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marmixedwithabitofintellect · 7 months

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Chapter Six: New Adventures

Surprise Surprise! 🥹🥹🥹 I have missed you all so much and I am so happy to be back writing! This chapter has tested me in ways I could have never imagined, but I am so glad I finally finished and I'm sharing it with you guys 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 I hope you enjoy it and I promise there won't be so much time in between postings ✨✨✨ As always, my inbox is open for you guys and please come talk to me about what you thought of the chapter! All the love, Mar 🤍

May 14, 2022 – June 13, 2022: Month Six

May 17, 2022

Harry. New York City, New York. 7:20 P.M.

The house hadn’t been this loud for a while, probably since Coachella. While Y/N was busy getting Pippa ready for bed, I was in the kitchen with Lambert and Jeff finishing dinner while Pauli, Niji and Elin helped us by setting the table. Mitch went to the airport to pick up Sarah and Glenne, while Ny Oh let us know she would be here later.

After placing the pizzas in the oven there were strong knocks coming from the door which had me laughing, as soon as I opened Glenne kissed my cheek quickly while removing her shoes and pouring some antibacterial gel, “Is she still awake?”, I smiled and nodded, Glenne reached in for Sarah, and they started making their way to the nursery.

I greeted Mitch while leading him to the kitchen, then made my way to the nursery. Once inside, I smiled and went to hug Y/N and kissed her temple, she squeezed my side and turned to kiss my chest, Sarah and Glenne were busy cuddling Pippa who was all smiles.

Y/N cleared her throat and started making her way to grab Pippa, “Okay little miss, say goodbye to your aunts, okay?”, Sarah and Glenne pouted and kissed Pip, then handed Pippa back, exited and closed the nursery door; Y/N settled into the rocking chair while I floated around the room making sure the monitor and fairy lights were on, then sat down next to her and kissed her knee.

She smiled and ran a hand down my face before turning to look at Pip before whispering, “How is she six months old already? It still feels surreal, like six months ago we were learning to give her a bath”, I smiled, and nodded, “Time has gone by so fast, and doing this with you has been the best experience ever”, she smiled and blew me a kiss, “I love you Harry”, I squeezed her hand, “I love you too Y/N”.

Once we settled Pippa in her bassinet, we closed the door and went back into the living room to have dinner with our friends. Once everyone had their dinner plates served and found a place to seat, I reached for my glass and cleared my throat, “Well hello everyone! Thank you for being here; I am glad to have you all here, especially because we still had to celebrate and welcome Jaffra to the band!”

Cheers were heard all over while Jaffra gave us a smile and a silent thank you; once the cheers were done everyone was looking at me again, I smiled and sighed, “So… we’re just three days away from the release of the new album- “, I smiled as cheers and hollers were heard around the living room.

I cleared my throat, “And once the album is out, chaos will surely ensue; between the One Night Only shows and the beginning of tour, this will be a few busy weeks, but I am forever grateful to have you all here with me”, Mitch then said “Here, here!”, I smiled before placing my glass at the table.

“We are about to embark the biggest year of tour so far; with the residencies, Latin America, Australia, Asia and back to Europe it will be a hell of a year, but I trust that we have a great team and things will go on smoothly”, everyone nodded while I took a deep breath, “However, I really feel the need to ask a selfish favor from you”.

Everyone, except for Jeff and Y/N nodded, “I need you guys to promise that you will have the best time, that you will enjoy everything, the good, the bad and the worst, to give your everything into every show, every rehearsal and every travel, because… because I honestly don’t know if this will be the last time we will do this”.

Y/N squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek, “This has been, a very wild ride, and to be honest with you... life has changed so much this last year, and I really don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow, but what I do know, is that right this second, this is where we are supposed to be”, there were nods all over the place, “So once more, let’s cheer to welcome this last adventure with Love On Tour!”.

May 19, 2022

Harry. New York City, New York. 11:55 P.M.

“Drive safely guys! See you tomorrow!”, Glenne and Jeff gave me another wave as the elevator closed, I also closed and locked the main door and leaned mt forehead taking a deep breath, I then walked to the kitchen, made sure that all lights were off, and trash was put away then made my way to the master bedroom.

I expected for Y/N and Pip to be sleeping but was surprised when I opened the door and saw Y/N sitting up and looking out the window and the anxiety I felt when Glenne asked me to go with her to the nursery returned. I sat next to her in bed and reached to run my hand down her face, she turned to see me and gave me a small smile.

“Hi baby, everyone gone?”, I nodded and kissed her cheek before whispering, “Yes, everyone asked me to say goodbye and that they can’t wait to see you tomorrow”, she nodded and sighed while reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze.

I placed another kiss to her cheek before whispering, “You okay?”, she nodded and turned to see me, “Yeah, just tired, all the excitement and the long nights drained me”, I nodded while she continued to talk, “Let’s go to bed yeah? You need your rest too”.

I sighed defeatedly and nodded my head, then made my way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Once outside I leaned into the bassinet to see Pippa, I smiled then leaned to kiss her cheek softly before pulling back and getting into bed, Y/N joining me a few seconds later.

We both made sure our alarms were one before cuddling into our pillows, I pulled her by the waist and nuzzled her neck, she made sure she was comfortable before letting out a breath and kissing her cheek before whispering, “I love you, and I’m here for you baby, whatever you may need”.

May 21, 2022

New York City, New York. 7:30 A.M.

The smell of fresh coffee pulled me from the slumber I fell into after feeding Pip at around three. I got out of bed and made sure she was still sleeping then left the room, leaving the door was ajar. I then started walking to the kitchen where I could hear Harry humming and cooking.

When I entered, I started making my way to stand behind him and placed a kiss between his shoulder blades, then wrapped my hands around him, he reached down to kiss my hands before whispering, “Good morning baby”, I smiled and placed another kiss, “Hi you, I missed you in bed”.

He laughed a little and turned off the stove, served breakfast and grabbed the plates while I grabbed the coffees before making our way to the table; we started eating in silence, placing little kisses in each other’s hands before he cleared his throat, “How are you?”, his eyes were hopeful on me talking to him.

I sighed and wished I could ignore the elephant in the room but knew it would not be worth it, “I’m not okay, I’m very sad and disappointed”, I sniffled, he reached to clean my tears, “Baby, maybe you should talk with Ellie, or even your dad”, I shrugged my shoulders, “What good would it do? She still belittled me and my baby”, I sniffled, “I get it, I am her disappointment but that little girl sleeping in her bassinet is not guilty.”

He nodded and kissed my temple then rested his forehead against it, I continued to speak up, “I just don’t understand, how can she see her and still pretend she doesn’t exist; isn’t she curious? Like doesn’t she want to know who she is, who she looks like, if she has any personality quirks from me?”

Harry ran his hand down my back then whispered, “I wish I could go back in time and give her a piece of my mind, be sure to protect you both from her; above all I wish I could take away your pain and sadness because you don’t deserve it, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t.”

I smiled in appreciation and reached for a napkin, “I will be okay, I promise you, but I need to feel sad and process this, okay?”, he nodded and squeezed my arm, “However you Mister should start to finish your suitcases, okay? Us girls are already packed, and we leave in about seven hours”, he laughed, then stood up and started clearing the table, “Fine, I will pick this up and will finish packing, okay?”

I nodded then left the kitchen and went into the room and smiled when I noticed that Pippa was slowly rousing form her sleep, “Oh hi baby! good morning my girl how are you?”, she cooed once I pulled her into my arms and started leaving slobbery kisses on my face, “Are you hungry? Yeah? Let’s go eat, then we will have some tummy time and then we’ll get ready, and you’ll nap before our flight because we are leaving for London!”

Pippa smiled and we switched sides, “Oh look at that smile! You’re so happy to go to London huh? I am too, I miss our family so much”, our family, as warmth spread through my chest I turned down and smiled at her, “Yeah baby, our family, the one who chose me and love you because you are their blood, the ones we deserve and will love us forever.”

May 22, 2022

Harry. London, England. 12:45 P.M.

We had been back in London for less than 48 hours and it felt so good just to be home. Even if there was so much chaos and things to get ready, being back with family made the whole travel worth it. My mum had made sure that our fridge and pantry were stocked as soon as we arrived then left some dinner ready for us.

I was finishing setting the table while Y/N got Pippa ready while we waited for our guests to arrive; after setting down some wine glasses the doorbell rang and I smiled when I opened it and saw our first arrival, “Dad! Welcome, come in!”, my dad smiled and hugged me, then proceeded to remove his coat and hang it on one of the available hooks.

“Harry! How are you son? I hope I am not too early?”, I shook my head and we started making our way to the living room, “Not at all, just finished setting the table and waiting for my ladies to be ready, little one woke from her nap a little ago”, he smiled and before he could speak, a voice carried over from the stairs and into the living room.

“I hear that someone is asking for the girl of the hour?”, Y/N appeared with Pippa in her arms and gave my dad a smile while walking to where he was standing, “Des! Welcome! It is so good to see you!”, my dad met her halfway and pulled her into a half hug, “Hello darling, it’s so good to have you guys back here.”

I smiled when I realized that Pippa was giving my dad a very curious look, but still held on to her mum’s arm, she laughed a little and bounced her while my dad offered her a smile and coo, Y/N spoke up, “Who is that baby? Is that your grandad? Do you wanna say hello?”, my dad reached for her and started kissing her cheek, while Pippa patted his cheek.

The doorbell rang again and as Y/N went to open I went to stand next to my dad and Pip, she offered me a smile and I chuckled a little, my dad ran a hand down her head, “Oh she’s definitely a daddy’s girl huh?”, I nodded and reached to kiss her cheek, then turned to look at him, “I mean yes, but as soon as she sees her mum, dad is out of the picture”.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Y/N come into the living room followed by Gemma, Michal and my mum; we all said our hellos and sat down in the living room for a little, Y/N left to check how lunch was coming along and when she came back she sat next to me, I kissed her temple and continued talking with Michal.

Gemma cleared her throat and reached out her arms to grab Pippa, who was still happily being held by my dad, my mum going to sit next to him and cooing at her hoping to coax a few smiles and giggles, “Okay can the grandparents share her with her fave aunt?”, my mum shook her head and my dad placed a kiss on Pippa’s forehead before handing her to Gemma, who was smiling so big and kissing all over her face while the baby cooed at her.

“I can’t believe she can laugh now”, my mum nodded along with my dad who was smiling at the baby as he spoke, then added, “Before we know it she will be crawling and walking and talking”, I shook my head and pouted, “Nope, not happening, we have been discussing the fact that she needs to stay this little forever”, Y/N shook her head but before she could add anything else left for the kitchen to get the pasta out of the oven.

