say the words because his tongue is suddenly heavy in his mouth and his throat is closing on him. So he just nods, peering at you with eyes hooded with ecstasy.

You go back to kissing him, then, unhurriedly this time. You allow yourself to feel all of him, to hold his face in your hands and explore all the bits of him you never got the chance to before now. You do it more so in an effort to get him to relax, to forget to be nervous, but it only half-works.

He gets more comfortable with himself with time. The hand on your waist finds a more confident purchase there and the other climbs up to your face, cradling your jaw while his ringed fingers get lost in the strands of your hair. Then he starts to kiss you back harder, more earnestly than before, like he’s trying to prove something. Trying to tell you everything like this than with words he can’t seem to say out loud.

He forgets to be nervous again when your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle — the kind with the funky edges, the kind you know goes together because there’s only two in the whole bunch like it. He stops worrying if he’s doing it right.

His breath is warm and heavy as it fans against your cupid’s bow. He’d rather take in small pieces of oxygen like this than stop kissing you now. You feel the same way as you straddle his thigh, careful not to move with too much haste that it knocks your lips apart.

Eddie’s legs part for you on instinct. When you settle more comfortably against him, he can feel the warmth radiating between your thighs through the thick fabric of his jeans. He wishes he was naked right now, more so that you were, so he can feel all of you, bare against his skin.

But he takes what he can get for now. And tries not to burst completely at the thought that the only thing separating you from him was the thin layer of your cotton underwear.

It’s hard not to think about your own pleasure like this. You could so easily move your hips against his thigh, let the rugged fabric of his jeans and your panties do all the work against your clit and bring you to a swift release. You want to. You’re sure Eddie would want you to if you asked him. But it strangely seems less important now.

Because you know you’re minutes away from making Eddie come so hard his legs shake. And you always wanted to know what he looked like when he came.

Your hand worms out of his hair and down his neck. Your fingernails trail lightly over his skin, leaving visible chill bumps in their wake. Your palm falls down his chest and stomach, smooth like drops of summer rain. The print of his Def Leppard tee is rough and cracked with age. You wonder how long he’s had it, how often he’s worn it, as your hand settles again. This time on his belt.

For a split second, he’s anxious about you seeing his dick. What if you think it’s too small? He thinks to himself. What if you think it’s too ugly? But then he realizes you’re not even trying to take off his jeans. You just rest your palm over the rough material of the denim and grip him through it.

A groan crawls up his throat and out of his mouth. His head falls backward and lands against the back of the couch.

He’s bigger than you thought, and warm against the tender skin of your hand, even through his boxers and his pants. It’d be ever warmer if you were feeling the real thing, you discern, but you figure you’ll save that for another time. Because even though it’s not the real thing and there are so many layers separating your fingers from his cock, Eddie’s letting out small and breathy moans that tell you that you’re touching him just right. The more you squeeze, the louder he gets.

“Is this okay?” you whisper to him.

“Are you kidding?” he retorts with a breathless laugh. “I feel like I’m in heaven right now.”

“Just wait until you come,” you giggle. It makes him moan again. His eyes fall shut because he knows he’s moments away from feeling what it’s like — not to come, obviously, but for it to be from your hand and not his. 

You massage him through his jeans, feeling him grow somehow harder with each caress of your fingers. Peering down at him, you can see his jaw clenching, the way it moves his temples, and the muscles in his neck straining as he climbs the peak of pleasure.

“If you think this feels good now, just wait until you're inside me,” you purr to him.

“Oh, fuck,” he drawls shakily at your words. He doesn’t know if you’re being serious or not. He wants so much to believe that it’s a promise, though. The idea that he could unbuckle his belt right now, free his cock from its restraints and slip your panties to the side and take you, just like this, with you on top of him and riding him for all he’s worth, that nearly does him in.

But he’s fighting to keep it at bay. To let this moment last as long as he can. Because it’s entirely likely that he’ll come and you’ll never want to do this again. It’s even more likely that he’ll wake up from this way too vivid fantasy he’s concocted in his brain. How good can dreams get until they’re nightmares again?

The hand on your hip darts to wrap around your wrist.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, gaze sober and sincere.

Eddie breathes out a tremble sigh of relief when you slow your motions against him. “I just…” he breathes heavily. And swallows. “I really don’t want to come in my jeans.”

You’re smiling again at that, pleased at how good you're making him feel. Like the pleasure is foreign to him. He can feel your grin as you lean down to kiss him. It’s a chaste peck, like you're just sprinkling yourself there so it can linger the rest of the night. 

Your kiss is far more fervent against his neck, wetter and more passionate. His skin has a faint taste of salt, like he’d been sweating. And he was, for the entire day that he anticipated your arrival, though there was never an ounce of him expecting this. You bite at the strained tendon and marvel as he shudders beneath you.

“It’s okay,” you leave your promise against his skin. “I’ll wash them for you after. Like a good little housewife—”

It was a joke and he knows it because you’re laughing at the absurdity of your words, at the reality of them. You’re probably the only person in the world giving your drug dealer a handjob for free weed and then offering to wash his damp bottoms when he comes in them — calling yourself his fucking housewife. But, for a reason he can’t explain, that’s what gets him.

Not marrying you, perhaps, but the idea that he could have this feeling forever. That you could bring him to complete and utter, blinding bliss and then take care of him while he comes back to earth. 

You give him an especially tough squeeze that sends a moan spilling roughly from his throat. His hips jerk up to their own according, his thigh jamming into your clothed pussy — he swears he hears you moan — and his toes curl in his boots.

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he comes. He grasps your wrist and presses you further against him. His grip is almost too tight but you don’t mind it, not when you can feel the denim growing damp with the evidence of his orgasm.

Eddie doesn’t feel anything for a while after that. It’s just pure pleasure for several long moments. The fuzziness of his climax, your hand pressed against him, your warmth still pressed against his thigh.

But then the high fades away like a rolling summer cloud and he starts to feel the wet patch forming in his clothes. The fabric of his thin boxer starts to stick to him and he almost feels gross, like he’s a teenager again who can’t so much as look at a woman with needing to come.

But then he sees the way you look at him, grinning like a cat who got the cream — because, in some ways, you are. You look like you're proud of him. Like you’re secretly wondering how many times you can do that before it’s too much. He wants to find out too.

You plant another kiss to his lips. Just because you can.

“Take your pants off, Munson,” you mumble against his mouth, kissing him one more time for good measure before pulling away again.

“Oh— shit— wait, really?” he sputters. “I thought you were joking about— about me being… I— I don’t know if I have any condoms.”

He totally does, in an unopened box under his bed, collecting dust. 

You don’t need to know that, though.

“I meant for washing them so you can change,” you laugh at his embarrassment. The sound somehow makes him feel better even though you’re slightly making fun of him. You shrug and arch a brow at him, lilting, “But… I’m down if you are.”

have any more virgin!eddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 21

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Sexual content; Animal death (hunting - not descriptive); Mild description of vomit; a little sad angsty moment; Non-con sedation

You had to admit that holy shit, it was nice to be out in the fresh air. It was cold as fuck, but you were bundled up in the coat that had been brought to you all those weeks ago. It sucked to keep it situated for easy gun and knife access but it was enough. Your feet were warm in your boots, two pairs of socks since they were a little big to accommodate any swelling of your feet as the pregnancy progressed but that only meant that your toes were nice and toasty. Leggings under maternity jeans were a hindrance when the baby decided to drop kick your bladder, but otherwise, necessary to ensure you didn’t get frostbite in very inconvenient areas, as well as your legs. 

You had been walking through the snow for about an hour before coming across any walkers. There were two, both women. One a little older than Beth and one about your own age. They moved slower in the cold, you had noticed. After putting them down, you became aware that their skin appeared to be freezing solid. 

“Walker popsicles. Huh.” You muttered, storing that information to share. Another fifteen minutes went by and you had still seen no game, so you decided to stop and rest. You weren’t necessarily out of shape but you were growing a human inside of you. That tended to take a bit out of the energy department. You had swiped a canteen and some of the jerky, partaking of both to make sure you could carry out what you came to do. 

“Alright, Thumper. Let’s see if we can figure out daddy’s weapon of choice. Can’t be that hard, right?” You promptly came very close to shooting a bolt into your own foot. You blinked at it and looked around as if there had been anyone else to see the incident before putting a hand to your belly. Thumper rolled as if just as shocked. “Let’s just keep that between us, okay?”

It was the operation that hindered you. Once you figured out the mechanics,—with about forty-five minutes of tinkering—aiming and firing were things that came naturally to you. Daryl was going to murder you when he had to fix everything you had fucked with in your exploration of the weapon. Collecting the bolts you had used for practice, you froze, eyes narrowed on the small indentations in the snow. Rabbits.

Small game was your specialty. You always hunted rabbits and squirrels when it was just you and father. There was nowhere to keep an abundance of meat in your small home. No smokehouse. It had been different when the family would come over, your aunt and uncles. They loved their venison and you never had to be concerned with wasting anything. 

The smile that lifted the corners of your mouth was one born of bittersweet longing. You wished your father could be there to meet his grandchild, but you were—at the same time—thankful that he wasn’t around to see what had truly become of the world, that it would never go back to how it used to be.

Still, you chuckled as you wiped away a tear. Your father would have had one hell of a time getting used to the idea of Daryl being the father, but in the end, he would have been the first to see through that rough exterior to the man hidden underneath. And he would not have wasted a single second before calling the archer out on it.

“If you’re a boy, I could name you after your grandad. Maybe after your uncle, if your daddy wants.” Daryl still hadn’t revealed much about his family. Maybe once he was better, you could sit with him and just talk, quid pro quo. You ask a question about him, and then him about you. He seemed to be okay with that sorta thing. He never liked being the center of attention.

He also appeared interested in learning about you in every way he could. It hadn’t taken you long to notice the way he picked up on things and filed them away. He knew how you liked your meat cooked when it was being eaten outside of a stew. He would take it from Carol and do it himself, usually. He knew how things touching the front of your throat made you feel uncomfortable, like scarves or the top buttons of a flannel, stopping Maggie from wrapping a rather pretty knit fabric around your neck one bitterly cold morning. 

Daryl also knew just how to touch you, how to curl his fingers inside of you and how much pressure you needed when his thumb would graze over your clit. He excelled in making you shiver by wetting his digits with your own arousal before dragging the tips over your skin to stimulate your nipples. He did all this while pressing soft kisses just behind your ear or over your pulse, everyone sleeping around you being none the wiser. It was always so incredibly erotic to be brought over the edge knowing that any of them could simply open their eyes and see that he was working you over. 

Maybe you could show him what you knew he liked while he recovered. You knew for a fact that he would groan if you lapped and nibbled at a specific area just above his collarbone. He would never admit it but you had noticed the way touching his nipples made his hips jerk when he was inside of you. The first time you’d gone down on him back in the woods, you had kitten-licked at his tip and pressed your thumb against the vein that ran underneath, dragging the digit up his length. He had clawed at the tree behind him so hard that you were certain he’d be picking splinters from beneath his nails afterward. 

It took a soft thump to the cranium, snow falling from a branch overhead, to bring you from your pleasant thoughts. With an ache between your thighs and the prospect of maybe getting some alone time with your boyfriend—you still needed to clarify what you could call him, if anything—while he wasn’t trying to evict his lungs from within his chest, you whined quietly. You kinda wished you had stayed there and were curled up in bed with him. Was he okay? Were the meds helping? Was Carol whacking him over the head with the bedpost to keep him from chasing you?

You had nearly convinced yourself to turn back when you saw the first rabbit, a decent sized cane cutter that would make a nice stew to last a couple of days. It hadn’t seen you and taking it down was easy since you had not yet shouldered the crossbow.

“One down, Thumper!” You took one step and then paused. “It’s kinda insensitive to call you Thumper when I’m hunting rabbits, isn’t it?”

You had two rabbits by the time at least three and a half hours had passed, a little disappointing but it was freezing and you did have to make periodic stops to put down walking corpses and even more stops to pee. You were feeling a little nauseous as well, so it was likely beyond time to head back. Maybe Daryl would rest just as well the next day and you could come back out since this excursion would show everyone you could handle yourself out there.

Wiping your knife across your thigh after yet another slow moving walker, you had barely secured it into the sheath before you noticed the tracks. 

Deer. 

A single deer, young but more than a year. Based on the depth of the tracks, you could likely manage to haul it back on your own if you could take it down. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the way back to the house; back to Daryl. 

This was all for him, after all. The more food you could secure, the longer he could rest and recover. The decision was simple after that. Ensuring a bolt was loaded, you set out to do what you once did best. 

You were still her. 

The only differences were the people in your family were no longer an aunt and two uncles, the main man in your life was no longer your father, and you were 11 or so weeks away from having your own baby. You had never needed to be provided for, always the provider. There was no reason you and Daryl couldn’t share that responsibility. When the baby came, you’d adjust and adapt, providing differently and that was okay. The longer you could nurse Thumper, the easier it would make things. You’d step back then, let Daryl take over. It would be even more important to him then, the need to provide. You’d be a team, each caring for the baby in your own way. 

The prospect was equal parts exciting and terrifying. New parents in a dystopian world. It wasn’t impossible. It was just dangerous. Daryl had done so well, thinking ahead when he had cleared that Wal-Mart. So much that would be needed already secured, ready to carry with your group when moving from place to place. With a small, tender smile, you glanced at the bracelet for morning sickness you still wore. It likely no longer worked, but you couldn't really bear to part with it.

You wanted to search out a baby store eventually, or make a request for a run. Cloth diapers would be a lifesaver once the disposable ones had been used. Infant and children’s medications needed to be stocked. 

Thumper gave your ribs a jab, earning a hiss in response. “Okay, okay. I’m focused. Jeez, kid, can you be any more like your father?” 

The tracks were getting closer together in clusters, the deer stopping to check out areas in search of food. You were catching up, the falling snow not yet filling in the prints. In the back of your mind, you maintained an active regard for the time you’d been gone, one eye on the sun to ensure you’d make it back before dark. You would be late and you’d steered off course but you were confident.  You’d need to circle around and place yourself downwind soon if you wanted to stand a chance. This is what you knew. 

You’d meet up with the search party at the very least on your journey back. That is if Carol hadn’t grown anxious and sent them earlier. Or Daryl—dear god, if Daryl hadn’t somehow managed to drag himself out of that house. No, they wouldn’t let him. You had to believe that. It would be Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog. Maybe Maggie. They’d likely be sore at needing to come find you but if you were hauling a deer, that disgruntlement would likely be forgotten quickly. You just needed to ensure you succeeded and that you stayed safe. 

Just as you continued to track, you muttered a curse at a slow shuffling walker. One bolt needed to remain untainted for hunting and, so far, your knife had been sufficient but you were closing in on your target. Using the crossbow would be ideal for the dead at that juncture. Nearly silent kills. The crossbow was level with your eyes when you saw it.

The doe’s head perked up just beyond some snow-covered shrubbery, ears twitching. “Fuck.” You whispered. You had to take the deer first or risk it running from the walker. It had already spotted the threat, getting ready to move. There was no time to think. The deer went down easily, your muttered apologies and gratitude for what it would provide for your group were unheard as you dropped the bow and sprinted for the corpse. 

Loading another bolt would take too much time, the deer would be lost to the walker. You were already cutting it close this way, the snow and the off-centered weight of your belly slowing you down. Just as the dead man began to fall on top of your kill for the unearned feast, you tackled him. There was a jolt of pain in your midsection but your knife was already sinking into an eye socket, the deed done. 

“Ow,” you muttered. Scanning the area for threats as you unzipped and moved clothing, raising your sweater to look at the deep red mark on the side of your belly, just below your right rib cage. “Fuck.” A knee or elbow must have been angled just right to jab you on impact. “You okay in there?” Your sweater still rolled up, you laid your knife on your thigh and caressed the taut skin with both hands. “Come on, Thumps, need you to move.” A foot or hand pressed firmly into the injured side. “Okay, okay! Point taken! No more tackling walkers. Ouch, you little gremlin.” With a huff, you adjusted your clothing. You’d have Hershel look you over and check on the baby when you returned. 

Wiping your knife on your jeans, you secured it on the sheath and crawled over to the deer. It remained unsullied and perfect to feed your family. It was a clean, quick kill and it didn’t suffer. You were always thankful for those. 

“Alright, let’s get this back—” No time to register what was happening before you tilted over to retch violently. “Shit.” You panted, looking away from the mess of bile, water, and undigested jerky. Of course this couldn’t just go smoothly. Once again, the world had decided to fuck you. “At least Daryl beat it to getting me pregnant.” You laughed at your lame joke and laid back against the belly of the deer to catch your breath. 

“Fucker.” You growled, angling your leg to kick the man's corpse. The baby moved as you laid there, the slightly ripple showing beneath your coat and sweater. “Oh, hey. I could see that.” You smiled, rubbing your very upset stomach. “Your father is gonna skin me right along with this deer.” You nodded to yourself. Closing your eyes, you took deep, calculated breaths in an attempt to gain control over the nausea. 

But when they opened again, it was dark, the sun having fled and the moon bright in the star-filled sky. You groaned as you sat up, checking yourself and the area around you for any signs of walker activity. No bites. Your deer was frozen but whole. Shaking off the snow that had gathered on you, you rubbed your hands together, digging through the pockets of your coat with numb fingers in search of your gloves. 

“You good in there, Thumps?”

Nothing. 

You had just finished pulling on the second glove before stilling to stare at your round stomach hidden beneath your coat. “Thumper?” You had grown so accustomed to the baby reacting when you spoke that to feel such stillness made your chest tighten. “Baby?” Swallowing hard, you adjusted your clothing again, shivering when the chill of the night air struck your belly. “Come on, baby, can you move for mama?”

What if the baby had died inside you? Does the virus affect a fetus? What if you carried the baby only for them to be born a walker? 

Then there was movement, gentle ripples below the skin. Some that you could see, some that you couldn’t. But the thought remained, a very real terror that your baby could already be dead and just trying to get out. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. You could only jerk your eyes back and forth at the sound of footsteps getting closer. 

“Whatcha sittin’ in the snow for, Peanut?”

Now you definitely couldn’t breathe. There, bathed in moonlight, standing on two very there, very functioning legs, was your father. “Dad—daddy?”

“Hey, there.” You sat stock still, sweater still rolled up, eyes still frozen on him as he approached and crouched in front of you. “Let’s get you all fixed up here.” Gentle hands fixed your clothing, zipped your coat, and ruffled your hair.

“Am I dreaming?” You asked with the slightest wobble to your voice. 

“‘Fraid so, Peanut-butter.” When the sound that punched out of you was like a painful sob, he was ducking to find your eyes. “Hey, hey. None of that.”

“I miss you.” You sniffled, letting him pull you close with his chin on your head. “There’s so much—”

“I know, baby girl. I’ve been watching.” He pulled back, thumbing away your tears. “Gonna be a grandpa, I see. Daddy wouldn’t have been my first choice but he surprised me.”

“You like him?” You smiled, lopsided and silly, giggling when he rolled his eyes. 

“No father thinks any man is good enough for his little girl, but this one? Well, he keeps surprising me.” He offered you a hand, pulling you up with him as he stood. “He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. So you need to get you and my grandbaby back to him before he loses his mind.”

“But the baby—”

“Is fine.” He chortled, gently stroking your cheek. “You’ll be an amazing mama, Peanut.” He was starting to fade right before your eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Don’t go.” You pleaded, hands passing through his shoulders when you tried to pull him back. 

“I’m so proud of you.” His voice was echoing, distant even when you could still see his face. “You’ll be fine, all three of you. But now you need to wake up.”

A tear was frozen to your temple, pulling at your skin there when your eyes opened. Snow peppered down from the dark sky, the moon barely visible beyond the clouds. You felt no panic, breaths coming calmly and the baby kicking periodically, even if it did smart when the little extremities connected with the sensitive injury. 

You winced pulling yourself away from the deer you knew would be at least partially frozen. The meat would keep, at least. You’d let the men handle the thawing and prepping anyway. The area was dark, no signs of flashlights or sounds of voices. They had either passed you by or never came at all. 

It wouldn’t matter in the end. 

Because you were going back to them.

Getting to your feet, you gathered your things and prepared to drag the deer. It would likely be about 115 pounds so carrying it was unlikely. You wouldn’t risk leaving it for later retrieval, not when 45 to 50 pounds of meat was likely from that single kill. Hell no. 

You had once dragged Daryl while he was soak and wet and he had at least 60 pounds on that deer. This was doable. You just needed to think. Eyes darting around, you let your fingers drum on your tummy while you pondered. With a deep breath, you started to believe you’d just be dragging the damn thing by hand but then you noticed the walker you had put down. Grabbing your knife, you grinned like a damn fool and set to work.

Lori was pacing in front of the door, watching the men prepare to leave. “You should have already been out there hours ago! Before dark, Rick!” When the deputy stood with a sigh, she didn’t back down. “Do you remember when the decision was made to leave Daryl out when he didn’t come back? Who went to get him? What shape he was in when she brought him back?”

“Yes, I remember, okay! I was just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt! She seemed like she had something she wanted to prove.”

“She said four hours. Carol came to you before that because we were about to lose Daryl on a crazy quest to find her.” Maggie was looking at Glenn but then sent a pointed glance to each of them.

“He’s gonna have a lot to say when he finds out you waited, especially after what we had Hershel do.” Carol said from her spot on the top of the stairs. 

“What did Hershel do?” All eyes turned to you in the doorway, dropping the straps you had made from the walker’s overalls. It was Lori that made it to you first, her arms winding around you awkwardly with two different sized bumps barring the way.

“Carol told us you had left to hunt and all I could think about were the things I said upstairs.” The other woman’s eyes were wet and sincere. With a smile, you pulled off one of your gloves and wiped a thumb below her eye. You didn’t say anything because what could you say? She had been incredibly insulting to Daryl and you wouldn’t speak for him. Maybe she would get the hint and talk to him eventually. Maybe not. 

You looked past Lori toward Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn. "Got a deer and two rabbits." Then your next smile, wry as it was, aimed up the stairs. “What did Hershel do, Carol?” Carl and Beth came thumping out of the kitchen, throwing their arms around you. You hugged them close while your eyes flitted over to the old veterinarian himself walking along the banister from Daryl’s room. You were gentle when pulling away from the kids, tossing a kills are on the porch, have fun at the men while you began your ascent. 

Carol fell in step with you. 

“Before anything else,” you started, unzipping your coat, “I had a literal run-in with a walker. Hershel, can you—?” You rolled up your sweater, the skin already bruising. 

“Has the baby been active?” He asked immediately, probing the area with tenderness while the other hand struggled to place his stethoscope in his ears.

“It’s Nascar in there, I promise.” You felt the baby squirm slightly before they settled again, your eyes on the old man’s face, watching for any concern. You found none and let out a breath when he straightened.

“Seems like all is well. Heartbeat is just fine and it is indeed the Indy 500. You were lucky.” There was a bit of a reprimand in that last statement, one you couldn’t say was unwarranted. Nodding in agreement, you made up your mind that as long as the meat could last until Daryl was on his feet, you wouldn’t venture out alone again.

You then turned to Carol. You had told her to do whatever it took to keep him there, even knock him out. If Hershel was involved, you assumed the knocking out was of a medicational nature. He wasn’t dead, they would have been smart enough to tell you that around people that could restrain you. “Okay, what’s the damage?” You asked from just beside the doorway, afraid to look inside just yet. “Is he tied down?” Carol shook her head.

“He was determined, Y/N. He pulled out the IV, only made it to the stairs before collapsing. They couldn’t get him back into the room, weak as he was, he fought all three of those grown men.” Hershel sighed. “I gave him a very small dose of morphine. It was enough to sedate him without compromising his respiration.” 

You groaned. That man was going to verbally rip you a new asshole, but you’d take it with grace because it was going to keep him safe and give him more time to recover. As long as the meat was prepared and rationed correctly, it could last a while. Maybe that would give you a chance to get back on his good side. 

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. 

“Okay, so what do I need to do?” You asked, finally rolling your back against the wall to place you inside the room. Daryl was out. You had never seen the man so unconscious, and you’d seen him nearly die. That was a frightening thought. The plus side was that his color was so much better and the rattle in his chest couldn’t be heard until you were much closer. He didn’t stir in the slightest when you sat down next to his left hip, all the way around toward the wall, avoiding the arm with the replaced IV. 

“You won’t need to do much of anything. Monitor his breathing and fetch me if it gets too slow. It shouldn’t with the dose I gave him but his body has been fighting a horrific illness, so we can’t be too careful. It’s been a couple of hours so it will likely start wearing off soon, regardless. When he wakes up, make sure he drinks and encourage him to cough. Coughing and keeping the lungs free of mucus and liquid is crucial.”

You were nodding almost robotically, your fingertips just brushing his hair back and forth with no particular rhyme or reason. Just touching him. 

“His fever has yet to break but it’s lowered dramat—is she even listening to me?” Hershel finally asked Carol, who chuckled and leaned across Daryl to clasp your shoulder until you looked at her.

“Watch how he breathes, don’t let it get too slow. Only for an hour or so. Get him to cough and drink when he wakes up. Fever has come down but hasn’t broken. I’ll come tell you when to give him more tylenol. Okay?” 

You smiled, both embarrassed and grateful. “Okay.” With a nod to Hershel and an eye roll at Carol’s wink, you watched them shut the door. 

Your hand on his cheek had to be freezing. They had just said his fever was down but he felt like a furnace to you. Shit. You were still in the clothes you had been wearing out in the snow. Coat, boots, jeans, and one pair of socks were quickly shed, you were in your sweater and leggings with your thicker socks still covering your feet. You’d been gone long enough and couldn’t seem to wait another second to crawl onto the bed with him. He shivered once but settled, his head turning toward you. You thought for a moment he might wake but he remained still. 

With a deep breath, you settled yourself against his shoulder so that you could look up at his face. “I know you’re going to be mad as fuck at me, and I get it. You have a right to be and I won’t tell you otherwise. I was careful, I promise.” Your palm settled on his chest, feeling his heart lazily thump against it. “I have a—well, it’s just a bruise. Hershel looked at it. Thumper’s okay. I’m okay.” Why were you even talking? He was sound asleep. “I didn’t like being away from you while you were so sick. I don’t think I would have liked it even if you weren’t sick.” 

Your hand left his chest for your fingers to dance along his jaw while you admired just how peaceful he looked. No lines of worry or pain. Just resting, fully relaxed. Seeing him like that just made your own exhaustion compound into something nearly unavoidable. With a large yawn, you snuggled closer and placed your hand back on his chest, counting his breaths like sheep. You knew you were losing the battle to stay awake, a tinge of worry sparking to life in your chest until you felt him move, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. He wasn’t so sedated that he couldn’t move. 