“H! It’s ready!”, I nodded to the direction of her voice then turned to our guests, “Okay everyone lunch is ready, so let’s go to the dining room”, we all started walking towards the lovely smells and took our seats at the table, Y/N went to grab Pippa and promised Gem she would give her back as soon as she ate, the took her seat next to me and settled Pip in her lounger.

After a delicious lunch and an even better conversation, we all moved back to the living room to have some dessert and tea; Gemma laid with Pippa, Y/N, and my mum on her little playmat for her tummy time while the rest of us scattered in the couches around. My mum then turned to look at me and asked, “Is everything ready for your show?”

I nodded while I sipped on my tea then left it on the coaster, “Pretty much, we will do a visit to the venue tomorrow and Tuesday will be packed before the show; I’ve arranged for a van to pick you all up so that you can all come together, is that okay?”, everyone nodded then continued to enjoy their dessert.

It was around seven that we said our goodbyes and once I made sure my mum was distracted, I nodded at Gemma, who came to stand next to me and whispered, “So, still up for babysitting tomorrow?”, she nodded then turned to make sure mum was not coming, “Yup, will be here tomorrow at around 5 okay?”, I nodded and then we said our goodbyes; once I made sure they were all on their cars I licked the door and went upstairs to join bedtime routine.

May 24, 2022

London, England. 10:30 P.M.

I closed the nursery door and made sure that the monitor was on before making my way downstairs where friends and family were digging into the catering we had ordered for after Harry’s concert, which by the way, had been such an eclectic event.

Once I entered the kitchen, I was greeted with a plate served by Anne, I smiled in appreciation and she squeezed my arm before taking a sip of her drink, “Baby went down, okay?”, I nodded and finished chewing before answering her, “She did, I was worried she would wake up once I transferred her, but she must’ve been so tired.”

She chuckled in agreement and gave me a soft smile, a few seconds later I felt someone pull me into a chest and kiss the back of my head, I smiled and settled myself against his side and kissed his peck, “Hello superstar! Enjoying your party?”, he nodded and opened his mouth, I fed him a bite of my sandwich and while he chewed Anne and I continued to discuss our plans for the weekend.

After swallowing his bite, he gave me a soft squeeze and then turned to look at Gemma and asked her to come over, Anne gave us a curious smile and I reached to squeeze her arm, she then asked us, “Is everything okay?”, we nodded and Harry spoke up, “We just want to talk to you all, is that okay?”, they both nodded and we made our way to the foyer, where we knew we could talk privately.

Des and Michal also joined us, and Harry cleared his throat before speaking up, “So… we have been keeping a secret from you guys”, my mum gasped before excitedly whispering, “Are you pregnant?”, we both chuckled and shook our heads, “No, we’re not pregnant, but we hope to have more babies later on.”

Anne nodded and asked us, “Well, are you guys okay?”, Harry nodded and smiled, “Yeah mum… uhm we have been speaking about our future as a family, and where we want to settle”, Gem was smiling while my mom gave us a hopeful smile, Harry continued, “So… we have been viewing a few properties in different locations, and…”

Anne gave us an excited but careful nod and harry turned to look at me, I smiled and kissed his hand, which was laying on my shoulder then turned to look at our family, “We just put an offer for a house”, before they could speak up, I added, “Here, well actually, a few blocks down”, everyone’s eyes opened so big, Anne was stuck in her place while Gemma pulled us into a hug followed by everyone else.

Anne stood frozen in her place with some tears falling from her eyes, Harry walked carefully next to her and as soon as she could she pulled him into her arms, and a few seconds later she pulled me into her arms too, then whispered, “I cannot believe this! I honestly had made pace with the idea of only seeing you three every few months, but the fact that I will be able to see you when we feel like it? It’s just priceless.”

We pulled back and turned to look at everyone, Des spoke up, “So what’s next?”, Harry smiled, “Well, we have to wait and see if the offer will be accepted, Olive our real estate agent said it could take anywhere from weeks to months, so it’s a waiting game”, Gemma smiled, “Well, I cannot wait for us to be able to go house shopping”, I laughed, “I’ll definitely let you know Gems”.

May 28, 2022

Harry. London, England. 10:30 A.M.

“See you in a few mate!”, Jeff nodded and continued to walk with the personnel from BBC while I made my way to the entrance to collect Y/N and Pippa, as soon as I saw her she gave me a big smile and I pulled her into a kiss and hug, then we started to make our way back to my dressing room.

Once inside I lifted the blanket covering the stroller and smiled at the sleeping baby; not wanting to disturb her sleep I let the blanket fall again and walked to sit with Y/N on the couch, once I settled her on my lap, I started kissing her cheek repeatedly while she let out some squeals and little laughs.

A ping from her phone had me pulling back and reaching for my phone to see if I had any new notifications. She took out a deep breath and squeezed my arm before chuckling, I turned to look at her and gave her a questioning look, she settled on my lap and whispered “Harry…”, u hummed and kissed her nose with my eyes closed.

She whispered again, “They accepted the offer”, I opened my eyes and smiled at her, my eyes asking her to confirm what she just said, and she nodded before speaking up, “We got our house H”, I stood up and pulled her into a hug while we spun, making sure to keep quiet for the baby. I stopped and whispered against her lips, “We got our house baby”, she nodded and placed a chaste kiss then whispered, “We got our house”.

June 11, 2022

Glasgow, Scotland. 7:30 A.M.

A whimper coming from the monitor pulled me out of bed, I grabbed my sweatshirt then made my way to the adjoining room where we had created a nursery for Pippa, turned on the lamp and cooed at the crying baby, “Oh no baby what are those tears for huh? We’re here for a dress-up party for your daddy!”

I settled on the bed and removed my sweatshirt and shirt so I could feed Pippa, who latched immediately, “Oh you were hungry huh? I’m sorry baby I am such a meanie huh?”, she turned to look at me and my eyes watered, I still could not understand how I could love her so much.

Once she finished, I changed her diaper and we left her room and ordered some room service, the turned to pull out the little cake, candles, and balloons I bought yesterday while sightseeing with Glenne. As soon as I finished setting up room service arrived, and I went into our room to wake him up.

With Pippa in my arms, I walked to my side of the bed and settled with her on the bed, once she saw her dad she squealed and I laughed, then placed her next to Harry’s face, “Come on baby say, ‘Dada wake up!’”, she started aggressively patting his cheek; he let out a deep breath and chuckled, “Morning baby girl! hello you!”, he turned around and pulled her into his lap, she smiled and he pulled her in for a kiss then turned to look at me, “Hi baby.”

I smiled and leaned to kiss his lips then whispered, “Hi, breakfast is ready, wanna come out?”, he nodded then handed me the baby, went to the bathroom and as soon as he came out, we headed to the living room. He stopped on his tracks and smiled at the decorations I set out for him and pulled me into a hug.

We sat down and started eating breakfast, then I lit up the candle and before he could blow it I cleared my throat, “I just want to say that I’m so proud of you, it is amazing to be a witness to your radiance and happiness and to be able to love you at the end of everything”, I sniffled and he squeezed my hand and reached for Pippa.

“I know that we won’t be able to be with you every single date physically, but I need you to remember that we are always with you here”, I placed my hand over his heart and he sniffled before whispering, “I love you Y/N more than words are able to express it, and I know I repeat it a lot, but I truly will never ever be able to repay you for everything.”

I pulled him in for a kiss, then left a bunch of smooches on Pippa’s head before pulling back and whispering, “Now before you blow your candles, I want for you to make a wish for this tour, okay?”, he nodded and closed his eyes, then blew out the candle. Pippa and I clapped a little then kissed his cheek before speaking up, “Okay my love, you have about four hours until we have to be at the arena, so take your time getting ready, okay?”, he nodded then pulled me up, “How about we settle her for a nap then enjoy the tub for a little?”, I nodded then followed him.

June 11, 2022

Harry. Glasgow, Scotland. 7:45 P.M.

The murmur of the crowd was enough for my hands to tremble harder than they already were before and I could feel the sweat falling down my spine; I had been ready for a while and met my band for our pre-show ritual, and hugged my family, but right now the only thing I wanted was to hug my girls.

Speaking of, they have been on my dressing room for a while because little miss Pippa had an explosive accident, so I knew that’s where I would find them. As soon as I entered Y/N offered me a smile, however it disappeared when I started sniffling and making my way to them, “Baby what’s- “, I didn’t let her finish before I pulled her into a hug.

She started running her hand down my back while cooing at me, “Baby it’s okay, take a deep breath”, it took me a few moments, but I calmed down and we pulled back; she ran her hands down my cheeks and cleaned my tears.

Before I could speak up a shriek had us looking at the baby laying on the cushions next to us, Y/N laughed and pulled her into her arms kissing her head, “Were you missing us baby? we could never forget you huh?”, I smiled and handed Pippa my fingers to chew on, Y/N whispered, “Feeling better?”, I nodded, “so much.”

We stayed like this until Jeff came to get us, I pulled her up with me and we walked all the way to the side of the stage, we turned to look at each other and smiled, she spoke up, “We’ll be watching from the box, yes?”, I nodded and kissed Pip’s cheeks and her lips three times, “I love you baby, I’ll see you after okay?”

She nodded and I started making my way to the back of the stage and stopped on my tracks when I heard her scream my name, I turned to look at her, “Yes?”, she smiled, “Welcome to Love on Tour 2.0; break a leg handsome.”

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badtzbot · 2 months

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sigh. go on then. drake.

i knew you cared about me....

How I feel about this character

my emotions about him are generally divided into 5 categories:

lust - not gonna get into it too much because this is tumblr not twt but uhhhh. he's 7 foot 8 inches. he's a dinosaur zoan.... he has a hybrid form. he has really good tits thighs and ass. all i'm saying is that i need him carnally

sobbing emojis - HIS FUCKING BACKSTORY OMFG. GODS. literally IM DEAD. i hope diez barrels is put through hell two billion times. i have extended headcanons about his time as an abused kid. i'm so so happy he was rescued. i can't believe he was nineteen there he was so small. im so glad that he's grown up now and (probably at least somewhat) recovered. i need the barrels pirates to be executed.

need to coddle him - i need to make him take a week off where he does nothing but experience joy. i want him to get over his trauma. i'm booking him a therapy session. im spooning him and washing his hair until he cries because he's never felt intimacy like that. i need him to be happy

need to bully him - his name is so stupid. "x drake" but it's pronounced "diez drake." he's a huge nerd about reptiles and ASTROPHYSICS. he's so large and so pathetic. he's a huge dweeb. he blushes and faints easily. he's weak to boobs. he's like if a mommas boy didnt have a momma. sengoku adopted him and he defected from the main marine force. he went undercover as a pirate and trafalgar clocked him in 0.2 secs as a narc. his pirate outfit is all leather which is both very distracting to me and very difficult to move in. he dual wields weapons that aren't normally dual wielded. his hair is the stupidest thing i've ever seen. he's a ginger. what is up with that weird ass pirate mask. his ship is literally just a painted over marine ship. i can't believe this guy he's such a dweeb

overwhelming love - i love him so much he's sweetie cutie of all time. i love him. he's 7'8. he's a dinosaur man. he faints when he sees boobs. i have only one figure and it's of him. he has such a strong moral compass. he's head of sword. he believes in real justice. he loves chicken and he hates eggs. he has two different birthdays. in the real world he would be a zookeeper. i LOVE HIM SO MUCH

he is my most specialest guy of all time.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

smoker, mostly. koby a little

My non-romantic OTP for this character

his relationship with the rest of SWORD in general is so cute. also putting drake and paulie in a room together has a lot of comedic potential because why are they Like That.

My unpopular opinion about this character

idk what the popular opinions about him are. that hes ugly? i agree tho he is a little bit ugly. but i still love him. ummmmm idk. the unpopular opinion is that i like him at all

oh also not a fan of drake and law? idk i just don't think law would fuck marines. except for One of them

also i don't think he's a daddy dom. he's my pathetic little princess

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

can i just get more of him in general. can we leave one piece and go to "life of diez drake" instead. that would be really good for me

#diez drake #x drake #one piece #ask game #finn rambles

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samstclair · 9 months

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Tony Soprano's Goomah

Tony Soprano X Reader

Anonymous Request -

Hiya Saint Samuel!!!!! So listen to this, I've just started Sopranos, you know, the HBO show? Anyway I've come to the conclusion that Tony is exactly my type. He's brought out an inherent and animalistic part of me I never realized was there in the first place. Like, a strong attraction to alpha men. I'm not that far in the show, but I love the idea of him taking me to dinner at Vesuvio's, you know, Artie's restaurant? I love that he supports his friend's small business when he's not busy blowing it up! So could you come up with an imagine about the date? Let me know!! Thank you!!!!

P.S. - I love your work but please keep this one short! It's gotta be a quickie before bed!

Word Count: not that long tbh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's so gloomy out," you said, face souring as you looked out the window of your apartment. "It's always gloomy."

"Um, where the fuck do you think we're at? It's New Jersey," your friend, Snooki, said. "That's why I only like the shore. It's different out there."

You smiled. Her thick Jersey accent always threw you off but it felt so warming. You forgot people actually talked like that. She'd come to visit you from the Shore to help you get ready for your little date. She was filming a season of her TV show, which you didn't completely understand, but nonetheless you were supportive cause you always supported your girls. That's just how being a girlie works.

"So who's this guy anyway?" Snooki asked as she began to flat iron your hair, clouds of thick smoke rising from it as it fried your shit straight. "You're so like, secretive about him. You never ended up telling me."

You blushed, living for the idea of this little forbidden-esque romance you and Tony had.

"I didn't tell you because I'd only just met you, I had to make sure you were a girl's girl first, you know?"

"And when was that?"

"When I found out you were down to help hide me go into hiding from the stupid ugly IRS men-in-black people, THAT'S when I knew."

She smiled to herself, she DID that.

"Anyway, and I couldn't tell you over the phone cause you were on that stupid duck phone. I didn't want the show to be recording my business, silly," you said, "plus, those guy friends you have there are creeps. I don't want them knowing my business, either."

You shuddered at the thought of those overly-tan, Ed Hardy cologne smelling boys. You didn't trust them in the slightest. After one of them called you a grenade because they caught a glimpse a single stretch mark, you knew DAMN well they had never been connected to any basis of reality and therefore not REAL.

Except Paulie, you didn't really mind him, if you catch my drift if you catch the flow! ;). He was lowkey a girl's girl.

"So tell me now! I'm so over waiting!" she whined. She really was over it. You loved holding back information some times just to create a little suspense. A little of that never hurt no one never hurt a FLY.

"Well, what do you wanna know?" you smirked to yourself.

"Is he Italian?"

"Oh, def."

"Is he tan?"

"Oh, no."

She suddenly stopped the ironing and gave you an annoyed look in the mirror. You knew that was a no-no in Snicker's book. "Then why are you wasting your time?"

"Because he's just hot, like, I don't know how to explain it," you really didn't. When you first met, you just found it odd how insanely attracted you were to him. You just were. It made you feel like a middle-aged mom. But who cares? EXACTLY! "He's low-key, rich, high-key. He works in like, garbage disposal or some shit."

"That's what they say when they're in the mafia." Snooki said, continuing to iron your hair.

"I did my fair amount of business with Italians back in England, I know what the mafia looks like." Of that, you did. But that was your old life, you were supposed moving on. The Queen is dead, after all. Don't push!

You wish you could tell your girlfriend more, but you had to remind yourself that you were under a different identity - as you mentioned before, the IRS are actually a bunch of Debbie downers and negative Nancies who wanna see you, just a girl, down. They hated seeing you, just a girl, succeed, and that's not cool or cute. They ran you out of the country once, but not again. You were a full, beer-blooded American and that's that. (if ur reading this and not American just pretend you are! Who wouldn't want to?!)

You met Tony through the Italian connections you had in England, and once you knew you had to escape back to America, they were the only allies you knew that could help smuggle you in like the cocaine in little baggies shoved up the asscracks of a flight attendee. If it weren't for that, New Jersey would have definitely NOT been the first place you had in mind to arrive in.

Once the Italians brought you through, they directed you to this deli place called Satriale's after you moaned and groaned about your tummy rumbling. You kept joking that you were a different person when you were hungry, what you dubbed as the "hungry monster", over and over. Safe to say, the Italians soon grew increasingly uncomfortable with that and your other incoherent ramblings about food and decided you needed some gabagool.

Let's just say - you went to absolute fucking town on those slices of meat and cheese. All those thoughts about becoming a vegetarian? Yeah, out the window they WENT.

You assumed that none of those Italian-Americans knew that a girl could fucking eat, because they looked at you with both horror and confusion. Also, a little concernment. You also learned the complete difference between Italian and Italian-American, as if that horrendous atrocity that is your bff Snooki's Jersey Shore season 4 wasn't enough to learn from.

As you were munching away on what you were sure was only your third slice of 'salam' (salami), (it was actually your eleventh), the door swung open along with the little bell atop ringing. That wasn't what broke you out of your trance, no, no it would take a LOT for that to happen in the state you were in, but it was who....

"Hey, sweetheart, save some for the rest of us, huh?" He giggled, his other goons giggling behind him.

You looked up. You hated being spoken at while eating. It was really a trigger.

But there he was. Tony.

Tall, big, low-key balding, leather jacket and Goodwill's men section polo with some khaki pants, cigar in hand, under-sized gold rings and necklaces bulging, and a whiff of men's cologne (probably an Italian designer's).

You were stumped. Stunned. Stupefied.

So were they. They watched you, waiting for some sort of response whether it was verbal or physical. Instead, they were given your mega disassociation-state, blank expression, mouth full with a slice of meat in one hand and a slice of cheese in the other.

The entire deli went silent - it was literally as if there was a cowboy standoff going on like some Western film shit. A Spaghetti western here, perhaps?

"Fuck's wrong with her?" one of his minions asked. You later found out this was his wannabe Aaron Sorkin nephew Christopha.

"Hey, Ton', I think you broke the poor broad!" the other said, who had crazy white streaks of hair. This was his other minion, Paulie who giggled with the possible case of Tourette's syndrome.

"Ayyeeee, sweethaarrttt," the other said with a grumpy face and crazy hairline, (Silvio), "what's tha matta?"

You didn't know what the matter was. And honestly, neither did Tony.

All you two knew, is that you were both locked IN. What you didn't know at the time, was that he realized he had landed his eyes on one of the most beautiful, fine ass women he'd ever seen. And man was down BAD! Of course he was, girl, LOOK AT YOU!

(For realsies all respect to Carmela she did not deserve any of Tony's caca!)

"Who the fuck is this?" he finally asked, somewhat angrily. He wasn't angry, just taken aback someone had defied him as much as you did in that moment from that face off. And that's just the regular tone of how a lot of these people talked, which you ALSO later learned.

"I'm me," you said back.

The three minions behind him all raised their brows in shock. They couldn't conceive a girlie, like you, could sass just as hard back. That response ALWAYS worked.

And that was that. You two were history <3.

You then met Snooki at a bar later that same night and she let you stay at the Jersey Shore house for a bit until Tony gave you enough money to get your own spot. And now, here you two were. Some full circle shit.

So yeah back to your apartment WE'RE BACK AT THE APARTMENT!!

You were in the midst of a rant to Snooki about beefing with your hairstylist, the same lady who bleached your hair and unknowingly participated as an accessory to concealing your real identity from authorities.

"...and so I was like, I want a bleach and tone, like can you do a bleach and tone for me please, like smiley face emoji and she was like tone? (question mark) and I was like, a bleach and tone, like, a bleach and tone, like a bleach and tone, like what do you mean tone, like? Like after you bleach it, can you tone it, like make it not brassy, and she was like 'oh oh I understand' and put, like, the blonde princess emoji and I was like, okay I'm glad you understand."

"What a fucking dumbass," Snooki laughed, finishing your hair. "I can just give you the number to my hairdresser, just let me know."

You heavily considered. A couple chunky stripe black highlights here and there? Some reverse raccoon shit? SHIT!!!

As she wrapped up, you admired yourself in the mirror. Your other girlfriend, JWoww, had done your makeup but had to leave early to let out her dogs at her house. She'd done the full Y2K trashy mcbling look - black smokey eye with glitter, heavy on the contour, thin ass brows and a nude lip. You looked like a Pamela Anderson variant and you were fucking it up!

After taking some grainy ass photos on your hot pink bedazzled camera, Snooki hyping you up some more and pregaming with you before your date, you got a text!

"I've got a text!" you said like a Love Islander.

"Oh my god, is it from him?" Snooki asked, drinking the remnants of the Ron-Ron juice she made, the only good thing he's ever been associated with.

"Oh, fuck he's like - he's like here! He's here!"