Sighing, you smiled and finally let your eyes drift closed. “I love you.” You whispered, too far gone to react when the hand sporting the IV came to rest on top of yours.

“Me too, crazy girl.”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 19

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: Deep breaths, my friends. We’re almost to the end. ❤️

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Violence, peril, blood and guns, character death…

Part 19: “Sacrifice”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Dean’s wide eyes flicked up to John’s, and the other man sprang into action. He shot a look and a whispered order at Cas, who went running for some IP tracking equipment back in the police car.

Meanwhile, John guided Dean to sit down on the couch. Sam followed them on his brother’s right, while John sat on Dean’s left.

Dean put the phone on speaker between the three of them.

“You’re Daniel Savage, huh?” Dean said. He tried to inject some more control into his tone, like he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. “Man, do I feel special.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Dean-o. I’m doing the same thing your dad’s doing. Hooking the bigger fish.”

Dean’s lips pursed. He glanced at his father, but his attention on the phone turned steely.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. “Your lackey’s on lockdown. So’s your bastard son. If you want to help him, I’d suggest you turn your ass over to the cops.”

“Yes, Nick’s an idiot. But family, right?” said Daniel. He breathed out a sigh.

But then his voice was firm and calculating. It made Dean’s skin crawl.

“Cards on the table, son. Your daddy’s got something of mine. I’ve got something of yours.”

Dean’s face hardened, but John raised a placating hand; a warning to keep calm. Dean tried to take a breath.

His heart clenched at the mere thought of you being in the same room with that man. Having been taken and hauled to God knows where. He couldn’t imagine how scared you were. And if you were hurt…

Fuck. There was a roiling pit forming in his stomach, his head starting to pound in time with his heartbeat.

Already Cas was back with a laptop and program designed to track the caller’s phone. He connected a USB-like cord to Dean's phone and began fiddling with the settings, trying to get a read. Dean knew he had to keep this fucker talking.

“You have her with you?” he asked.

“Sure do. She’s a pretty little thing.”

Dean’s jaw clenched in a furious glare. “Don’t you fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.”

“Quid pro quo, Dean. What can you do for me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, as desperation began to escape him. “There’s no way they’re letting Nick go before the trial. It’s out of my dad’s hands.”

“Your dad has no real evidence that my son is anything more than a successful businessman,” said Daniel. “If you really need someone to pin these unfortunate murders on, you had your man in custody…but, oh wait. You gave him immunity.”

Dean’s eyes were desperate when they met Sam’s worried ones, then their father’s. It didn’t matter that John and Cas did have evidence besides Alastair’s testimony. All Dean cared about was you.

He swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. It’s what I want John to do.”

Dean took a moment to close his eyes, pull himself together. His hands squeezed his knees to brace himself. When he next opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.

“What do you want then? Aside from Nick somehow breaking loose,” he asked.

“I want your dad to back the fuck off, once and for all,” Daniel said. His voice was more edged, with both warning and a hint of frustration. “Or I’ll make his son live the same pathetic existence he does.”

Dean’s next breath came out harsher, as both John and Sam sharpened at the threat.

“That’s right, Dean. These are my terms of engagement, else I’m gonna have a bonfire with your girl here.” 

It all gripped Dean at once.

Panic, anger, and desperation.

He grabbed the phone and spoke harshly into the speaker.

“Put her on the damn line," he said. "I wanna hear her and know this isn’t a trick.”

Daniel sighed, like he was getting bored. “Oh, all right.”

There was some shuffling, the sound of Daniel’s steps echoing in what sounded like a large room. Dean’s brows furrowed as he heard sounds of your struggle, then your labored breaths, as if a gag had been removed from your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk to him,” said Daniel.

Soon enough, your tremulous voice reached him.

“Dean?” you said. You sounded like you were fighting tears; maybe even losing. Dean’s heart broke all the more for it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice shook. He hoped you weren’t lying for his sake.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He raised a fist to his mouth, ignoring how it shook. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to find you—”

All too soon, the phone was taken away from you.

“Rule number one of negotiations, kid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Dean’s eyes widened. The next thing he heard was a hard slap. It echoed into the speaker, along with your shout of both surprise and pain, a chair toppling over.

“You fucking bastard!” Dean seethed. “When I find you—”

John interrupted this time, taking the cell phone from Dean. He shot his son a look that was meant to be reassuring, but Dean was too incensed. Sam gripped his shoulder and earned his brother’s gaze. Dean’s chest heaved with the effort of calming his breathing.

“What do you want?” John said into the phone. His voice was clipped and direct.

While he continued to speak, Cas was frowning in frustration over his laptop.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“I can’t get a lock on his signal. He must have something throwing off the scanner,” Cas replied.

Dean growled in frustration and pushed off the couch. He began to pace the living room, all while he tried to keep an ear on what John was saying lowly into the phone.

By the time he hung up, Dean was raging.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna find her,” he said. John tried to stop him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder. Dean knocked him off angrily. Sam also stood, for once on the same page as his father, no matter how much he sympathized.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” John tried.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Dean shouted. The force of it echoed on the apartment walls. “Matter of fact, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing until now. Only that you’d keep me in the loop on Azazel, and keep her out of this. But you couldn’t even do that, could you?”

Sam was at a loss, looking between his father and brother. Cas was also caught in between, watching the scene with concern, and bated breath.

John’s broad shoulders sunk a bit, along with the deep breath he expelled.

“You’re right,” John said. "You're right, son. And I'm sorry."

His eyes held the weight of his words. Of sincerity. And by degrees, Dean’s anger lessened.

Again, not by much.

“Let’s fix it,” said John. “Once and for all.”

Dean wasn’t fully recovered from his TBI. He’d been cleared for driving, but not yet for full physical exercise, let alone going back to work. The stress of all this was giving him a powerful headache, but there was no way he was going to be sidelined now, on any part of it.

Sam was forced to withdraw the case against Nick Savage, citing lack of evidence to support a trial at this time. The judge gave Sam permission to refile when he was able to build a better case.

John was then tasked with escorting Nick out of prison. Cas, meanwhile, was sitting in his personal car outside the county jail with Dean in the passenger seat. Cas didn’t trust what his friend would do behind the wheel once he saw Nick.

“What happens after Nick gets out?” Dean asked. “Dad’s been cagey about the whole deal.”

“We’re escorting him to the airport,” Cas said. “There we’ll wait for Daniel and make the exchange.”

Nick, for you. That was the deal.

“And then?” Dean asked, his teeth already clenching.

Cas blew out a sigh. “We’ll have a unit waiting on standby. We’re going to try and get ahold of whoever has her, though I doubt Daniel will come himself.”

“What if you can’t catch him?” Dean pressed.

Cas didn’t want to have to tell his friend something he didn’t want to hear, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to Dean. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Then it’s over, for now,” he replied. “We each go back to our corners and regroup.”

“Dad’ll never stop hunting this guy,” Dean said.

“That may be,” Cas nodded. “But he does have a line.”  

“My father’s an obsessed bastard,” Dean groused. “He doesn’t have a damn line.”

Cas looked over at him then. He was calm and sympathetic, and yet, still disagreeing in his silence. Dean knew he was probably wrong, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still angry.

He perked up, however, when the prison doors slid open. Out came John escorting Nick and his lawyer, Amelia. Nick looked as smug as ever now that his cuffs were off. He was given the clothes he was arrested in—a blue silk shirt, pants, Italian leather shoes, and a silver Rolex watch.

Screw this, Dean thought. He unlocked the car from his side and climbed out. He didn’t care that he could hear Cas mutter a curse behind him and follow suit.

Nick saw Dean coming and couldn’t help but smirk, even as John grasped his arm and led him to his police car.

“Hey, fireman,” Nick taunted with his waggling brows. “Where’s our girl?”

Dean’s lips edged at a dangerous smile. Cas came up just behind him, ready to restrain him if need be.

“You can finesse your way out of this, but remember our little chat,” Dean said. His eyes burned with a thinly veiled threat. “Not a dime in this world can protect you from me.”

Nick pretended to shiver.

“Ooh, I’m so fucking scared,” he snarked. He resisted John’s manhandling and ripped his arm out of the other man’s grasp to step further into the open, leaving just a few yards between him and Dean.

“You can’t touch me,” Nick taunted. “You won’t dare. Not unless you want—”

Three shots rang out in the open clearing.

All heads ducked, but Dean’s eyes widened. He watched Nick crumple to the ground as scarlet red plumed in the man’s silk shirt. The shock etched on his face drained along with his life, leaving blue eyes staring up at a clear sky.

Forensics at the scene found traces of a sniper on the rooftop of a building directly across from the county jail.

John and Cas already were mounting an entire unit search in locating Alastair Rolston, but he had apparently moved out of his apartment as soon as he was released from prison with his immunity deal. (The police officers escorting him into witness protection had been found dead at the scene of his designated safe house.)

The detectives were later called into the medical examiner’s office on the case of Nick Savage—not to examine the body, but the bullets that had carved into his heart, right lung, and throat.

One of the bullets had a special casing. Inside was a rolled-up note, not unlike a carrier pigeon. It had a simple message:

JOHN — STULL STORAGE. COME ALONE.

Once again, Dean refused to sit idly. He’d pushed back hard enough that John had eventually relented. This time, however, Sam stepped in to make sure his brother was reigned in. Dean’s knee was already bouncing with anticipation and nervousness.

It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The brothers sat in the surveillance van with Jody Mills, all wearing protective Kevlar vests as precaution. The van was removed from the immediate site of Stull Storage, which was made up of a main warehouse and several rows of storage units on the other side. 

Cas was leading another police unit on standby, but John was going into the warehouse. He wore his usual leather jacket over his rumpled shirt, pants, and boots, but also a protective vest and hidden wire under his collar.

Sam, Dean, and Jody were able to listen in as John entered alone.

He had a flashlight positioned over his raised gun as he walked into the building. He found some light switches along the wall and was able to turn on half the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.

He heard a whimper.

Moving towards the sound cautiously, John soon found you tied to a chair. You looked a bit worse for wear; though you were dressed for an interview in black slacks and a blouse, your hair was in disarray, your cheek still sported a fading red mark, and you likely had other bumps and bruises.

Your eyes widened with hope when you saw John. You made sounds of surprise around the gag tied in your mouth, but he shushed you with a finger held to his lips.

He went over to you after lowering his gun, cocking back the safety, and re-holstering. He went to untie the gag first. You breathed deeply when it was gone.

“You okay?” he asked, touching your arm in comfort.

“Yeah,” you nodded, but your widening eyes still darted behind him.

Another safety clicked back. John immediately drew his gun again and turned. He was met with the man of the hour.

Standing mere feet away with his own gun was Daniel Savage. AKA: Azazel.

“Ooh, you’re getting old, John,” he said with a smirk. “Wasn’t expecting to get the drop on you so easily.”

John subtly moved so he was standing in front of you. He hadn't had time to untie you from the chair. Your breathing came out shallow as you tried to spy around John to your captor.

“Daniel,” John greeted. “It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You cheated though,” said Daniel, despite his cocky smirk. Like father like son. “I know you’ve got a team waiting in the wings.”

“If you wanna get technical, you cheated first,” John pointed out.

Daniel shrugged. Behind him came around ten of his own hired men, armed with their own guns. “Hate the player, hate the game, my friend.”

John’s lips pursed, but he didn’t lower his gun. He had a straight shot at Daniel’s chest.

“Even if you do get off a shot, you’ll be Swiss cheese where you stand,” Daniel said. 

“Small price to pay for ending your miserable fucking life,” John remarked.

Daniel’s brows rose. “Are you gonna make her pay for it too?”

He gestured behind John, where he glanced back at your face. Your red-rimmed eyes were shining with tears. And John knew that once his gun fired, his body would hit the ground. Yours wouldn’t be far behind.

His brows furrowed, and the hands holding his weapon wavered.

“So how you do think this is gonna play out?” John asked.

“Well, for starters, you’re going to drop that damn gun,” said Daniel. He cocked his own weapon. “Then, you’re going to get down on your knees and take this bullet, like putting down a rabid dog. Then maybe, I’ll let her go before the cops rush in.”

John’s hesitation was mere seconds. He clicked the safety back on. He set down his gun, and lowered to his knees in slow movements.

Your eyes widened further as incredulous tears slipped down your cheeks. You shook your head.

“Don’t!” you said shakily. 

John didn’t look back at you this time, but he did answer you.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said.

Daniel’s grim smile made you shiver.

“What a caring father-in-law,” he said, and he slowly stalked forward. “You know, I prided myself on delegating my operations well. Oh, it was a well-oiled machine back in the day. But some things…well, some things are just better handled yourself. Know what I mean?”

He tilted his head down at John.

“For example: I really regret the way I had your wife killed,” he said. “For all the trouble you’ve given me, I wish I’d actually burned the bitch myself.”

John glared up at the man with pure fury and hatred.

Though his eyes widened when the first shot split the air, and buried a bullet in Daniel’s left arm. Daniel shouted in pain as he unconsciously dropped his gun. John dove for it, and everything started to happen at once.

Daniel kicked at John’s chest while holding his wounded arm, tossing the other man back. John rolled onto his feet, and their full out brawl began. Meanwhile, a unit of police officers swarmed into the warehouse and sparked a shootout with Daniel’s men.

And in all of this, Cas came out from behind your line of vision to untie you. He wore a protective vest over his usual white dress shirt, now rolled up to the elbows.

“Cas!” you gasped. He gave you a smile, then used a pocketknife to cut through the zip ties holding your wrists behind you and your ankles to the chair.

“Come on, let’s go.” He helped you up and guided you out the back of the warehouse.

The last coherent sound Sam and Dean heard was a bullet fired and hitting its target. They couldn’t tell if it was John or Daniel that had been hit, or even you.

Above all things, Dean was a man of action.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck this,” he growled. He got to his feet and went for the door of the surveillance van, but while Jody voiced her protest, it was Sam who reached him first.

“Dean, stop! You can’t go out there!” Sam said.

“The hell I can’t,” Dean said. The punch he reared back and threw was precise when it cracked Sam in the cheek. He went down hard. It was all Jody could do to keep him from knocking his head on the metal floor, but Sam was out cold, with his hair flopped over his face.

"Dean!" Jody yelled after him. She stared after the open door of the van with wide, worried eyes.

There were rows upon rows of storage units behind the warehouse. It felt like a maze in itself, one that you and Cas were forced to navigate alone in the crisp January night. Both of you saw your breath on the air as you tried to move quickly, but quietly.

Until a long arm reached out on the other side of a unit, and a hand closed on Cas’s gun, pushing it down and ripping it out of his hands. An elbow cracked into his face, making him grunt and stumble.

Your scream of surprise echoed in the night. You stared up into the familiar face of Alastair, whose mouth formed a sly grin.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said.

Cas distracted him with a blow that Alastair blocked, but it gave Cas room to break the taller man’s stance and knock his head against the unit wall—once, twice, until the man stumbled and fell. He wasn’t knocked out, but Cas didn’t wait for Alastair to recover. He grabbed you and forced you to run.

“I thought he was in protective custody for the trial,” you said, through huffing breaths.

“Evidently he escaped,” Cas replied.

“God, Cas. You really need to hand out some pink slips,” you said, with a tremor in your voice. The police were supposed to have been watching you as well, before you were kidnapped. Cas conceded your point.

“We really shouldn’t have given him immunity,” he grumbled.

Dean knew he was being some kind of idiot.

Knew it as he carefully approached a side door of the warehouse. His vest wouldn’t protect his whole body if he entered the no man’s land shootout he could hear happening on the other side of the door.

Already he could see policemen escorting some of Azazel’s captured team around the front exit. Dean kept to the shadows, and he cracked the side door open.

There was still plenty going on inside. A few bodies were already strewn across the dusty warehouse floor. Large crates stacked up to the ceiling offered meager protection for both sides of the siege, including Dean as he kept to the wall and slid his way inside and behind a formation of wooden crates. He scanned the room until he found his dad.

John was fighting hand-to-hand with who had to be Daniel Savage. Even though the latter had blood dripping from his arm, John had his share of bruises and scrapes, including a long cut across his cheek from the knife clenched in Daniel’s non-injured right hand.

What the hell do I do? Dean assessed the situation, his eyes darting quickly between the men. He came in here without a weapon (another smart move). He went through most of the training a million years ago, but Dean wasn’t a police officer. He was a firefighter.

However, when he spotted a forgotten Glock on the floor, just a few yards away where the men were still tousling, Dean inched his way closer. He’d have to leave the relative safety of the crates and throw himself out into the open to reach the gun. At this point, Daniel was closer.

And he’d noticed the gun too, at the same time that John glanced up and saw his son. His eyes widened, and just for a moment he lost his grip on Daniel. The other man went for the gun at the same time Dean dove.

John yanked Daniel back by his collar and kneed him in the stomach. But Daniel had the longer reach. He cracked an elbow into John’s face and followed by a swift punch to the gut. John grunted and doubled over at the impact to his already battered ribs and stomach.

Daniel threw him head-first into a pile of nearby crates. He was breathing hard, but his lips twitched in satisfaction at the way John fell into a heap of broken wood. The detective was clearly waning.

Daniel stalked forward. Ignoring his still bleeding shoulder, he grabbed John by the jacket and collar of his shirt and hefted him up to his feet, prepared to deliver another blow. The cocking of a nearby gun made him pause. But in a moment, he twisted John in front him with an arm wrapped around his neck to face his next attacker.

While Daniel had been distracted, Dean had managed to dive and roll across the concrete, scooping up the gun on his way back onto his feet. Now he’d had the time to take aim and wait for his moment, which was right fucking now.

Slowly, Daniel tilted his head to look past John’s shoulder. He was met with Dean’s smirk and a gun pointed directly at his head.

“I think I’ve got something of yours,” Dean remarked. His fingers slid over the trigger.

Daniel tilted his head. A dry smile edged at the corner of his lips. “All right, Dean. Well played. But…”

He tightened his arm around John’s throat and held the knife poised at his neck.

“We’re at what you’d call an impasse, don’t you think?” Daniel asked.

“Dean,” John said. He met his eldest’s gaze as uncertainly crept into Dean’s stance. His hand was still held aloft, but there was an almost imperceptible shake.

“Just shoot him,” said John, with full conviction. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s mouth pressed into a line, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t doing that.

“See, I don’t think he’s got it in ‘im,” Daniel said, speaking lowly in John’s ear. His knife tightened against John’s neck. “You’re out of your fucking depth, Dean.”

Dean flinched as a bullet zoomed past his head from across the room. He was reminded that there was still a fight going on, and the three of them were very much out in the open. John’s face turned more urgent, with thinly veiled worry.

“Dean, either shoot him or get the hell out of here,” he said tersely.

“I’m not leaving,” Dean said, with a small, stubborn shake of his head. But he was nervous. Despite how close he’d come with Nick Savage, Dean had never shot at someone, let alone taken a life. The gun was heavy in his hand.

“Running out of time, son,” Daniel taunted.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean gritted out. “Speaking of, did you have Alastair do your dirty work, taking out Nick, or did you pull that trigger yourself?”

Daniel’s smirk faded, his gaze tightening with resignation.

“Sacrifices, Dean,” he said. “We make ‘em to survive. To make sure our legacies survive.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he looked at this man, and he finally understood what his dad had been trying to tell him.

He ain’t a man. He’s a monster.

The gun was heavy in his hand…

“Come on, Dean!” Daniel shouted. “Make a decision—”

Dean still remembered most things he’d learned at the Police Academy. He’d lived, ate, sweat, and breathed those drills and tests for months. And yet, there was only one score he’d truly been proud of. It was the one record of his dad’s that he’d managed to beat.

You could guess which one.

Dean let his fingers squeeze the trigger on some instinct he couldn’t name. Daniel was forced to choke on his words.

Cas pulled you around the corner of a storage unit that blocked the light of the moon. It was just in time for a bullet to rip past where his head used to be.

You leaned heavily against the wall and heaved for breath, but Cas held a finger to his lips while he tried to calm his own breathing.

You held a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds from getting out. Your eyes were wide and panicked, but Cas could only reassure you with a brief hand on your shoulder. He nodded and signaled with his free hand. Wait.

You gave a jerky nod in return. So he reached for his belt and brandished the only weapon he had left—the knife he’d used to cut through your bonds. The air was quiet, except for the distant shouts of police officers; it sounded like Azazel’s men were finally being rounded up.

Cas had called for backup earlier, but he didn’t think they could wait for it. Nor would he know if they were coming. He’d long since turned off the radio on his belt so that it couldn’t tip off his position with you.

He chanced looking around the wall of the storage unit. The coast looked clear, though he knew it wasn’t. Still, the best Cas could hope for was to cover you on the way back to the police barricade. He leaned back and reached for you. He guided you, both with his eyes and a hand on your back.

On the count of three, run, he mouthed. You wordlessly agreed. He saw the fear shining in your eyes.

One…two…

An arm shot out to grab Castiel’s collar the moment he stepped out from his cover, making you scream. The first punch came swift; Alastair was taller, perhaps stronger, but Cas recovered quickly.

He ducked the other man’s arm and delivered an uppercut that had his adversary careening back. With a well-placed jab to the wrist, Alastair’s gun clattered away across the ground.

Cas managed to shoot you a quick look. “Run. Now!”

You paused for a mere moment while Cas continued to grapple with Alastair. Then, in your frozen fear, you finally managed flight. And you took off running, even though Alastair tried to grab at your hair. Cas held him back and continued the fight.

You’d only managed a few yards of distance though, before you couldn’t help but look back. Something in you just couldn’t leave Cas behind.

You took cover behind another storage unit and watched Alastair slowly get the upper hand. He managed to pin Cas against the ribbed metal wall of a unit. He winced as it dug into his spine, but he had bigger problems.

He spat blood after the third blow to his jaw and tried to blink dark spots of his vision. Alastair looked down on him with the lean look of a predator. His smile betrayed the enjoyment he took in his work.

“Contrary to what you might think, I’ve never killed a cop before,” he said. “Just a cop’s wife.”

Cas’s eyes widened a fraction. Alastair’s smile deepened. He raised a bloody fist to finish his work, but he winced and weakened with a shout as a knife embedded deep in his thigh.

It was Cas’s knife that you’d found on the ground.

Alastair’s angry eyes looked down and met your scared ones. You let go of the knife and scrambled back. He backhanded you roughly. You cried out and fell hard on the pavement.

Alastair reached for the knife, but Cas grabbed it first. He twisted as he yanked it out, then jabbed it into the taller man’s neck. It choked his scream as he stumbled back. And yet, even that didn’t manage to kill him.

Cas dove for the fallen gun. It was mere feet away from where he’d forced it out of Alastair’s grip. Cas felt a hand grab his shoulder. He reacted fast—he turned and shot two rounds of hot led into Alastair’s gut.

His gray eyes went wide. Blood gurgled in his mouth.

And slowly, Alastair slid to the ground.

Cas was bloody, his shirt stained and torn, but he was still standing with ragged breath. You had managed to sit up, though your shocked eyes were trained on the body you’d just seen fall into a heap. The horrific spell of it broke when Cas gently touched your shoulder.

You gasped and raised your head.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching a hand to you. “It’s over.”

Cas escorted you back to the police barricade. There you found Sam, and the mere sight of him relieved you so much you didn’t realize you were crying when you stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight and asked if you were all right.

You couldn’t give him an honest answer, but at least you were alive.

“I’m okay,” you said tremulously, but you pulled back at grasped his arms. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam looked anxious as his gaze flit between you and Cas.

“That goddamn idiot, he went in there! They won’t let me through—”

“What?” Cas said incredulously. “Into the warehouse?”

Your tears fell anew as a new frantic worry took hold, churning in your stomach and making you feel sick. You turned, and both Cas and Sam had to stop you from heading towards the warehouse.

“Get him out of there!” you cried. “Dean!”

You tried to push past Cas and his attempts to calm you, but you stopped the moment you saw him…

Dean was helping John limp out of the warehouse. Jody was on John’s other side, supporting him as well. John looked beat to hell, and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the calm look on his face. Like he’d finally sleep tonight.

Dean, on the other hand, looked pale, haggard, and worried. However, his head perked up as soon as he heard your voice. His eyes widened. He turned to Jody to make sure she could support John on her own, and she nodded at him.

It let Dean make his way straight for you.

Sam and Cas finally released you, like a horse waiting to bolt out of the stables. Your tears blurred your vision as you went to him.

When Dean swept you up into his arms, you were able to throw yours around his neck and cling to him for all you were worth. You buried your face into his neck and sobbed your relief.

You wouldn’t know that Dean’s eyes were shining and red, his mouth trembling slightly as he sucked in a breath and held you as tight as he dared. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, over your wild hair. His lips pressed to the side of your head as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, when he was able to speak.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, though his question prompted you to pull back and find his face. Your heels came back to the ground, and you reached up to stroke his cheek and search his gaze.

“What about you?” you asked tremulously. “Your head?”

“’M fine,” he said. Though the truth was, he was reeling. His ears still rung from the bullet that hit Daniel between the eyes.

The weight of that decision was almost too fresh to be real, but it was heavy on Dean all the same. He could even get in legal trouble for this. He wasn’t supposed to have entered that building. Hell, he’d picked up a gun and shot a man.

Though he already knew what Sam would say.

Justification. Imminent danger. Self-defense.

Dean just didn’t know if that would fly here, especially with the Fire Department.

Right now, however, you were his lifeline. You grounded him in reality when you held his face in your hands. Just beyond you, he could see the relief on both Sam and Cas’s faces.

Dean gave them a smile, but he focused back on you. He held your hand to his cheek.

“Promise me you’re gonna stay put for a while,” he quipped. “Preferably where I can see you.”

You scoffed at him through the tears glittering in your eyes.

“Dean Winchester, if that isn’t the most hypocritical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth!” you said, punctuating your words with a slap on his chest.

“Hey!” he protested, but you ignored him. You gripped his shirt and felt the Kevlar underneath. It might’ve protected his chest, but he hadn’t had anything to protect his damn head.

“You run into fires, not bullets, you idiot,” you said, now wiping frustrated tears from your cheek.

Dean’s tension began to ease with a smile. He held you more securely, pulling you flush against him.

“You sound like Bobby,” he teased.

“Good!” you snapped. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Do you hear m—?”

He didn’t think he’d ever miss you giving him shit, but this time, it just made him smile until the corners of his eyes crinkled. Shortly before he cut you off with a searing kiss.

You made a sound of surprise, even as you gripped at his shirt, then his face to keep him there. You both knew this night was long from being over. An even longer way from recovering.

But for now, this was a good start.