You ran towards your window and peeped your head through the blinds - he was indeed here in his red Chevy. A wave of anxiety flushed over you - but you weren't sure why? You were literally his 'goomar' or 'goomah' however you spell it and this definetly wasn't your first time on a date with him. But every time before one, you felt like you needed to shit yourself. He just made you all nervy! Like, that's a MAN RIGHT THERE!

"Oh, fuck Snooki," you said, frightened. "I think I need to go."

"You're kidding. You don't have time! You said he made a reservation, right?"

"Oh, I don't know. He just walks into anywhere and he automatically has a reservation for that exact time. You really think I can't go?"

"I mean, how fast can you go?"

You ended up going. And you were fast.

It was a quickie, definitely not ALL that needed to come out, but it was something for now. You knew your body too well. As you hit that flush lever thingie, you saw all your anxiety go down with it. You were ready, renewed, and refreshed. THOSE are the real three R's for saving the planet. You also smoked the last bit if your blunt, a 'roach' if you will, to see if that could calm your nerves. Spoiler - it didn't. Girl there was less than an inch left the fuck did you think that would do.

As Snooki was closing the front door, she yelled somewhat drunkenly "YOU'RE FUCKING HOT!" It definitely gave you a little pep in your step, to say the very least. Your heels clicked and clicked down that staircase, you felt like Rose in Titanic to Jack in that one scene.

Tony exited the car, admiring his view. Snooki was very right. You were eating it UP LIKE THAT BITCH!!

You had a slip on sequin dress, not too clubby but not too dressy, low-key classy and a little not too shabby? Your hair was all done up and your hoops dangled from your ears. You smelled of some sweet Nicki Minaj's body spray from TJ Maxx.

A cloud of cologne (a good cologne, one that you secretly stole for him also from TJ Maxx) hit you as you and Tony embraced. Even with your heels, he still stood over you like a fucking wall. You got why the gays love their bears.

"How do I look, Tony?" you asked. You knew your answer you just fucked with compliments.

"You look beautiful, hun. Like an old Hollywood actress. Let's get goin'." He opened the passenger's seat door for you like the gentleman he was and closed it behind you. Once he was in the driver's seat, you two were off.

It was now Christmas time - so the aesthetic was KICKING! Lights were all around on people's houses and trees, the air was cool and there was a little snowfall. It felt like some cozy 2000's digital photos you find under looking up 'nostalgic' on Pinterest. The car's heater was on full and the warmth felt good against your ass. You thought about fucking up a sauna and how you'd love one of those. Maybe a future date with Tony?

You lowered the sun visor to check yourself in the mirror. These false lashes were CRAZY. You only trusted JWoww or Snooki to put them on.

"You smell that?" Tony asked, sniffing the air.

"No," you said. You only smelled the his strong cologne and Nicki.

"You smell like weed," he said.

You did forget about the 'roach' and plants you were growing on your balcony to make some extra cash. But then, you thought, this could be the perfect lay-up right now. If it worked on Megan Fox, maybe it would work on Tony? If it didn't, you'd honestly Lady Bird yourself out of his car from the embarrassment.

"I am weed," you said, trying to sound femme fatale, biting your tongue like a mom.

He didn't get it.

"What did you say?"

You weren't high enough for this.

"Man, never mind," you said. "Where we going, anyway? You said you were take me to eat some real food. Cause apparently McDonald's isn't."

"Oh please, you're gonna start with that shit again?" Tony said. One thing with Tony, and all these mafiosos, they have more insecurity than a thirteen-year-old middle school girl. You've had to learn how to dodge Tony's whiny moments.

"So where?" you asked again, back to the topic.

"Italian."

"Oh, like Olive Garden?"

He stopped at a light and faced you, with a look of pure disgust.

You saw him in the corner of your eye, trying not to smile. You loved fucking with him. It was like fucking with a toddler.

"The fuck did you say?"

And there it was.

Tony then began to rant about what true Italian dining and food was, as he always loved to flex in his whiny self about how there's no other shame of an establishment other than Olive Garden to bring embarrassment to Italian cuisine. You disassociated for much of it after, watching the lit-up suburbs as you drove by.

"....and that's why Vesuvio's puts back the honor in the Italian name. End of story!"

"That's crazy," you said, one of your many safe automatic responses to have after your disassociation trips.

Anyway, you two had finally made it to the restaurant, as Tony mentioned before, called Vesuvio's. It was owned by a close friend of his, which made you all happy as it was refreshing to see Tony support small businesses. It was the late evening, so the sun had already set and the ambience was hitting.

Before you entered the restaurant, Tony said he had a surprise for you and took out from the back of his car a quite large box.

"What is this?"

"Go ahead," he smiled slyly, "open it up."

You felt like a child needing to rip the bitch open, but you stopped yourself - you liked playing hard to get so you knew you had to act indifferent. You instead opened it slowly, as if it was just an ordinary box but no it WASN'T!

"No. Fucking. Way," you were in disbelief. "Tony - a FUCKING VINTAGE HOT PINK JUICY TRACKSUIT?! THESE ARE LIKE, $100 ON DEPOP?!?!?!?!"

He was fucking up your reaction. He must've really listened to when you indulged in him your airport troubles and losing your suitcase, as well as your vintage Juicy Couture tracksuit. This got you all hot and shit down there to know he cared like that. Again, this is a MAN. He makes ugly dudes like Tate tater tot look like a little bitch and that's that.

"You like it?" he asked as you yanked that shit out and were admiring it. "Here, let me help," he put the box down and helped put the top jacket part on.

You were too shock to speak. Non-verbal, if you would.

"Tony, no bro it's that I can't - "

His little dumbass smile made it all the better. You hated that he knew he ate with this.

The fresh smell of baked bread and pasta was making your toes curl violently. You loved being a fat ass. Once inside, Tony greeted like half the staff because that's what these men do, but you were just bouncing your eyes from table to table at all the dishes. Shit was about to HIT! You purposely didn't eat all day so you could have room for what tonight was to come. But, with that, the Ron-Ron juice was now in full effect. Uh oh oh no.

No, no - you couldn't. Had you not learned before in England? You cannot embarrass Tony, no, not in front of all these people. Tony was like a pillar in this little suburban community, you needed to make him look good!

But then, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror - you DO look good!

And then it hit you - you're just a girl who likes to dress up and eat good. The last thing you were gonna do was hide who you truly were! High key who gives a fuck about Tony? You do but you get what I mean.

A very pretty, blonde hostess came to you guys and led you to your table. Tony said hi, gave her the usual besitos, and introduced you two.

"Y/N, this is Adriana. You know, Christopha's girlfriend?"

"Oh my god yes! I remember!" you brought her in for a hug and your own besitos. She smelled great. It made you so happy to see another girl do her thing! "You look so good, bro! And your nails!"

"Oh, my god thank you!" she said, modestly. "You're so pretty!"

Tony smiled, happy to see two girls do their thing. Men will never understand.

You two sat a little more secluded towards the back. He had introduced you to Artie, the best friend and owner of the restaurant.

About an hour in, the vibes were HITTING! You were on your third slice of bread, dipping it in the olive oil and vinegar (though you preferred butter, but you weren't just about to say that in front of all these Italians, LITERALLY when in Rome like??), laughing as Tony was making his shitty dad jokes, light Frank Sinatra and 'like a big pizza pie in the sky' in the background, the chatter of other customers who were also vibing, and, like you, looking forward to absolutely demolishing the dishes.

What those dishes were, you wouldn't know. The moment you sat, Artie pulled up and took your menus, saying he would make y'all something exclusive from the menu. Like THAT? Like that. You felt like it was 2017 all over again and you just found out about the secret Pink Drink that wasn't on the Starbucks menu. Exclusive!

As Tony was rambling on about his new horse, you were just thinking about how insanely attractive he was. Again, this ain't no boy - no, this is a MAN. This is a man who gets shit done, whenever and wherever. You always thought yourself to be pretty humble and not consider power a trait to find attractive, but you just realized you were lying to yourself this whole time, cause Tony proved it was. Is it shallow? Oops. Who gives a fuck be real. That and giving you money every time he saw you was definitely a plus! He was just too smooth with shit.

And let's be real again, it was a little bit of a power trip for you too. Like, you're TONY'S girl. You know what that's more powerful than? Exactly. Anyone other than Tony's girl.

"What's your horse's name?" you asked.

"Pie-O-My."

"That's such a cute name!"

Dumbass name, you thought. But in all honesty you would've named a horse like Pickle or some shit so.

"Do you like horses? I should take you ta see her sometime."

You weren't a horse girl, even though you did have a small phase in middle school. "How could you not? They're so, like, otherworldly. Back in Colombia, my old boss used to have a zoo, and there were a bunch of horses there too."

"When were you in Colombia?"

You froze - you forgot. You're not Y/N, you're Y/N! You're supposed to be under a false identity! You can't just be revealing your past, Colombia was not supposed to be talked about! Have England Colombia not taught you anything?

"A long, long, long, long time ago. Long time. Looooong time," you said, smiling sheepishly and taking a nervous sip of your wine. This topic needed to be SKIPPED.

"For business?"

And then you forgot. Tony literally knows you're a fugitive. You are safe <3

You went on to expand about your brief but not-so-brief, actually extensive, time in Colombia, working for Pablo and committing heists with your girls. It seemed like another lifetime ago, but recounting it brought you such nostalgia, it made you happy to reminisce. Tony was eating it up too, he fucked with the fact that you weren't just no ordinary girl, no, you were a girl with a past. Dare I say, not like other girls at that. A criminal one, at that. To these macho mafiosos, seeing a girl do more than being a housewife is considered very exotic.

"One time, in Colombia, I almost set off one of Pablo's bombas by accident," you giggled to yourself. Shit was crazy. "It was supposed to be a hit on someone and I opened the wrong door to the wrong car lol. Thank god it malfunctioned and didn't detonate, but ever since then my close experience with death has just taught me to live, laugh and love more, you know? He was reaalllyyy pissed at me, for like a minute. Then he got over it, cause like, it's never that serious, you know?"

You dug into your pasta, which had just been brought out. It was Alfredo, your favorite. You weren't sure how Alfredo was an exclusive dish, but whatevs. You felt the warmness go down through your intestines - deletable. You felt Mark Weins possessing your spirit.

Tony was in awe of your stories.

"Wait, wait, Pablo's what?"

"Bombas. You know."

He still didn't comprehend. Ugh boys.

"Bomb bass?" you repeated.

"Boss Baby? Like that cartoon scientist prick?"