AN: And so, we're drawing near to the end. 🥹 What did you think of the respective ends of Nick and Daniel Savage, and even Alastair? And of course, her and Dean's reunion. 💗

Soon (this weekend), we have the epilogue...

Next Time:

“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.

“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.

Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he took your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.

Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little...

Keep Reading: THE EPILOGUE

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[astarions-darling]

An Indecent Proposal Raphael x FemTav/Reader

NSFW mdni tags: inappropriate touching, edging, panty sniffin', raphael is a dirty little pervert, clothed male, naked female summary: you barge into Sharess' Caress ready to give Raphael a piece of your mind. however when you get there, things do not go as planned. read on ao3 via source (this is pretty dialogue heavy because Raphael likes the sound of his own voice. and I don't blame him. this is also silly.)

You don’t bother to knock when you reach the door with the little shiny plaque that says “Devil’s Den” in an ornate script. The door isn’t locked, so it swings open effortlessly when you barge in. The tirade ready to fall from your lips falters as the door closes with a soft click behind you and the hand you had raised in righteous anger pauses before limply falling to your side.

Raphael is lounging in one of the overly gilded armchairs that furnish the den, a glass of something that looks both incredibly alcoholic and expensive dangling from one hand as he regards you with that infuriatingly knowing smile. None of that is why the cat suddenly has your tongue; it's that he has shrugged off the outer layer of his clothing and sits there with his white shirt unbuttoned. The view of his bare chest isn't a particularly novel sight—after all, you share a camp with several people, and some—like a certain large elf—enjoy being one with nature on any occasion they can get. It's more of a shock to see Raphael in such a state of undress; it would be a lie to say you had never considered what lay beneath his neatly tailored clothes. But you would have bet all the gold in Faerûn that Korilla stitched him into them every morning to ensure they stayed perfectly in place. Right now he looked so...deliciously dishevelled.

“My, my," comes his amused voice, "does the squirming tadpole hinder your manners as well, little mouse?” The gentle timbre of his voice washes over you and it's enough to snap your attention to his face. “Or have you always been an uncouth little beast that flounces in without knocking?”

You frown at him, your irritation flaring up again. Your fingers flex—though not in a fit of pique but because your mind has been lost to the thought of running your fingers through the hairs on his tanned chest. That bloody distracting devil. Why did you come here again?

"Did you come all this way to gawk like a gutted fish or did you have something you wished to say?" He raises a brow, tipping his drink towards you. "If you wish to stare, I am, of course, happy to oblige—though that will cost you. This establishment operates on a quid pro quo basis, you know."

Quickly you shake your head, trying to wrangle your thoughts. The devil stands, unfolding himself gracefully from his chair and languidly striding over to a nearby credenza on which an array of bottles and glasses sit. He moves with care, never rushing, and with a deliberate air you can’t help but admire. He makes you feel clumsy.

You watch him carefully pour some rich amber liquid into his glass. It looks like steam rises and hisses above it for a moment before disappearing. The man turns to you, the corner of his lips quirked.

“I’d offer you a drink but I’m certain you’d decline.”

That presumptuous bastard. You’re too irritated to wonder if this is a trick on his part, which is foolish. But he too easily gets under your skin and so you open your mouth to retort.

“I would love a drink,” you say petulantly. You watch him take a sip, hating how you can’t stop yourself from watching his tongue flick out to catch the remnants of it on his lips. He fills up another glass before passing it to you. You watch the amber liquid swirl a moment before throwing it back quickly.

An incredibly stupid thing to do. Whatever it is, the liquor burns your throat and has you spluttering as you bend over coughing. You hear Raphael’s low chuckle of amusement before a glass of water is conjured out of thin air and hovers before you. You snatch it, guzzling it down just like the beast he claims you to be.

“What the bloody hell was that?” you ask, wiping at your mouth with the back of his hand. You catch his nose wrinkling at your lack of decorum. “I think my insides are melting!”

“Cease your melodramatic caterwauling,” he says, casually taking another sip of his own drink. Smug bastard. “It will pass.”

You cough again, feeling the liquor heat up your veins. You blink a few times before the alcohol simmers down, leaving just a pleasant warmth in your belly. Liquor and spirits had been few and far between while on your little adventure—well, anything half decent that is. The swill you’d managed to get was no better than vinegar. You’d stupidly agreed to let Astarion steal some expensive-looking vintage from the wine festival in the Lower City…which had ended up with you spending the night in a cell. Sometimes that elf was the clumsiest person you’d ever met. With that thought, you suddenly remember why you’ve come here.

“I would like for you to stop sending Korilla to spy on me,” you demand as the devil places his drink down so he can re-button the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Did he go deliberately tan on some beach, you wonder? That thought spirals and you’re suddenly picturing lying in the sun on some perfect beach while his skin glitters with salt and sea.

“You should be thanking me.” His lilting words are annoyingly pleasant and they drag you out of your daydream. “After all, if dear Korilla hadn’t been with you a few nights ago you’d probably still be a trapped little mouse in a cell.” He smirks, picking up his drink again and tilting the glass toward you. “Stealing wine, really?”

You decide to keep your mouth shut, something that you mentally congratulate yourself for. It was true that Korilla had been the one to free you from your dank cell. Which was a lucky thing; you didn’t want to hurt people while trying to break free, but it would have come to that if the warlock hadn’t intervened. Raphael watches you carefully, an easy smile on his handsome face, his confident casual air annoying you more than anything else.

“I will withdraw Korilla’s eye from your camp,” he says after a few minutes, his voice thoughtful, “if you give me something in return.”

Of course. You sigh. What did you expect?

“I’m not giving you my soul just for that, Raphael,” you scoff. “If I wouldn’t take one of your deals for the hammer then I certainly won’t trade it just to stop your little dog from following me around.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking such a thing,” he says smoothly, ignoring your little jab about Korilla. “I desire a mere trifle. Inexpensive!” The devil laughs, a warm pleasing sound that has your lips twitching and skin flushing despite yourself. “I promise you won’t even miss it.”

You frown. What did you have that he would want? Soul coins, perhaps? But surely Raphael couldn’t know you had some in your possession, could he? But also they weren’t inexpensive…not in the least. What in Balduran’s name could he possibly want from you?

“What?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

He tuts. “You really do need to acquire some manners, little mouse. Too much scurrying around with scoundrels and vagabonds.” He sighs, taking a sip of his drink before grabbing a different bottle. You watch him uncork it with ease and pour the dark red liquid into a silver chalice. When he proffers it to you, your hands take it carefully. “Perhaps this may be more pleasing to your sensitive mortal palate.” You watch the candlelight flicker over the wine before you bring it up to smell. Inhaling, you let the notes of cherry and plum assault your senses, the sweet richness of it utterly inviting. When you take a sip, you let it sit on your tongue for a moment to savour it before you close your eyes and swallow. You hadn’t had anything that good in…well, you don’t think you’ve ever had such a decadent wine before.

When you meet Raphael’s gaze again, you shift on your feet. Your fingers grip tighter on the stem, remembering where you are and who you’re talking to.

“It’s nice,” you say, idly swirling the glass. “Well, what do you want then?”

“Your knickers.”

There is no hesitation in his words, he shoots them out quickly and effortlessly—like Astarion would shoot an arrow. You nearly spill the wine in your shock. You’re certain you’ve hallucinated his words or perhaps this is a weird dream. Maybe you are still tucked in your bed at the Elfsong Tavern, dreaming about devils and their insanity.

“You want my what?”

“Your knickers,” Raphael repeats, his easy stare watching you as a multitude of emotions flicker over your face.

So you had heard him correctly. The man doesn’t even act like he’s asked for anything unreasonable. Disbelief has you standing there with your mouth agape. Is he trying to humiliate you? He must be. Was this some sort of strange ploy to get you to agree to his insane deal of the hammer for the crown?

“Why?” The word falls out of your mouth gracelessly, but you aren’t here to cater to Raphael’s want for proper etiquette.

“Why anything?” His voice is low and tinged with amusement as he finishes his drink. He leaves the glass on the credenza to walk closer to you, his hands gesturing as he continues to talk. “Why does the fox chase the hare? Why do little thieves steal wine? For the thrill?” He pauses, head tilting to the side as he regards you. He grins at you. “For pleasure?”

You despise the way he inflects the last word. It sends a rolling shiver down your spine.

“If you’re trying to humiliate me, consider it done.”

He feigns hurt, or you think he does, as he sighs dramatically. You wish he would he would dress himself back in his tunic again, or at least do up his shirt buttons as your eyes can’t help but flick to his exposed throat and chest as his shirt shifts with his movements.

“I would never dare dream of humiliating you, my dear.” Raphael's words sound sincere, but you do not trust him. He’s a devil. It’s like a constant mantra you have to repeat yourself. You are aware that devils can’t lie, but they can certainly bend the truth—just enough—so that it won’t break. “How it claws at my heart to hear you even utter such a thing.”

“I didn’t know you had a heart,” you retort.

“You wound me again, sweetling.” Hand over supposed heart, Raphael smiles. “Indulge me. I do not ask for much.”

It was true, it really wasn’t much. A heavy sigh and then you hear yourself utter a resigned, “Fine.”  It was ludicrous but you couldn’t see any harm in it. And he hadn’t produced a contract to sign—just a gentleman’s agreement, as it were. You were not going to tell any of your companions that you had traded your panties for some freedom. Nine Hells, you hoped you could sneak back into the tavern without them noticing. Perhaps the alcohol has loosened your resolve and has you acting so stupidly but you can’t see anything wrong with the arrangement. With another sigh, you ditch the wine on a nearby table before you turn to leave, but Raphael calls after you.

“And where are you rushing off to?”

“To the tavern,” you say, turning back to face him, “to fetch you your perverse prize.”

“No.” He takes a few steps closer and you catch that hint of spice and musk that wafts from him. “The ones you are wearing, little mouse.”

You suppress a shudder. He’s never been so close to you before, he’s manoeuvred himself into your personal space. The heat and power that radiates from him is intoxicating, more so than any drink upon your tongue, and you’re suddenly reminded of what he is underneath his welcome facade. Yet that doesn’t stop your mouth from opening.

“There are plenty of boutiques around here if you’re that desperate for some new lingerie, Raphael. No need to take mine.” You stick your chin out, matching his stare as you can’t help but add, “As lovely as I think you’d look in pink lace.”

The man’s face doesn’t change, the easy smile remains but you can see the brightness of his eyes—as if you can sense their true infernal nature behind his human disguise. He seems pleased with your reluctance to submit to him easily. Something that you hate to admit makes you pleased in return.

“Pink’s not really my colour,” he muses, fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully, “though I am sure the flush of it against your skin suits.”

Those words do not help you’re suddenly racing heart but you try to ignore his silver tongue. Shifting on your feet, you try to get your mind back in order. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for somewhere to change though there doesn’t appear to be anywhere.

“How I do enjoy watching the little wheels turn in that pretty head of yours.”

You glare at him. “Where can I change then, devil?”

He laughs and then spreads his arms wide. “Right here.” At the look on your face he continues, “You mortals are so easily flustered.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Please, as if I have not seen bare flesh before.”

Later, when you are tucked in your rented bed, you will blame the alcohol. But for now, you simply begin to undo your clothing, starting with removing your boots. He takes a mere step back, those eyes watching you the entire time until you are standing there in nothing but your underclothes. Feeling self-conscious, you feel the flush begin in your chest and work its way up your neck but you refrain from trying to cover yourself up and stand there with your hands by your side as your body tenses. The look on his face hasn’t really changed, but again there is something behind the eyes. A reaching hunger. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you, can devil’s see a soul? Does it call out to him and do his hands itch to pluck it free?

Raphael walks behind you and instinctively you go to turn but his warm hands reach out to hold your shoulders, keeping you where you stand and your toes scrunch at the soft rug beneath to curb some of the tension now beginning to coil in your gut. The lingering touch as he holds you burns into your skin, not due to his infernal nature—though you do sense that he feels rather warm than a regular man—but due to the way your traitorous body reacts to his touch.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I just want to remember you as you are now, before your flesh is torn asunder by writhing tentacles.” His hands slide down your sides, leaving a trail of gooseflesh and a horrible twinge of arousal. “Before your lovely skin is slippery with mucus and…” he leans in and you feel the tip of his nose behind your ear making you shiver, “you lose that delectable scent.”

You can feel the deep rolling timbre of his voice against your skin. You are too aware of him behind you, your muscles tense as you try to resist the entirely too tempting urge to step back into him. “I am not giving you the crown.” You manage to utter the words though they come out in a whisper. But you are still somewhat proud that you can utter them at all.

“You will.” His fingers touch your neck and you can’t suppress the shudder. “I see your little vampling has taken a bite.”

You twitch as the soft pad of his finger grazes against the puncture wounds on your neck. 

“It helps him fight better.”

His hum in response tickles your neck but you refrain from responding. What would you say? That you like letting the vampire feed on you occasionally? That the searing flash of pain mixing so deliciously with the heady feeling of Astarion drinking from you is unlike any sort of pleasure you’ve experienced before? No. The devil did not need any details.

“I’m sure it does.” Raphael's words float against the shell of your ear and you are momentarily aware that you have a literal devil hovering by your shoulder.

The pad of his finger once more traces the puncture wounds from Astarion’s bite. It feels like a bolt of magic whenever he touches you, though the shock of it is far too pleasant and it goes straight between your legs. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth but you manage to unstick it just as he pulls away.