You'd never seen Boss Baby, but was pretty sure he wasn't a scientist. Just a baby in STEM. "No, Tony, bom-bas."

"Baz Luhrmann?"

"Oh my god, no, but I miss that summer," you said, thinking about that curse of a movie. "All that our love surviveeeesssss. So good. So good."

You continued eating your pasta, imagining Jacob Elordi's face instead of Austin Butler. It helped with the nightmares.

"Wait, you mean bombs?" he whispered.

"Yes, that!" you covered your mouth with your hand, still chomping away, "Sorry, all that time in Colombia I forgot English words. I should redownload Duolingo again."

"You can't say that around here. Not around Artie."

"Why not?"

"He's sensitive to subjects like that. Gets him all nervous." Tony then went on to basically play with his food by making his fork dance in and out of it, never actually accumulating more pasta. This was his fidgeting.

"You garbage disposal guys love to pretend you're all hard and shit."

He stopped. Again, he's offended. "What did you say?"

"Like, you pretend you're all hard, and shit, but then you're not. Okay, like, okay - Paulie doesn't like me cause I made a joke. A little joke and he got all butthurt."

"Yeah, cause you said that if he eats more than 12 grapes on New Years, he's cursed."

"Yeah, so what? His fat ass ate the entire bag. I had to make him feel bad for that. Reparations, honestly."

"You know Paulie, he's superstitious. And you weren't helping when you asked his zodiac sign or whatever bullshit."

"And what about Silvio, huh? So what if I've never seen the Godfather? How else is a normal person supposed to react if you just randomly say 'once I'm out they pull me back in'? Like, what? Back into what? I was being nice pretending I knew what he was talking about the first couple of times. I can only fake it til I make it so much."

Tony was growing more impatient.

"And Christopher? Sorry if I didn't know that an Elf Bar would break his sobriety. I just thought he'd love to invest -"

"Listen, sweetheart, I gotta be honest with ya. My friends, they're not perfect, but they're my family. Let's not forget about the sanctity of loyalty and respect. So let's put this aside and enjoy each other's company, huh -"

"How's the food, huh?" Artie asked, suddenly appearing like an Gusteau's ghost.

"It's great, Artie," Tony said, somewhat dismissively.

"Artie, you ATE this shit up! I'm gonna be sleeping sooooo good tonight!" you smiled. He smiled that you smiled.

"Well thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" Artie then walked off, leaving you two to yourselves. He quickly turned around and came back. "Be sure to call if you feel you have food poisoning, though."

"Wait, what?" you asked, mimicking Trisha Paytas.

"Cause if you do have it, it's not my food," he chuckled. "Right, Ton'?"

With that ominous comment/inside joke that you really had no idea what he was talking about, he walked away laughing. Tony wasn't. He, underneath it all was fuming but holding it in. He didn't like to raise his voice in front of you, because he knew you would hit lengths that exceeded his. One of your favorite activities was to make guys feel stupid, and you were too good at that and he knew. Honestly, he was kinda scared of the power you held, like one of Pablo's bombas.

You just shrugged it off and continued eating up your pasta.

It was quiet. It wasn't an awkward quiet, just a 'who's gonna talk first to get us past this quiet' sort of quiet. You didn't care, you were being wined and dined for free.

You then thought about how you could enhance the dish, like a wizard adding potions and his creation. You pointed to the parmesan.

"What?" Tony asked, oblivious, munching.

"Cheese, hellur?"

"The fuck is 'hellur'?'

You swallowed the food that prevented you from saying 'hello' correctly.

"Like, hello. So, cheese, hello?"

"Why not say hello?"

"Tony, I don't make fun of you when you say things in Italian," you shot back. He couldn't know food delayed your speech. "Don't make fun of my language, xenophobia doesn't look good on you."

He passed the parm, again in awe. "You know, of all the women I've been with, you're the weirdest fucking one," he laughed to himself.

"Awe, Tony, you're so sweet." You smiled. The bad quiet vibes had gone away and the good vibes had returned. So what if there was a boulder on the path? You walk AROUND it!

Fast forward to dessert. Artie brought you some cannolis because we're in an Italian restaurant remember.

Tony was in the middle of being pretty vulnerable with you. You loved that type of shit, when a man opens up. It's like seeing them fully evolve to becoming a normal person and you were front row.

"The things I do, you know. It's to get food on the table for my kids. But they, they don't understand. Meadow does, she's still young, but AJ? I don't know about the poor kid. Stays in his room all day, on that fucking computer, listens to that metal bullshit -"

"He's just going through his emo era. We all have it, don't worry. Some worse than others. And, he's a boy. They all enjoy a little Reddit from time to time. But just cause you're a criminal, Tony, doesn't make you a villain. The IRS just love to hate, trust me, I know."

He appreciated that you cared. "Therapy helps too, or whatever."

"Awe, that's great Tony!"

"But don't tell anyone, or I'll get whacked."

"By who?"

"You know. My associates."

"That's nice that you play games with your associates. It should be more than just business, you know. Like, there should be room for some bonding time and exercises."

"What are you talking about?"

"Like, Whack-a-Mole. Isn't that what you were talking about?"

Tony laughed. You thought he got it, but he was just still confused and was actually laughing at the shit you just say.

After the check (there was no check cause it's Tony Soprano), you two stopped by at Wawa to get some SpongeBob popsicles, cause those cannolis didn't hit that 'sumthin sweet' feeling. The flavor you got wasn't as good as his, despite being the same thing, so at every free opportunity when he wasn't looking you scooped a little of his. He started to notice as his popsicle shrunk and shrunk, getting hot at what you were doing. You didn't mind, you liked it sometimes when he got mad cause you thought it was funny you got to him like that. He got over it eventually, realizing that it's never THAT serious.

Some time later you were back at his place, what your girls would call an 'open crib'. It was just you two, and as Nicki once said, the night was still young. The possibilities? Yeah, they're endless. You had to admit, you were getting impatient. You needed something and that something was NOW.

By the pool, you two were making out. Shit was getting heavy and the night was getting pretty fucking chilly. A little too chilly, like the Juicy tracksuit was cute asf, but let's be real not helping in the slightest. But you weren't just about to have that interrupt you. What's a little cold? People literally live in like, Russian tundra.

Still making out, you felt small droplets of water hit you.

You broke from the kiss and said, quite sensually but not exactly meaning to, "I'm wet."

Tony chuckled with his goofy, excited smile. "Tell me more -"

He brought you back in for another kiss.

You felt more of those droplets hit you. You broke your kiss off again.

"No, I'm actually wet."

As if on cue, the rain began to pour pretty hard, increasingly violent. He grabbed your arm and pulled you to go inside. You two laughed as you were drenched, trying to escape the heavy downpour on some rom-com bullshit.

You slid your heels off and ran, you ran and ran. One thing you knew how to do - you knew how to ran. Your feet hit those puddles of water with such velocity, Tony could no longer catch up to you and lagged behind. Your hands let go - you couldn't wait for him. Once you were in this state, there was no breaking out of it. He was amazed at your abilities. You couldn't risk your makeup running. That's a big no-no, no?

Once inside, he brought you two towels and began drying you off. You caught a quick glimpse of your make up in the mirror, and needless to say, you needed JWoww to drop you that link of the setting spray she used cause shit was STUCK. Immovable.

"Thanks for the towel, Tony." you said. He winked at you, pulled his soaked shirt off and tossed it on the kitchen counter, then pulled out a jug of orange juice from the fridge, downing that bitch. Your eyes trailed from his body hair, down to his chest, to his belly, then his happy trail down to - oh. Oh there it is.

"Peter, the horse is here." you said. That bulge was bulging.

Tony clocked his head to you.

You thought you said it in your head, but you actually said it loud and clear.

"Who the fuck is Peta?" he interrogated, getting scared into thinking someone else was in the house, or that maybe 'Peter' was someone you were seeing...

"My god Tony you're such a fucking boomer."

"Is Peter your boyfriend -"

"- oh SHUT UP TONY!" you said, before pouncing on top of him. You hugged him, and he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the dining table and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your sequin dress off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia," he says. "End of story!"

You lift your legs as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the man from North Caldwell, New Jersey in. This is it. No Peta, no duck phone, no garbage disposal, nothing - just you and Tony.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

Also, a heads up! A friendly warning - DON'T tell me how long to make story. That is up to me, myself and I. Anyway this one's shorter so whatevs.

xoxo,

~ Sam St. Clair

#tony soprano #the sopranos #Tony soprano x reader #fanfiction #tony x reader #imagine #smut #fluff #fan fiction

87 notes · View notes

mickeyluggage · 4 months

Text

Ok I've been thinking a lot about Saw (2004) since I watched it a few days ago, so here's a post about it:

Some duos I want to see in the bathroom trap (and how well I think they'd do)

Starting off strong- Marty and Rust from True detective (season 1).

Marty would do anything to save his daughters and Maggie, and meanwhile Rust and his existential dread would be going crazy. Would they survive? Probably. Rust is smart enough (and insane enough) to find his way out, and Marty might cut off his foot after a phone call from Maggie.

Marcus and Kevin from White chicks.

They would survive, no questions asked.

Christopher and Paulie from the Sopranos

Would they survive? Absolutely not. Not in a million years. Would it be hilarious to watch? Yes it would.

Paulie does get a bit crazy at times, I can see him cutting off his foot after a few hours, and lying to Chris about the clues he's getting. Christopher would absolutely shove his hand in the toilet bowl instead of checking under the lid first. And he would try to rip out the metal pipes with his bare hands.

Antoine and Leonard from Ne nous fâchons pas.

This may be a niche reference especially for non-french people, but I would love to see anyone trapped in a room with Leonard for six hours straight. Would they survive? Fuck if I know, but I wanna see them try

Larry and Freddy from Reservoir dogs.

Larry finding out through the phone call that Freddy knows him, that he's a cop and was trying to get him arrested when he got kidnapped? Them collaborating so well at first and really doing everything they can to get out? Freddy still being so scared of death and Larry comforting him? Sign me the fuck up.

Would they survive? Nope. They're doomed by the narrative

Veronica and JD from Heathers

Mr. Manipulator JD would be really dangerous in the bathroom trap and would genuinely fuck with Veronica at first. I think ultimately she'd shoot him and win the game.

Another french movie, Hubert and Larmina from OSS 117 le Caire nid d'espion.

Would they survive? Larmina yes, Hubert no. But I think they'd be the kind to accidentally find out the guy in the middle was alive. Hubert would get really offended by the nature of the game and would yell at the camera. He would also be too busy bitching about how dirty the place is while Larmina would be figuring a way to get out.