Raphael moves around you until he is once more facing you. You feel flushed, far too aware of how your pulse is thudding in your neck, yet he looks perfectly calm and collected, breathing even and standing there as if you were merely discussing the weather. When he drops to his knees before you, you want to scream but you are too transfixed at the sight of him before you. You can barely think when his hands reach up towards your underwear. You stare dumbfounded, some part of you still blaming it on the alcohol, as you watch his long, elegant fingers trace the pattern of lace by your hip.

“They do look lovely on you, little mouse, a pity.”

You find your tongue again and manage to mutter, “I can undress myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he purrs. You wish you could cast Silence on him. “But what sort of man would I be if I didn’t lend a helping hand?”

Quickly you look away, face burning in embarrassment as your mind easily imagines how helpful said hand could be. He really shouldn’t be allowed to speak in such a way. Did he cast some kind of spell on you? Did he put something in that drink? Or were you just simply this spellbound by him—perhaps not something to dwell on, you decide. You feel his warm breath against the top of your thigh as his fingers slide up under the band of your knickers at your lack of response. You realise you’re holding your breath as he slides the lace down your legs. You risk a glance down but quickly flick your eyes away—his face is far too close to your bare sex. If he moves his head even slightly you know you will feel his breath on your cunt.

Standing there, you wrestle with the idea of stepping back or just blasting him in the face with a spell. Not that you are very good with spells. But damn does his touch feel nice, his hands are so damn warm and soft as he oh so fucking slowly slides your underwear down. Raphael hasn’t said a word and it’s been at least a minute—that must be a record. The lace finally reaches the ground and he taps your ankle.

Wordlessly you lift a foot and his low response of, “Good girl,” has you desperately fighting to control your stupid dumb animal body’s response. Your fingers itch to steady yourself on his shoulder but you refrain…just. Luckily all your adventuring has improved your athletics and you’re determined not to give the devil the satisfaction of stumbling before him into a wanton heap.

His thumb slips under the fabric still hanging around your other ankle and tugs at it. You’d been staring at the wall straight ahead, eyes fixed on a portrait hanging in some ornate frame. But at the tug, you glance down and see Raphael staring up at you, that smug smirk plastered on his face. Could you get away with kneeing him in the face? Lords above, could you get away with yanking him by the hair (and it was such lovely hair) and between your legs? Both are tempting.

“Little mouse?” His voice is a long lilting drawl and he tugs again at your knickers.

You lift your foot quickly, again saving yourself from tripping over, as he slips it off your foot and stands. You stand there a moment, dazed. Your skin still feels like it is on fire, he must be able to smell your arousal…you can. And you can see the way his nostrils flare as he stands and you watch the devil bring the pink lace up to his face and inhale. Now would be a great time for the Elder Brain to try and shake free of its bonds, you think.

“Did you just—”

With a snap of his fingers, you're suddenly dressed. “Was that so difficult?” “Why didn’t you just do that to take them?” you ask incredulously. “Where would be the fun in that?” He straightens the lapel on your clothing and adds, “Remember, I will still be here when you are ready to admit you need me.”

You grit your teeth. “I don’t need the hammer.”

Those deceptively warm eyes regard you and he smiles again, making your hands itch. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, and in that moment you realise that is not what he means. But you do not get a chance to speak as with a wave of his hand you find yourself disappearing in a flash of crimson-tinged ash before you are teetering on the steps of Sharess’ Caress in the warm evening air. That smarmy, panty sniffing, bastard. As you begin the walk back to the tavern, you tell yourself your frustration has nothing to do with the way he had touched you. Nothing at all.

When you return to the Elfsong, you attempt to sneak past the group as they eat around a large wooden table. Of course, you can’t get past Shadowheart, the cleric spotting you and instantly dragging you to the table. You slide in, squished between her and Gale as she begins to question where you’ve been.

“Nowhere,” you say with a dismissive shrug, proud of how natural it sounds as you grab a bread roll and try to ignore the lingering throb between your legs. ”I just went for a walk.”

You feel eyes on you and look up into the knowing gaze of Astarion. “A walk, darling?” He leans in across the table and you see his nostrils flare. “An exhilarating one, I take it?” He sniffs again. “Climb any cherry trees on your…walk?”

[desertcrater]

naaaaahhhhh this is a whole new level. s3 ep7 house strikes up a quid pro quo with the vegetative state guy where it's basically question for question. house has to answer vegetative state guy's question before he can ask him anything medical related.

tell me why the first question the dude asks in the car is directed to both house and wilson. "what is up with you two?"

to which house answers honestly that wilson lied to the cops for him. so we can infer that house respects the quid pro quo and is going to answer honestly.

second question the dude asks is point blank, "have you ever been in love?"

and house answers honestly, "wow. going right for the closets with the embarrassing stuff. good move. yes. describe the boats?"

and after house says this, the camera cuts directly to wilson munching on twizzlers in the backseat. not on the other dude while he answers house's question.

like yeah, "skeletons in the closet" is the obvious wordplay and reference house is making here. but there's also the whole Queer Closet subtext thing, made stronger by house describing his being in love as "embarrassing", and the camera cut to wilson instead of back on the other guy.

the only romantic relationship we've seen house in, is his relationship with stacy. yet he didn't seem remotely embarrassed by his love for her.

the other thing is, the vegetative state guy is repeatedly shown to be socially smart. he's intelligent. before the first question, he said he needed to think of one. then house and wilson do this domestic-ass bicker about the vicodin refill, and suddenly the dude is like "what are you two? a couple? are you in love with him or something?"

he even asks, "how'd you meet?" which i really think he meant wilson. because he keeps pressing on after house says "she", with this surprised, "shot you?". conversationally, he's in disbelief over the shot part, subtextually he's in disbelief over the "she" part. this is further strengthened by:

"have you ever loved anybody else?"

to which house shuts everything down with, "no more questions."

[racefortheironthrone]

how do you feel about gen ed requirements in college majors?

Oooh, that's a good question, because I feel genuinely conflicted about it.

Cards on the table, I should say that I picked my undergraduate university precisely because it had a broad core curriculum of literature, philosophy, art, music, and science (and because it didn't require math) for all majors.

As a freshman, I had very wide-ranging interests and wasn't sure what I wanted to do for my major when I started, even though I started taking as many history electives as possible starting in my second semester. But even though I didn't need much time to "find myself," I still feel that the "well-rounded" education I received was good for my intellectual development, my ability to participate in society, and so forth.

And then there's the fact that my grad school career was entirely dependent on history classes being used as gatekeeping requirements for poli sci, communications, and sociology majors, which generated a steady demand for TA labor. So I do recognize that gen ed requirements are absolutely essential to the economics of many disciplines, and universities would have to rethink how they fund departments if they got rid of gen ed requirements altogether.

That being said, I do recognize that these kinds of requirements can also be really bad for students who are quite different from myself. As generations of students forced to take Physics for Poets or English for Engineers can testify, it can be legitimately frustrating for people who have a strength and an interest in an area that they want to develop that they can't specialize and instead have their academic success depend in part on their weakest subjects. Moreover, given the rise of tuition prices and student debt, every additional class a student has to take is more of a burden on their shoulders.

This is where I see a symptoms/cause long-term/short-term thing going on. Because of increasing competition, credentialism and credential inflation, and the increasing uncertainty about whether rising educational costs will be requited with secure employment at a professional income, I totally understand those people who want to make the college experience shorter and more specialized as a way to save money.

At the same time, if we ask ourselves why we provide education as a society (as opposed to making employers pay the bill for the training of their workforce), I go the other way. In order for modern democracy to function effectively, we need the population to have a baseline of quantitative reasoning so that they can tell when someone is lying with statistics, to be able to close-read texts so that they can tell when someone is lying with rhetoric, and to be sufficiently media-literate to spot propaganda and misinformation.

That being said, if we are going to say to young people that they have to acquire all these skills, the quid-pro-quo is that we have to provide education as a de-commodified public good, and guarantee a job to everyone, so that the economic incentives pushing us towards shorter, more specialized higher education no longer exist.

[chaifootsteps]

to the Stolas stans asking "oh, so Stolas should have just gotten Blitz in trouble then?":

you guys do realize there's a middle ground between 'immediately get someone arrested and put on trial' (which is apparently a thing in Hell, but whatever) and 'coerce them into monthly sex in a quid pro quo arrangement', right?

like it isn't one or the other. Stolas had other options besides those two things. (worse still, he either knew about one of those options for a long time and ignored it or had the means of finding it but didn't when it comes to the asmodean crystal)

also like if we imagine a scenario where Stolas didn't want sex out of Blitz and didn't have empathy for his attempt to start a business (which he doesn't care about much in the show, either, but whatever) then yes, the "right thing" would have been for him to just do his duty and report the theft, or enforce some consequences himself if he was showing some humanity towards a lower class demon for once.

(side note, but if Stolas hadn't had these delusions that Blitz was his childhood friend and they were in some epic romance, Blitz probably would've been killed straight off, or whatever punishment the guard hounds wanted to inflict based on Stolas' track record with other imps)

it's wild to act like Stolas literally shirking his duties to use his daughter's inheritance to get sex was the "morally right" thing to do in this scenario just because it spared Blitz from getting in trouble. you guys are literally implying it's better to rape someone than it is to report them for theft or just... I don't know, talk to them and find out why they broke into your house and if they need help?

also there's no evidence that Stolas wanted to avoid getting Blitz in trouble. his only driving motivator in Murder Family/Loo Loo Land/most of s1 was getting sex out of Blitz, anything else is just a headcanon (until Viv decides to retcon it in to make Stolas look better, of course, but she probably won't since she doesn't have much empathy for Blitz's economic situation)

It's the Viv standom...strawmen and wild extremes with no middle ground are one of their favorite languages. Stolas had 99 morally correct solutions to the problem and he ignored all of them.

[hughungrybear]

So, I guess the original timeline goes something like this:

1. Korn and Tonkla are lovers. Korn has also just inherited the illegal online gambling business from his dad. Meanwhile, Great and Title are bffs.

2. Great committed a hit-and-run against the woman in Ep 1. No hints whether she survived the incident.

3. Dome witnessed Title abducting the gf and made everyone know through their class GC. Title retaliates and kidnaps Dome.

4. Great became an accomplice/witness in killing Dome. Dome's body was later found and processed by the police led by Win. As a result, Win meets Tonkla at the morgue.

5. Korn's leadership was sabotaged by outside forces leading to him asking for help from Fah's dad. He ignores Tonkla's desperate attempts to reach out while he solves the family business' problems (and fucking Fah as payment, quid pro quo). Also, a shareholder was assassinated.

6. Win was removed as lead investigator by his superior. Probably because it was hinted that Tle's family is as rich and powerful (maybe moreso) as Great's parents. Win and Tonkla become lovers, with Win promising he'll continue investigating Dome's death for Tonkla's sake. Korn gets kicked out of Tonkla's house (and life). Win also meets a possible witness (the GF's friend in previous eps) and gets threaten in the process.

7. Tonkla (for reasons undisclosed yet) learned who killed his brother and proceeded to do some quick street justice on Tle (involving paying a girl to drug him to sleep so that Tonkla can bash his head in). Win finds a body with the same head injuries as Dome's. Meanwhile the same superior who told him to get off Dome's case is now harassing him for being too slow in solving this one, which tracks if that was really Tle's body they found. He also got a name on the murder prints (though we don't know whose it is).

8. Nan is secretly working with Tyme to bring the Sriwat Cargo Business down. She sleeps with the creepy ass manager but gets caught and shot while trying to gain more evidence.

Now, this is where it gets murky with the new timeline. Ignoring the 4-minute time loops in between, we have:

1. Great calls an ambulance on the woman he accidentally ran over. She survives but she also eventually hires a killer (Ep 5) who shoots both Great and his mother dead (or near death, as in Great's case), which brings us to the first minute of Ep 1

2. The family convinces Great to visit the woman where he meets Tyme. Tyme learns who Great is and decides to be close to him for revenge.

3. Great saves Dome and brings him to the hospital. Great and Tyme becomes officially acquainted. Tyme also saves Great from vengeful Tle.

4. Dome wakes up on a hospital bed. Curiously, nobody called Tonkla despite Dome being confined in the hospital for (what looks like) a few days. He did not visit his beloved brother in the hospital nor picked him up when he was discharged. We see Dome riding a taxi and talking to Tonkla on the phone. But when he gets off the taxi and greets Tonkla, he vanishes (just like the cat in Ep 1). In this sense, both Dome and the cat were like echoes to Tonkla. We don't see Tonkla in this new timeline. He is, for all intents and purposes, stuck in the original timeline.

5. Great keeps seeing things related to Tyme that had not happened outside the 4-minutes (i.e., seeing them have sex when he bumped Tyme in the hospital, reading "can you forgive me" on that note attached on the cup of Thai tea instead of "Don't forget to go to the hospital".

6. Great and Tyme go on a sweet date involving claw machines and ends the day with a(n almost) kiss.

7. Nan calls Tyme while trying to escape. Tyme dares to attack Korn but gets identified by Great in the process.

I feel like there is something to be said on Tyme's tendency to prolong the "inevitable" just like Den accused him of doing with a dying patient in this ep. Coupled by the fact that Tyme doesn't seemed to sleep (based on the off-cut remark from the janitor in the gym is Ep 2), it seems Tyme somehow holds the key to this whole mess.

Also, why is Tonkla absent in the new timeline?