Guildenstern and Rosencrantz from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead

My head is aching just imagining the conversations they'd hold during those 6 hours. "Do you remember how you got here?" "We were sent for!"

Just like in the movie, Rosencrantz would find all kinds of clues that would help them get out, but Guildenstern would somehow miss all of them or not believe any of them. Would they survive it? I don't think so, but if one of them had to, it would be Guildenstern who shot Rosencrantz

#sawposting #saw 2004 #reservoir dogs #rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead #true detective #heathers #lino ventura #oss 117 #white chicks #I might reblog this anytime with another duo I suddenly remembered about #don't take this too seriously #the sopranos

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polyklok · 1 year

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Movies I think Dethklok members would really like

No this is not based on anything I’m just in a mood™ rn

Nathan Explosion

Mad God

So, no, I did not have any ounce of an idea of what this movie was about when I originally watched it, and I’m still not 100% sure tbh but an hour and a half of these pure vibes would totally be up Nathan’s alley. The post-apocalyptic setting, all the gore, the details of the various monsters, and I think he would just really appreciate it from an artist’s standpoint as well. This movie would just resonate with him, even if he wouldn’t have a fucking clue what was going on the whole time.

Mary and Max

I’m, personally, a bit on-the-fence about this movie, but it is undeniably sweet and I headcanon Nate to be on the spectrum so 🤷

This would be, like, his guilty pleasure film. The movie he knows is for kids and is totally not brutal but he loves it anyway. The, “I do not feel disabled, defective, or a need to be cured” really hits for him every single time. He rewatches it at least once every few months, especially when he’s in some sort of emotional slump.

Mandy

Another one that just like, like, big Nathan energy, you know? He just seems like a guy to really love loose plots with trippy visuals and strong emotions attached to them. Also, this movie is so completely badass, it is certified metal in his book. He also finds the story incredibly tragic; having the love of your life stripped away from you in such circumstances really tugs at his heartstrings, but in a way that gets him pumped up rather than sad. This is probably his go-to when people ask, “what’s your favorite movie?”

Pickles the Drummer

Son in Law

Okay this is my guilty pleasure movie. I usually don’t like stoner-comedy from the 90s, but this movie hits different. Maybe I just find Crawl hot. Anyway, I’m projecting that onto Pickles. He honestly probably finds a lot of crappy comedies to be peak film, and this is no exception. Pauly Shore pretending to be a country boy for a whole movie? Hells yeah. Pickles would watch while high off his mind, laughing his butt off and going to town on some cheez-its or something. And you know what? He deserves it.

Opal

I’m counting short films because I feel like Opal is the movie for Pickles. He’d watch it on a whim, because these are not usually the types of things he enjoys, and then he’d in tears over the emotional rollercoaster he did not agree to go on. Like, he grew up in a neglective household with authority figures that were overly-selfish and projected their own problems onto the youngest one in the house, to which he had to hide within his own brain more often than not just to properly function. And then he just…watched it happen all again in the hypnotic style of Jack Stauber. The Mom’s song had him in gasping tears for a while, the way you get when a movie somehow perfectly captures your own trauma right in front of you. And the ending??? Ugh. Go watch Opal, guys, it’s on YouTube.

Nathan and Pickles both get very emotional about certain stop-motion films, isn’t that crazy?

House

Thank you to Lucy for this Letterbox review that I think he would write

Anyway-

This movie is actually so insane. It’s not scary in a horror-movie way, like it meant to be, it’s scary as in ‘What the hell is happening and why do I understand it?’ Pickles doesn’t like most traditional horror films, as the long, quiet suspense bores him and the sudden jumpscares freak him the hell out way more than they should. But he loves the campy-wacko-type horror that they were apparently making in 70s Japan. It’s just scary enough to get his heart pumping, but the pure silliness of it all overrides that, getting him in a giddy mood and excited to see what happens next.

(No I am not done but tumblr won’t let me add more pictures)

#polyklok is real #metalocalypse #dethklok #dethklok headcanon #metalocaypse headcanon #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #Nathan explosion headcanon #pickles the drummer headcanon

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hypocriticalspicewrites · 9 months

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Questions for fruitbats🦇🍒

Where on the guy’s body is most sensitive to the touch, it leaves them in a hot mess👀

What is something so small chrysta does, it just turns them on and just wanna go at it with her, right then and there👁️👁️

Out of all the guys, who tends to be more vocal in bed?😏

And who’s is more romantic in bed with their girl?🤭

-MJ~💖

MJ IM GONNA JUMP YOU AND KISS YOU PASSIONATELY YOU AND LAV ARE MY BAES WHEN IT COMES TO FILLING MY ASKBOX I LOVE YOU BOTH SM 🩷🩷🩷🩷 yall got my back ✨️🤞

Gonna answer each question with one of the boys~ 🤭

Were gonna start this one off strong daddy- I MEAN David... with your question, what body part is the most sensitive to touch? 👀

I've said before, David's hands are quite a weak point if you want to get him all quiet and shy [which is him just staring at you like he'd kill you but-] But there's one specific part or two on his body that if it's touched in some way that'd get you a pretty happy vampire~

David doesn't really melt, or get all moany and whiney- never in a million years will he be caught dead like that. But Chrysta gets a lot of grunting and the broken armrest of a chair if she teases at a really sensitive veins, especially one creeping down his v-line to his dick. Wether that be trailing her finger across it, or licking it, it drives him crazy. It takes about 0.01 seconds before he has her bent over a couch fucking her till her brain is sap.🩷🦇

Simple day to day turn on?

Anytime Chrysta is on him... Literally. Any. Time.

She's just hugging his arm? Horny. Arms around his neck? Horny. Hugging him? Showing wholesome, pure innocent love and adoration?

... Horny.

Especially when she asks him to take her riding for practice as she's sitting at the front of his bike, she does this little shimmy up real close so her ass is tight pressed against his groin. Wether she does it on purpose or completely no intention, who knows? All Marko knows is he's PRAYING she can't feel his erection in his jeans when she does it.

Loudest in bed?

That'd be Pauly here- Marko being a hot second with his pussy-drunk rambles. He is NOT a quiet lover with Chrysta or the other boys. He is moaning, groaning, talking, whining, giggling, all of it. He can't help it when Chrysta likes pulling his hair, nipping and biting or choking him a little bit- it makes him even more riled up with how nervous she is about it too.

He wants to be sure EVERYONE in that cave knows how good his mates are making him feel, or vice versa, this vampire has little to no shame in that.

Most romantic?

Dwayne takes the throne for this one. ✨️👑

Well, during sex he's pretty rough and quiet, but afterwards, he's a big teddy bear. 🥺

He's kissing Chrysta's face to wake her up, petting her hair and whispering sweet words and praises while making sure to touch and kiss any bruises or bites left over. He also makes sure she's all clean and comfy, checking on her the whole time while settling down for bed or just some post pillow talk and snuggles. 🩷

#🍒daily dose of cherry🍒#🍒cherrys spice cabinet🔥#fruitbats🦇🍒#self ship #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys #lost boys #tlb 1987 #tlb oc #the lost boys chrysta #tlb marko #tlb david #tlb paul #tlb dwayne

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cebwrites · 2 years

Text

Haunted House Reactions (Katakuri, Bartolomeo, Paulie)

gn reader, masc reader (paulie) word count: 0.5k

Katakuri

Honestly? The staff might be more scared of him than he is of them

You adore Kat with everything in your being, he’s your heart and soul, but yeah, you see why some people (weak bitches) would be frightened by his appearance

He loves coming along but sometimes has to wait outside because not many places are built to accommodate folks the height of two storey houses

When he does get to go in, he’s excited to be there but most people wouldn’t know because Katakuri doesn’t let it show

The actors have a hard time scaring him because, frankly, who can?

He’s great and holding (carrying) you throughout if you’re scared though, or a perfect fearless counterpart to accompany you if spooks and ghouls are your thing

He’s 100% accidentally frightened strangers accidentally just by existing there and kind of blending in with the props/actors

”Why is this one so big?! He’s chasing us too, gyaaaah!!!” (When poor Kata was just going with the grain)

Bartolomeo

Makes a big show of ‘protecting’ you from all the scary monsters, isn’t actually scared though

He’s a little bored but he likes proving that he’s a tough guy to you so that arm is definitely around your waist and he’s walking like a caricature of a yankee

It’s pretty easy to spook him honestly, but it has to be you who does it, because Barto isn’t expecting it (oh, the betrayal!)

The one scare that does catch him off guard is gonna make him shatter glass with how high he screams (it’s something innocuous, like a spider he thought was fake on his shoulder but turned out to be real)

Equally as likely to get sidetracked in a conversation with one of the staff talking about how cool their makeup is as he is to get into a fistfight with with one if he thought they were eyeing him (or you) the wrong way

Can’t take this man anywhere istg, at least he’ll treat you to ice cream later to make up for it

Paulie

He’s a MAN’S man, he’s tough as nails, he’s-- quaking in his boots.

Paulie doesn’t get spooked by a lot but what does scare him makes this man shriek and cling to you

Then immediately pretend like his grown ass did not try to climb you like a tree

Paulie’s got his pride to protect and he wants to protect you, his man, too - but that means you’ll have to deal with him being a little bit silly for a bit

Overcompensates for every single sound he makes in response, putting his arm on you and proclaiming that there’s nothing in here that would scare two big strong guys, like yourselves

This just spurs the actors on a lot of the time because it’s funny to make these types of guys squeal

Honestly Paulie makes it much harder on himself by doing this than if he just let himself be scared like a normal haunted house patron

100% would not be surprising if you had to carry him out bridal style like the babygirl he is

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bearyyayay · 7 months

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Can you imagine how scary Paulie can be despite his jovial facade, like yes he seems to be a fun guy to hangout with. But if you mess with him you're basically asking for a death wish. So first he's beefy, he's a strong guy and he's quick tempered and fiery. HAVE YOU SEE HOW BEEFY THAT GUY NEXT TO TOMMY AND IN THE COMIC COVER???

TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT HIM AT THE BACK AND TELL ME HOW THAT DOES NOT LOOK BEEFY.

#mafia definitive edition #paulie lombardo #mafia #mafia 1 #thoughts #FRANK HAD SAID THAT HES THE GUY THEY WANTED IN A TUSSLE #MEANING THAT HES THE GUY WHO WILL FIGHT WITH BARE HAND #FIGHT OR FLIGHT?? DEFINITELY FIGHT #AND REMEMBER THE CHAPTER WHERE HE ENTERS THE CHINA SHOP OR WHATEVER #YOU COULD HEAR SOMETHING BREAKING IN THERE EUGENE NEPHEW IS NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME #AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON WILLAM GATES PAULIE DEADASS ALMOST HAD HIM LAND ON HIS ASS #AND HIS DEEP VOICE HELLO??#A TURN ON SURE BUT ALSO INTIMIDATING #Paulie appreciation post #STRONG BOI PAULIE 🗣️🗣️🗣️

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bigmouthlass · 9 days

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Title: Have A Drink On Me

Series: Holler Me Home, part 11

Author: BJ

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: The first case after Our Heroes make their big decision leads to considerations of the future, the past, what it means to be a Hunter and a killer and a lover and a partner and a part of something greater than yourself.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Alpha Sam Winchester, Episode References, S12E16 Ladies Drink Free, Mick Davies, Omega Mick Davies, British Men Of Letters, Claire Novak, Alpha Claire Novak,

AN: Continuing adventures in AU land. This one is S12E16, 'Ladies Drink Free.' All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

You’re trying not to snap. You’re really trying. But you’re starting to wish you’d ridden Eddie for this trip instead of sharing Baby’s backseat with Mick Davies, snow and all. Instead of stretching out and going to sleep, you’re slumped up against the window trying to distract yourself with your nephew’s Twitch stream of . . . whatever game he’s playing right now. Davies had tried to break the ice with you earlier when he saw the cover art for Piece Of Mind on your phone’s screen, by offering the startling revelation that “The Trooper” was inspired by The Charge Of The Light Brigade. Your patience already running low, you’d told him, rather tartly, that you already knew. And that Maiden’s lyrical influences include Samuel Coleridge and Frank Herbert and the Church Of England hymnal. He’d taken the hint and left you alone, burying himself in paperwork.

Closing your eyes, you reach for patience. Davies is behaving like a man well aware he's doing something significantly beyond him, and is feeling the strain. You have to give him credit for that awareness at least, and the desire to correct it. That doesn't change the fact that he has zero in-country experience, and of all the things you'd pick to break a Hunting cherry, a werewolf hunt would not be your first choice no matter how book-smart a guy might be on the subject.

Teamwork, you remind yourself again. Teamwork makes the dream work. Hunting is a little like writing; the only way to do it is to do it.

Paulie signs off and you pull out your earbuds. Next to you, Davies is listening raptly to an analysis of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses. “Did you have to let him listen to his podcast?” you bitch.

Dean points at Sam.

“It's educational,” Sam bitches back. “And besides, I've been wanting to listen to this one.”

Davies turns off the lecture, and your aching head sighs in relief. “You know, monks like Martin Luther are among the earliest Hunters. He even wrote parts of that book you're holding.”

You did know that, and you also know that's completely discounting the entire Greek Orthodox Church’s history, along with the activities of the Ethiopian church. There’re also several Islamic warriors who were based in North Africa and the Eastern Arabian deserts who would qualify as Hunters by any reasonable definition, and who the hell knows what’s going on in northern Asia and China? You resist the urge to be a wiseass, though it’s surely a strong temptation.

“What?” Sam twists around and stares at Davies. “This lore dates back to the 16th century?”

“Yeah.” Davies shrugs. “Well, in Europe, everything’s old. Though we do have our fair share of new tricks for dealing with wolves-- sulfate gas, silver nitrate lethal injection.”

“Take a handful of silver bullets over any of that fancy crap,” is Dean’s counter.

“Agreed,” you add.

“Yes, well,” Davies sighs, “thanks to that ‘fancy crap,’ Britain's last werewolf outbreak was in the twenties. We rooted them out, bitten and pureblood alike.”

“Wait a second-- you killed them all?” Sam echoes your thought. “Even the ones that weren't hurting anyone?”

Davies’s eyebrows arch up. “Sorry?”

“Your research into lycanthropy didn’t cover that?” you ask. “Some people are able to live with the change.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I mean, we have a buddy got bit. Nothing but beef hearts ever since.”

“And you trust him?”

“More than we trust you,” Dean says bluntly.

“Well, killing is a fundamental need for werewolves,” Davies says.

“No, eating is a fundamental need for werewolves,” you correct. “And that’s doable with enough cardiac tissue. Just needs to be from a warm-blooded vertebrate, far as we can tell. Chicken hearts will do, you just need a lot of them."

Davies looks a little surprised but rallies, “Be that as it may, monsters don't just stop being monsters.”

“Well Garth did,” Dean says.

“Get two-thirds of a beer in him Garth’s downright cuddly,” you say.

“Oh, turn here,” Mick says, pointing to a driveway. Dean signals and pulls up to a . . . hotel. Like a real hotel and not a tin shack with cable TV. The sign out front reads Wild Elk Lodge.

Your collective jaws drop. Scuzzy cash-only roach traps are so par for the course when you’re not traveling with the RV you barely notice them. “Um . . .”

Characteristically, Sam has more words. “This place, uh, seems a little--"

“Shabby?” Davies actually sounds a little apologetic. “Yeah, three stars was the best I could do. Least our bean counters will be happy. Booked us all suites.”

“Wait, you . . . We're in separate rooms?” Sam asks, and he sounds like his birthday came early.

“Yeah, of course.”

Dean shoots a look at you, and you gulp. Circumstances usually prevent any kind of fun while you’re on the job. Nice big bed and no Sam snoring two feet away equals--

Davies catches your look and . . . blushes? A vague suspicion you’ve been having all day crystalizes and you suddenly know something about Mr. Mick Davies, Man of Letters.

---

"Mind if I join you?"

You look up from your drink and nod at Davies. "Sure, step into my office."

Climbing up on the barstool, Davies signals the bartender. "Two of whatever the lady's having." As the bartender pulls down the bottle of Laphroig, he makes an impressed face. "Interesting choice."

"Don't tell the guys this," you admit, "but I hate the stuff they keep in the decanter back at the bunker."

"Slainte," Davies says. You tap your glasses and sip. "Ah. Speaking of the boys, do you know where they might be?"

"Sam's probably stealing some time in the exercise room since we're hitting the ground running in the morning."

"And Dean?"

You laugh. "Probably at the pool doing cannonballs in his underwear. If there's a waterslide we'll never see him again."

Davies pulls out a cigarette case. "D’you mind?"

You shake your head. "Actually . . ." you hold out your hand and Davies spots you one. You pull your lighter out of your pocket and light both.

"I didn't know you smoked," Davies observes.

"I usually don't," you say, "but two cigarettes will cover your scent better than one."

He glances away. "How did you know?"

"You've been taking scents ever since you walked in. Besides, I use the same neutralizers. It’s why you wanted to join me isn't it? There's at least one Alpha sitting around the corner."

"Three." Davies motions, his cigarette clamped between his first two fingers. "That big fellow right there. The ginger in the uniform. And our friend drinking tequila like it's water. I know how to make rude Alphas take No for an answer but it's attention we don't want."

"No we do not."

"So," Davies drags over an ashtray, "you and Dean?"

"What you don't have that in your dossiers?" you ask.

"No, actually. Official information on American Hunters in general is challenging to come by. Covering your tracks seems second nature. Winchesters in particular." Davies chuckled. "It even got to be a game with some of our cleverer researchers. They'd make up stories to explain the outlandish contradictions tied up in their paper trails."

"Really? Spill," you tell him.

"Well once," Davies says, leaning in close like one of your mom's friends sharing something scandalous, "we caught their car's registration on camera, at the exact same time, in two different cities! Jordan was convinced that a shapeshifter had somehow shifted into the car and driven itself!"

"If that's what I think it is," you say as your mind makes a connection, "that was a hacker friend of theirs laying false trails. The boys had to leave the country for a couple weeks."

"Ah there, you see? Data's useless without someone to put the bits together. And a man with your Dean's reticence when it comes to committed relationships, well," he spreads his hands, "we didn't expect to find him committing to a bonded mate."

Your eyes go slitted, the way they do whenever someone starts sniffing around your Alpha.

Davies does a double-take over his drink. "Oh no! No I'm not trying to imply anything. Dean's an attractive Alpha but he's not remotely my type. Neither is Sam. Too tall."

"The Men of Letters don't have a problem with you being Omega?"

"No," Davies shrugs. "I know it doesn't always look that way to outsiders, but we're firm believers in the aristocracy of talent. Once we find talent, we do what we can not to waste it. Being an Omega is a manageable inconvenience with the proper planning."

You cough out a smoky laugh. "Sorry. It's just I never in my life heard somebody refer to it as a 'manageable inconvenience'."

"Well why not?" he asks. "You've managed to make a go of it. And you were totally alone most of the time."

"I had help." You explain about the drug study.

Davies puts down his cigarette and calls for another drink. "My God. I've read that study!"

You turn red. "I hope you didn't get the illustrated version."

Davies turns red. "There wasn't anything, well . . . personally identifiable. Mostly imaging scans."

"How long have you been with the Men of Letters?" You listen as Davies tells you about being recruited off the streets, his upbringing and education sponsored by one of the deacons at Kendricks Academy. "Wow," you say, the liquor loosening your tongue a little. "The way the guys talk about the Bevel bitch--" Davies chokes on his drink. "Shit! Sorry!"

"Don't be," Davies says, coughing into a napkin and chortling. "Lady Bevel's of an older mindset. Her family's one of the original founders of the Men of Letters, right back to the time of Edward VI. Very authoritarian."

"It's not like you can argue with the results," you say.

Davies is quiet for a moment. "Can I share something with you?" At your nod, he says, "It's true, we haven't had any monster related casualties since after the war. But it's all rather small potatoes compared to open warfare between Heaven and Hell. Since your boys averted the Apocalypse, it's felt like the rulebook's been thrown out completely."

You nod. "Suddenly the system stopped working."

"Precisely. The weakness of bureaucracy, it doesn't handle surprises well. Our analysts did a logistical study about what might have happened if the Devil's Gate in the Orkneys opened the way the one in Wyoming did. The results were . . . sobering. We want to take a more active role in keeping the world secure from the supernatural. We're just," he grimaces, "still trying to figure out how that should work. But," he says, lighting another cigarette, "that's enough about me. What about you?"

"What, I don't have a super secret file?"

"Incomplete. Been driving me a little mad if I'm honest."

Davies listens as you tell him about Peg, the sextant haunting. "Peg caught her foot and tore the hell out of her ankle. She was stuck in town for weeks. I spent a lot of time with her when she was rehabbing-- helping her around the house, running errands, all that good stuff."