[sissytobitch10seconds]

My suggestion for how to fix the Stolas Problem

Don't know what the Stolas Problem is? Don't worry! I'll explain it to you. The Stolas Problem is an issue that the Helluva Boss show is having in which the entire premise of the show has basically been scraped to instead focus on a character that was supposed to be a love interest only. The end of the first season and beginning of the second also majorly ret-conned him so that he is no longer a sympathetic or fun character. It transformed him from someone that was horny all the time and rather bad, but typical for what a demon in Hell should have been, to a sadistic delusion narcissitic jerk that coerced a lower being into having sex with him or else Blitz's only friends and daughter would be out on the street. It went from them using each other to Stolas coercing and raping Blitz in what's called a quid pro quo relationship. So that being said, let's get going!

Instead of having him be sad that he's not loved by Blitz, have him be oddly excited about the date and trying to figure out why his feelings are so weird, maybe through the song Stella yells at him for.

Get rid of The Circus entirely, it's unnecessary and makes the quid pro quo rape really uncomfortable because Stolas thinks they're basically dating instead of just using him back.

Get rid of Seeing Stars. We already had a "Stolas trying to love his daughter the way she needs" episode and this is just making him look far worse. If you want to show more Stolas then have him out with Via when Blitz is calling him for help with the DHORKS or something.

Make Stella an actual person and show her in the background with Via. If you want her to be abusive, make sure that none of her actions mimic Loona or Stolas or any of the other characters that are seen in the show like they currently do.

Put Western Energy at the end of S2 and put more episodes specifically just about IMP. Maybe develop Millie more as a character, have the episode where Blitz tells Loona that she needs to be nicer be a full thing where he has to try and hire other secretaries but finds that she's the only one that works for them. The show is about Blitz, the protagonist, not about Stolas the love interest.

The "He can get hurt?" is the perfect thing to perk up Blitz's love for Stolas so it should definitely be at the end.

Show more of them liking each other after the awkwardness of their first 'date' at Ozzie's. Show them cuddling in bed or laughing about something or deciding that they don't want to have sex after trying awkwardly for an episode and so they just sit and eat ice cream while bonding over a shared interest. Right now the only thing drawing these two together is the narrative.

I also think making him a serial cheater would explain the fetishization of Blitz' demonic race, by having previous partners enjoy being degraded and talk to that way. It could end up with them having a fight and that's how Stolas confesses by saying he wants to learn Blitz more than he did them because he loves him.

Have Blitz still get back with Fizz as friends but explore more of their romantic feelings to show what Blitz thinks a relationship should be except it's not what all relationships had to be because they had puppy love and not grown adult with kids love.

If you have any ideas of other things that might help make their relationship more believable or make more sense, feel free to add to this last!

[alethianightsong]

Atlantis: the Lost Empire subverts the "White Savior" trope so well and here's my Ted talk tangent

Atlantis: the Lost Empire is just Avatar but with a smarter story. Both films feature a young white man discovering a foreign culture, falling for the culture's princess, and saving the natives' way of life. Both films commentate on the exploitation of indigenous people for their resources. The biggest fundamental difference between Avatar and Atlantis is how the white male leads approach their scenarios. Milo Thatch is a wide-eyed scholar who just wants to learn; Jake Sullivan is a soldier infiltrating the culture so he can exploit them. Milo never had any intention of hurting/exploiting the natives but the people around him did; Jake knew the end goal was exploitation and only changed his alliance when he fell in love. Kida comes to Milo for help and he approaches her with respect not condescension; Jake has to learn the planet and its people are worthy of respect. Milo is attracted to Kida but he doesn't save her so he can get the girl; he saves her to save her people (getting the girl was a luxury and even then, it's obvious they'll take things slow cuz there's more important things than romance like reconnecting the Atlanteans with the lost parts of their culture). The Atlanteans are also not harmless, primitive natives. They had super-advanced technology ie the Leviathan that took out a modern submarine in like 2 minutes while the Navi are overtly primitive, their simplicity treated as a virtue. The Atlanteans were so advanced that they sent themselves back to the Stone Age with their war tech. This little detail keeps the Atlanteans from being hippie-dippie natives who need rescuing and make them a cautionary tale; they used to be greedy, hyper-advanced warmongers and that hubris leaves their race and culture on the verge of extinction. Both the Navi and Atlanteans have spiritual, mystical aspects to them, but the Navi are anti-tech while it's only the rediscovery of their tech that allows the Atlanteans to save themselves. The primitive life we see the Atlanteans lead is not presented as ideal; it is the death throes of a culture, a fatal stagnation at the bottom of the world. When Kida and Milo meet, it's not the typical "more advanced culture taking from the weaker culture" that has come to define first contact between societies. It's quid pro quo: we both answer, we both listen, we both come away with more not one party coming away with less. No one is humbled or talked down to. As for the antagonists of both films (Avatar and Atlantis) the antagonists of Avatar are just cardboard cutouts. The antagonists of Atlantis are just disinherited individuals coming together for a treasure hunt. There's a gag where Milo asks what each character seeks and they all say "Money" but that's not it. They each want to pursue goals unique to them and they need money to do it. When the chips are down and it's either money or NOT dooming an entire lost tribe to death, they choose saving the tribe. The main big bads, Rourke and Helga, have just spent a day walking through a ruined city where people live in the remains of their greatness and think, "Yeah, we are so stealing their technology so we can reenact the fall of their civilization on our OWN civilization. Why? Cuz capitalism." Why am I talking so much about Atlantis but not Avatar? Because Avatar lacks depth. I've watched Atlantis a thousand times on my cheap 2000s-era TV and get pulled in each time but Avatar's just a pretty screensaver playing in the background.

[chaichaiiskai]

Need male reader smut asap pls maybe dubcon

hero hunter! garou x hero! male! reader x hero! stinger

notes: started rewatching opm with my lil' brother and got a cold, cold reminder of just how hot the characters are so y'know I had to write something...

warnings: dubcon, forced cuckolding, mlm, male reader, amab reader, garou is so mean and condescending, violence, mention of harming the reader, humiliation, public sex, degradation, alleys are dirty, quid pro quo. you're responsible for the shit you read so don't come and fuckin' bitch at me 'cause you're bein' stupid. this is meant for those who will enjoy readin' this, not you. move along.

STINGER never had a day off, but that was simply the life of a hero, especially during the recent rise of the monster association and monsters in general. The same thing went for you, never did you expect to be in the same profession as your future partner, but here you were. Despite your differences in ranking, you could care less, you weren't interested in the combat parts of hero work, you were a healer and restorer which proved to be useful in its own way. The hero association often called on you for healing other heroes, civilians, etc. You were also called for restoring destruction in the city, proving you to be quite a valuable being, but you never allowed yourself to do anything you didn't deem fair.

With the recent rise of the so-called 'hero hunter' you've been busier than ever, patrolling, restoring, healing, and all the fix-ins, nothing out of the ordinary. Though, today, the last thing you'd expected was to run into your boyfriend while out on your job. Funny, I know, since you're both heroes but this didn't happen as commonly as one would think.

"Hey good looking, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be back at home?" Stinger asked as he approached you. You were both smack dab in a neighborhood that still had a bit of people roaming around, it looked relatively safe. Rolling your eyes at his comment, you waved his words off while responding. "Same as you, the association wanted me to patrol around to heal and restore if necessary, they called me as soon as you left. So far nothing's needed much fixing."

The Class A hero grinned and rested his weapon on his shoulder as he continued to engage in comfortable conversation with you, occasionally waving at a few fans here and there who acknowledged him. You talked more like friends than lovers when you were out in public, well, except for Stinger's blatant flirting.

And then it happened.

You'd both made the mistake of letting your guards down and you would be forced to pay the price.

One second you were laughing and joking, and the next second you watch as Stinger is swatted away from you and into a nearby building like a mere mosquito, followed by the panicked screaming of the citizens around you. Everything moves slowly around you as you're frozen in place, a look of fear mingled with shock spread across your features.

"Two heroes standing leisurely around, speaking to one another like there's no immediate danger around them. Tch."

The assaulter speaks from directly in front of you, looking down at you with a grin on his face. The surrounding citizens run away from the scene, eager to preserve their lives. And in no time, it's just you, the hero hunter, and Stinger, who's just peeled himself from the dent in the building, his injuries were obvious but he wasn't Class A for no reason. He shouts at you. "Y/N! Hurry up and run!" He screams in urgency at you, knowing you did not like physical confrontation. His sudden shout seemed to trigger you into moving again as you speedily jumped back away from the one they called Garou, staring at him as you put distance between the two of you.

Immediately, Stinger gets between the two of you and holds up his spear, giving Garou a grin of his own as he gets into position for battle. "So you're the hero hunter, huh? I'll admit, you did catch me off guard but that won't happen again! I'll take you down in a pinch!" He exclaimed and charged forward at superhuman speed, using his Bamboo Shoot with great efficiency despite the bleeding heavily from his head. You watched as the two of them engaged in battle, your heart racing, egging your boyfriend on in your mind.

You should have run away like he said, but you couldn't, not with him injured like this, you would just remain in the area and heal him when you were given the chance. For now, you took to running away, ducking down into a nearby alley to watch the fight, crossing your fingers in hopes that this would end quickly in Stinger's favor.

It looked that way for a while, you could feel yourself becoming more and more relieved by the second, watching as Garou struggled against Stinger's attack, the human who called himself a monster didn't seem to be doing too well, having injuries of his own.

Stinger soon had Garou cornered, ready to further injure him to keep him from doing anymore damage, his signature grin still in place as blood continued to steadily run from his head and into his eyes.

"It's over now. Hurry up and surrender, hero hunter. You've lost."

He said, continuing to hold eye contact with Garou. The hero hunter held no smile, clearly injured as well but also seemed to be thinking deeply about something. It looked like he would be losing this battle, however, you knew that Stinger had the flaw of celebrating too early, and that was the case in this scenario.

"Oh? I'm not so sure."

Garou's words, despite him being yards away from you, sent a chill down your spine and you almost yelled for Stinger to watch out, but it was too late. The hero hunter moved even faster than before and you can't stop yourself from crying out in worry as he knocks Stinger unconscious with just a singular move, strong enough to send him barreling towards you. It was almost like Garou had planned this.

Stinger hit the ground, his body rolling across the concrete until he skidded to a stop in front of you, looking lifeless and mangled, his spear laying somewhere unknown. His eyes were closed and he laid on his stomach in front of you. With a shaken hand, you stared to reach out for him. You could heal him, he'd be okay. He HAD to be okay!

But that was too easy.

You were just mere centimeters from touching his back and activating your healing but you were dragged away, feeling as the back of your head was grabbed and your face was slammed into the ground with enough force to make you dizzy. You nearly vomited from the pain alone but were able to quickly heal yourself. The position you were in was humiliating, hunched over on your knees, hands pressed on the dirty alley in an attempt to support your body to keep it from having too much contact with the uncertainies of grossness. Garou continued to hold the back of your head, and you were unable to see him but he seemed pleased, grinning from ear to ear.

"Who knew the association had just a weak hero in their ranks, Restore." He said, saying your hero name with nothing but venom. This was how you were going to die, this was how you were going to die.

You couldn't even stop yourself from trembling in fear, droplets of tears escaping your eyes as the fell onto the ground beneath you. Biting back a sniffle, you decided to plea the best you could, your voice trembling with each word.

"Plea... please. You can do whatever- whatever you want with me. Just... just let me heal him, please." You begged, not even concerned about yourself at this point, you just wanted Stinger to be okay.

There was silence behind you, too long, too quiet. It was starting to eat you alive, you wanted him to say something. And before you could plead again, you heard him chuckle dryly before he spoke.

"So. It is true. The hero Stinger and hero Restore are 'loving' boyfriends. How comedic. Almost brings tears to my eyes." He paused, seeming to think of what could possibly done next. And the next time he spoke, you could hear the smile in his tone of voice.

"Okay. I'll let you heal him, but you've gotta do something for me in return, yeah?" You then felt a presence lean over you, slender fingers moving from your head to around your neck and gripping at your chin. Soon, his breath was felt on the side of your face, devilish eyes peering at you as he continued to grin, forcing you to crane your neck to look him in the eye as he continued offering his 'deal'. Looking into his eyes was proving to be difficult, his gaze shook you to your core with how cold he looked at you. But before he added onto the deal, he couldn't help but to laugh and insult you.

"Wow. Look at you! You're seriously cryin'? That's cute. Almost makes me feel bad about what's gonna happen next, but that power of yours will help you so I won't feel too bad. We gotta deal or not, Restore?" His eyes looked from yours and then to Stinger's unconscious body, observing the hero.

"Better hurry up. He might not make it."

He then turned your face, allowing you to see what he was seeing. Stinger looked to be breathing shallowly, further solidifying your growing fear. You had no time to refuse or hesitate. What was the worse thing he could do? You still had your powers, you were practically indestructible despite not having much strength.

"Okay! Okay! Do whatever you want!" You exclaimed, shutting your eyes, not wanting to look at your injured boyfriend any longer. Everything would be okay, you can handle this, you've been beaten up before, this was nothing new.

Garou didn't move from where he was for a few seconds but then he did, moving his hand from your face. You were expecting him to move you into a better position to beat your ass but that was far from the truth.

A yelp of surprise came from you when he suddenly used one of his hands to express his brute strength, ripping through the ass of your hero costume and your underwear. The sudden cold air hit your exposed rear and the underside of your sack, your eyes widening when you were starting to come to a realization about what was about to occur. But you couldn't move.

No.

You agreed to this.

Just like before, you were frozen, unable to move. The only thing that moved was Garou's hand, rustling with something, obviously his belt and loose-fitting pants. You had ample time to escape him when he suddenly let go of you to spit in his hand and wet his cock, but no, you didn't move an inch. How could you? He was faster than you, and who was to say that if you had disobeyed him he'd let you or Stinger live.

You weren't allowed to ponder for long when he suddenly pushed the head into you. You'd already been stretched out from the earlier morning's escapade with Stinger. He was able to push into you with both ease and just a little of bullying, he was thicker than Stinger but you somehow managed to keep taking him with ease. It was embarrassing, and of course he had to comment on it.

"I already knew I'd be getting sloppy seconds, but not to this extent. You two must fuck like animals."

His words cause you to shudder and he pushes into you further, stretching you out in a way that makes you confused. As he's burying himself into you, you bite your tongue until it bleeds to stop from moaning in pleasure and pain, closing your eyes as you drop your head in indignity.

Garou doesn't give you the chance to hide from your embarassment, his arm wrapping around your neck, forcing it against his bicep as he puts you in a loose headlock, forcing your face up as he remains buried deep inside you. His head moves back to beside yours and the intimate position your in fills you with a fresh sense of shame, almost as much as his cock was filling you.

"Ever since I read about you and your powers, I wondered just how indestructible you are. I wondered what would happen if I beat you over and over and over again. Would your powers be able to keep up? How fast can you heal? And then, I started noticing other things about you. I hate heroes and everything that they stand for but you're not a hero, are you? Just some overpowered nurse. I prefer that title instead of 'hero' for you." His words made your brows furrow, thoroughly confused by what he was getting at, though you did feel a sting of hurt from his belittling. Suddenly, he pulled out of you about halfway and then slammed back in, catching you off guard for the umpteenth time as you were lurched forward, choking when your windwipe hit against his muscled bicep, an involuntary whimper soon following.

"You're attractive, no doubt. But you're so weak—" He pulled back his hips and then pistoned them forward, fucking into you with animosity, emphasizing his insulting words with each thrust.

"Fragile."

"Useless."

"Breakable."

"Cowardly."

Each hit has you further confused, unable to keep your soft moans underwraps.

His words hurt, but why were you squeezing around him with each word? Why was your dick harder than a rock? Why didn't you want him to stop?

Easily, Garou catches on but nothing can prepare you when he suddenly turns his head to whisper in your ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps to blossom all over you, cock twitching in delirium.

"Oh? You like that, huh? You like hearing the truth about how useless you are? You should be ashamed of yourself. What if your poor boyfriend woke up and saw you gettin' off to this? Bet you'd like that too, huh?"

Apparently you did, seeing how you immediately clenched around him as soon as he finished speaking. Was this just your body's natural response?

You hear yourself moaning as he pounds into you from behind, skin slapping against skin at such an insane speed that you're starting to see specks of light in your vision. Your freehand moves to grip onto Garou's forearm, mainly to ground yourself, and you can barely breathe from the sheer pleasure of being fucked with such hatred and disdain. The dick is so good that you can't even keep your powers under control, healing the human who calls himself a monster without even realizing. You've healed someone during sex before many times, mostly Stinger, but not to this extent.

Eyes fluttering and rolling into the back of your head with each delicious stroke that makes direct contact with the button inside you that makes you forget your own name, you fail to notice the slight stir of the unconscious man in front of you. Garou doesn't though, in fact, he only goes faster, grinning at the realization. You should consider yourself lucky that he's still holding you in place with his arm, the headlock was saving your life in more than a few ways.

As you're getting your back blown out by the infamous hero hunter, Stinger, whom you were trying to heal just a few minutes ago, opened his eyes. Ableit he did so slowly, he blinked, attempting to have his vision adjust as familiar noises graced his ears. The sight that soon appears in front of him has him in pure shock, he hasn't an idea on how he should react. He wasn't prepared for it.

"Pleasure for you to join us, Stinger. Like whatcha see?" Garou questioned, not faltering in a single thrust. "

This must be a nightmare. That's what Stinger forces himself to think, watching in horror as his enemy has his way with you, and you seem to be enjoying yourself. But no, that can't be, this is just how the body naturally responds to sex. You didn't want this— you couldn't want this. Stinger wanted to move, but he couldn't, he was completely paralyzed, forced to watch you be repeatedly deflowered by a maniac with an insatiable need to cut down each and every hero.

Noticing his struggle, Garou only becomes more smug, but you still haven't seemed to caught onto the mess being created, more focused on creating a mess in your pants. "Aye, Restore, look who's joined the party? He doesn't look too happy. Aww, I think he's hurt." You can barely understand English right now, let alone whatever he was talking about, how could anyone have such power? But against better judgement, you blinked, trying to recollect your fuzzy brain as his words sunk in. And to your mortification, when you managed to fully open your eyes without them rolling around in your skull, you met the hurt gaze of Stinger.

Immediately, you attempted to speak, wanting to tell him why you were doing this, but you were cut off by the sound of your own moan when Garou pulled back and slammed into you with more force than before. Your mouth hung open, unable to keep itself closed, and you started to drool, eyes closing yet again as you forgot yourself.

Stinger watched and listened to everything in front of him, no words coming from him as he tried to take this all in in strides. Was he dreaming?

"Hah— think I'll use you... as a dumpster." Garou murmured, giving you no option when he suddenly started to speed up even faster, turning your poor brain into mush, drool dribbling onto the sleeve of his shirt. A few more seconds of this and you were forced to take his sticky, hot load, copious amounts of the human monster's cum spilling into you as he pushes as deeply as possible into you as he can manage, completely stopping his movements.

Once he's done, he releases you and pulls back, you fall forward, realizing that he'd been holding you up the entire time with his strength alone. And what you'd feared previously came true as you laid on your belly amongst the filth of the alley.

The hero hunter stands, pulling up his pants and redoing his belt, afterwards, he wipes his forehead of sweat. "Thanks for healin' me, Restore. I'll have to come back and find you when I get injured again. But don't worry, I'll pay you again. Later, 'heroes.'"

Garou then chuckled before seemingly disappearing with speed you'd never seen before.

Seconds, no— minutes later, what had happened sunk in and you felt shame like no other. His cum was still dribbling out of your ass when you finally regained the strength to lift yourself onto your hands and knees, avoiding Stinger's watchful gaze all together as you stared at the ground in disbelief. You'd done the unthinkable.. but, you quickly remembered your goal, slowly crawling forward to where your boyfriend remained laying. Shakily, you reached out and pressed your knuckles against his face, not wanting your dirty palms to come in contact with his skin, and activated your powers, healing him instantaneously.

Once he could feel his body again, Stinger immediately moved to sit on his knees in front of you. He spoke, but you couldn't hear a word he said as you leaned forward, the crown of your skull pressing against his chest. He stopped speaking and slowly started to rub your back in comfort as you sniffled, hoping that he could forgive you..but, then you noticed something strange.

Your eyes widened.

To your complete shock, Stinger's suit of bandages did a horrendous job of hiding how he truly felt about what happened to you.

Was he... hard?

[christinebloodwrittings]

Till' death do us apart: Chapter 1.

Pairing: Angel Y/n x Alastor Fandom: Hazbin Hotel. Warnings: Slight sexual interaction, hell being hell.

Masterlist –– Prologue –– Next chapter

Taglist: Open...

Flying gave me the impression that my body weighed less than I thought,  didn't do it frequently, only when it was my turn to go down to the human world, so yes, I almost never worked my legs outside of the occasional training, millions of years of not making a good use of my muscles.

Slight atrophy.

Walking through the streets of hell, with the heavy atmosphere, the heat, the humidity, not to mention that the bruises from the fall, although not visible under the celestial uniform, were killing me.

It didn’t exactly helped that there were lights everywhere, neon signs, reflectors, my vision wasn’t adjusting to my dark surroundings.

As soon as one little demon kid saw me and he ran away, I ditched the long robe with the golden cross, remaining only in a white dress shirt, black pants and shiny shoes. Clothes for work, not a hike.

“Hey cutie, wanna have a good time?”

 “You have an ass to polish balls, baby”

“That’s meat alright, and not what my wife puts in the stew!”

And other types of wolf calling. Well it was no wonder, I ended up in a street where sex was the predominant business, given the triple X signs, and the semi naked demons trying to lure me inside.

Next time I get a word with the big guy, I'll mention something about gender distinctions, he would’ve at least assign me one instead of making me look androgenous. Apparently, what is a problem in heaven, it doesn’t matter in hell, very ironic indeed.

A whistle caught my attention, that and also the tug someone gave to my sleeve, “Poorly defined waistline, thick thighs, slim frame, and look at that clear porcelain skin, what a beautiful creature you are” I turned my head, the lady demon, with a similitude to a lynx, purred in my ear as she caressed my face, and the other hand went straight to my thigh.

“So soft” I felt her breasts against my wounds, it sent a shiver throughout my body. “Ma’am, release me, please” I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, “Why, am I not sexy enough for ya’, prude?” she offended because I rejected her? That made me laugh, “Don’t take me wrong miss” her grasp in me softened, giving me room to turn to see her.

“You flatter me, but I don’t feel up to it, you’ll be wasting your time” She took my hands again, just when I was going to walk away, “Is there anything I can do to convince you?” her tail wrapped against the outline of my hip, “Even if you did, I don’t have a single penny on me” I tried to elude her, I had no money whatsoever, but even if I did, wouldn’t use it on sex.

“I can give you a free trial” she rolled her eyes, She pressed her breasts to my torso, her mischievous smile and the earring with the sigil of Asmodeus, gave me a slight hypothesis, “I swear, it’s not a you problem” I pointed at her breasts making her to give me the answer I needed.

“If you like men, I’m a shapeshifter” bingo, I’m right again, “Succubus, not only a human would’ve heard my lack of money and immediately desist afterwards, but also you work for Asmodeus” she laughed at my discovery, earning a light hiss out of me, “Very smart, congrats, now that you know what I am, will you give in to temptation?” tempting, ironic enough.

“Quid pro quo” she widened her eyes, “What do you want?” I went in, one thing I needed to start off this sort of adventure, “Information, where I can get quick cash without having to undress in front of millions?” she laughed, her eyes turning yellow out of a sudden, her body shifted into a smaller creature with red skin, dark wings and horns that matched her skin, “Fuck me and I’ll tell you” black lipstick really suited her face.

“I can ensure your pleasure instead” at my proposition she purred and took my hand, “Okay, suck me off and I’ll tell you all about it” her kiss on my cheek felt hot and silly, “After you” her voice was so sweet.  

I followed her, the second we walked through the doors of the club, an intoxicating fruity smell surrounded me, it was definitely better than outside.

We crossed another door further on, this one led to a velvet red room, the lighting, the heart-shaped sheets on the bed, everything.

She flew past me, getting rid of her dress and panties, I quickly catch them in the air and folded both items neatly, “Hey, you don’t have to-” I guess she saw something, because as soon as she looked at my face, she pinched her nose and went from her annoyed tone to the sweet one from before, “Just come here” her hand outstretched to me, I waited a second before I took it, “Huh, you’re rather obedient” was that a bad thing? I acted out of reflex, has it always been that way?

I cleared my throat, leaving those wayward thoughts behind me, as I adjusted her legs to go over my shoulders, my body belly-flat against the soft sheets, my elbows being my only support "Apologies if I do it wrong, it's been a long time" the smell coming out from her inner thighs was sweet for a few seconds, it made me squirm, "Have you licked lollipops? It's the same thing, honey" the smell shifted, citrus, even lemony, it made me salivate.

“You like that better?” I looked up to her smug face, “My body adjusts to please, I guess you’ve got no sweet tooth” I bit softly the inside of her thigh, her smile disappearing into a shock, even more so after I latched a full lick, making sure to push gently against her clit.

Damn, I haven't done anything like this since I worked undercover in a brothel in Sodom. That's disgusting, my hands are sweaty. Her moans are very cute, are all succubus like that? What the hell am I doing? If they found out that I purposely disturbed the sanctity of my body...Wait, what will they do? Days have passed without anyone coming down for me, Thanatos will likely replace me in the worst case scenario, and I highly doubt that Michael told Gabriel about his decision.

How horrible, my back is killing me, will it be too much to ask us to change positions? but it looks like she enjoys it, I don't want to ruin it.

He didn't cut off Samael's wings when he pushed him overboard, why was it different with me? Can I open portals without needing my wings? It's a good question, shit, concentrate.

“Ouch! Hey, watch it with those fangs” Fangs? I slowly ran my tongue over my teeth. They were sharp, the corruption had begun.

“It’s okay, just..” she sat up, took my face gently in her hands and placed a kiss to my forehead, "There's a place, in the mafia district, look for Jambo, he fixes fights, he'll pay ya’ good money if you do what he tells you, whether it's winning or losing, whateva’ makes him more money" Pity, it was clear as water.

“But you didn’t…end?” I watched her go around, grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper, “Darling, I came as soon as you bit me, believe me, your end of the deal is well paid” she handed me said paper, and a ring, “Asmodeus uses one of this to hide his angelic glow, this will make you a less of a target around here” I slip the ring in my middle finger, immediately my body dimmed, I looked like just another sinner of the lot.

“Thank you” with a kiss to her cheek I left the club. Now I needed to put my best quality to my favor, all those years of training for a nonexistent war will give me everything I need to survive.