"And the whole time she was training you," he puts it together.

"Mmm-hmm. You wouldn't've known it to look at her, but Peg was a champ at getting people to pour their hearts out to her. You know what I wanted to do before I Presented?" Davies shakes his head, looking fascinated. "I wanted to join the Marines."

"You are having me on!"

"I shit thee not. I had dreams about being the first woman on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It was a family thing as much as anything. My great-uncle was in the North African and Italian campaigns in World War II. Monte Cassino."

"Nasty business, that was," Davies notes.

"Yeah. Anyway, Peg left but she promised she'd come back for me after I finished high school. She insisted on that."

"And did she?"

"Yep." You smile to remember it. "She told me she watched me graduate from a tree in the Palmers’ back yard, through the scope of her favorite sniper rifle. She took me out of town that night and I was her partner up until she died."

"What of?"

"Would you believe it? Peritonitis, from a burst appendix. She thought maybe she’d gotten some bad bratwurst. By the time we pulled our heads out of our asses and got to a hospital it was too late." You shake your head. Even years later, your heart breaks to think of it. "She singlehandedly killed each and every vampire in Las Cruces, Texas over a two night meth and vodka binge, she tracked and killed one of the last babayagas, she survived the fall of the Iron Curtain and managed to smuggle herself out of Sarajevo two hours ahead of the Serbs. Fucking appendicitis."

Davies sighs. "Katherine Marlowe. My sponsor when I was recruited by the Men Of Letters, she disappeared some years ago. She had a soft spot for orphans, maybe because she couldn’t have children of her own. Closest thing to a mother I ever knew."

"God I'm sorry," you say, putting a hand on Davies’s arm. "What happened?"

"Well by then she'd retired from most active work but you know the job. You never totally walk away from it. She spent her time researching and tracking down magical artifacts, the stranger the better."

"Indiana Jones by way of Savile Row? I like it."

"God she would have hated that," Davies laughs, but there's an edge of melancholy to it. "She's actually Lady Bevel's aunt on her father’s side. I think she collected us orphans partly to spite the rest of the Marlowes."

"You know," you say, "here's a problem as I see it."

"Mmm? What's that?"

"Well the primary points of contact between us and your organization so far have included you, Lady Bevel, and Mr. Ketch. A middle manager-- no offense."

"None taken."

"A pain fetishist, and a hitman. All with very different philosophies as to handling potential allies, and all equally convinced they're fully sanctioned by your organization's leadership. It suggests a disunity of opinion that's concerning. To an outsider."

"That's a rather astringent read of the situation," Davies tells you a mite coldly.

"And the fact that none of you have any real in-country Hunting experience is not going to win you any credibility with most Hunters. Bobby Singer-- rest in peace," you cross yourself, "had the respect of every Hunter he ever worked with because he was never afraid to go in and kick ass. Loyalty meant something to him. It does to most of us."

"Well why do you think I'm here?" Davies asks. "Meeting people like you, like the Winchesters, working with you, trying to show how much better the world can be if we work as a team."

"Well, that's my point. What does working as a team mean to you?" you ask. "Because if it means you give orders and people like us do the dying, that’s not going to work. This isn't the Army, and we are not soldiers."

Davies puts his drink down and faces forward for a few minutes, tense and brooding. You've hit a nerve somewhere. When he looks at you again, there's a pinched look on his face. Confirm nerve strike. "Did it occur to you that maybe the respect of yourself and your colleagues is something I want purely on its own merits?"

"Yes it did.” You’re nobody’s psychologist but it doesn’t take a genius to see the Tom Hagan effect in action. Being an Omega would make that even worse. “Why do you think I’m talking to you like this? I want this to work. Sam does too.”

“And Dean? Unless I’m very much mistaken, he’s the one I need to convince.”

“Just don’t play him. He’ll figure it out and when he does . . . Dean doesn’t always make the best decisions when he’s upset.” Your lips burn with the magnitude of that understatement. “And if he tells you something’s not kosher? Believe him. Dean’s got the sharpest intuitions I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“You do that.” Butting your cigarette, you hop down off your barstool. “If you’ll excuse me Mr. Davies--”

“Mick. Please,” he says.

“Mick. I think I need to go fish my Alpha out of the pool. Good night. Thanks for the drink.”

“My pleasure,” he smiles.

You leave feeling a little better about the whole enterprise and follow the signs to the pool. Dean’s doing the redneck thing; a pair of boxer shorts standing in for trunks as he swims a lazy backstroke through the water. You take off your boots and socks, roll up your pantlegs, and sit down with your feet dangling over the edge. The water feels wonderful between your toes and you can feel the long day slipping away. It’s its own small happiness, just sitting at your ease watching your Alpha enjoy himself.

“You know, put you in a tail and a seashell bra you’d make an awesome mermaid,” you say as he catches sight of you and paddles over.

“Ha-ha.” Dean puts his feet underneath him and stands to just under your nose. Over your laughing protests, he wraps his soaking wet arms around you and cranes his neck for a kiss. Smacking his lips, he asks, “Whiskey?”

“Had a couple with Mick. We had an interesting conversation.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow at you. “How interesting?”

“Not so interesting I’m not looking forward to not sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

Dean has to take a second to parse that out. “Isn’t that like a triple negative or something?”

“I dunno, I skipped most of freshman English.” You cup Dean’s jaw, slide your hand down his wet skin to the still livid marks of your claiming bite. Dean shivers, stealing another kiss.

"So," he says, leaving your lips with a little farewell peck, "interesting talk?"

"Well first of all, Mick's an Omega."

Dean's eyebrows pop up. "Really. That's interesting. Do I need to warn Sam?"

"Mention it. Don't make Mick feel weird. I don't know about the organization, but the guy himself really is trying."

"Yeah but he's a fucking amateur. Amateurs are meat in this job."

"I know that Dean, but-- I mean, look at this," you gesture around. "Not having to support ourselves on mail fraud and dumb luck would make this job a snap. Might mean more of us could settle down, have a home base. Maybe not the full apple pie, but . . . the apple crumble life?"

"I still don't like it. You're the one who keeps saying beware Englishmen bearing gifts."

"Yeah, still looking for the hook in this nice juicy worm. If their idea of the perfect hunter is fucking Ketch--"

"You really don't like him do you?"

"Ketch is Bad. Like, capital-B Bad. And I don't like the conclusions he jumped to about you." You think a minute. "I don't like that these people are leaning extra hard into the Brains versus Brawn dichotomy. Sam kicks plenty of ass and you're a damned smart guy."

Dean grimaces. You spare a thought to curse John Winchester, for that involuntary grimace every time someone dares to give Dean a compliment. "Yeah. I didn't like the Final Solution vibe I got off Mick when he was talking about werewolves either."

"Me neither." You let the thoughtful quiet hang for a minute, then put away the subjects of Mick Davies and the Men of Letters for the night. "So. You done dog-paddling or . . ."

"I'm not done doing nothing," Dean drawls, a slow grin lighting him up.

Oh the little motherfucker-- "Oh no, no no," you warn, trying to scootch back out of snatching range, "don't even think about it, fuckstick--"

Dean's arms lock around you and down you go into the drink.

You come up sputtering. "Fuck you Winchester!" You catch up as he swims away and the two of you spend a productive few minutes behaving like five year olds on an Red Bull high.

---

Later, after receiving a stern dressing-down from the hotel's night manager and a solemn promise to remember you're adults, you two slosh to your rooms. Outside his door Dean yawns. "Honey? Y'know I'm kinda tired-- I've been driving all day and I didn't sleep good last night--"

You put your hands on your hips. "If this is your way of telling me you're gonna lay there and make me do all the work," you toss your head and turn on your heel, "good night, Winchester."

Whaddaya know, he's magically not tired anymore. With almost economical grace, he unlocks his door with one hand, yanks you off your feet with the other, and the two of you land inside his room with a splat.

---

The next morning after a raid on the breakfast buffet, you join your boys outside as they wait for the valet.

"Those pillows, right?" Dean gushes. "The little chocolates that they put on? I mean, I'm ruined, Sam. Those limey sons of bitches ruined me. I even took a swim."

"You brought a swimsuit?" Sam asks.

"Nope," you tell him.

"Ugh. He didn't," Sam groans.

"Yep. How was your night? Sleep okay?" you ask.

"Yeah. Full king size bed," Sam says, looking a bit dreamy. For a guy of Sam's height, that's not a small matter. "I read through more of Mick's lore books-- listen to this, it's crazy. So apparently, back in the '30s, they were working on this treatment for werewolves. This, like, blood therapy."

"Plasma therapy," Mick corrects, joining you with his ever-present briefcase. "Useless, I'm afraid. So how were your accommodations?"

Dean the Grouch is back. "I've had better night's sleep in my Baby." Taking the keys from the valet and slipping him a tip, Dean grumbles, "Get in. Let's go." As you join Mick in the backseat, you hear him say to Sam sotto voce, "Not gonna give him the satisfaction."

Mick looks over at you. Unlike the men, you're in work clothes layered up for the outdoors, a stocking cap covering your head. "Four FBI agents are a bit much," you say. "I'm gonna look at the attack site and see if rabid Lassie left any sign. See if we're dealing with a lone wolf or a pack."

"Good thinking," Mick says. "If the police are still there?"

"Yeah, here," Sam says, passing an ID wallet back to you. "Hot off the press."

"Thank you." You flip it open and see your own face scowling back at you under a badge. "If anybody asks, I'm Daria Fleetwood, Wisconsin DNR."

---

Nobody asks, and the crime scene is empty when you get there. It's also pretty thoroughly trampled over. Walking carefully, you examine likely hiding places, spots in the trees where someone could observe without being seen. You find tracks from a woman's square-heeled boot, and snagged on a bramble branch you find a strand of hair. Long, fine, shining gold in the winter sunlight. You're pretty sure it belongs to the person crunching around like they've got lead in their shoes, circling you slowly and staying almost out of your sightline. Another werewolf come to the scene, checking up on the cops or just to have a gloat?

When you hear a hammer click back you swing and catch the stalker's arm, twisting their weapon our of their hand and pointing it straight back at them. Yep, there's the head that produced that strand of golden hair. The head belongs to a-- "Jesus Christ, what are you twelve?" you blurt.

Striking blue eyes glare at you. "You're not a cop. What are you doing out here?"

"Hunting a werewolf," you say easily, playing a hunch, "same as you."

Hunch pays off, as Blondie's face goes slack with shock for just a second. She also looks . . . familiar? Something about how her mouth shapes itself when she frowns and the deep blue of her eyes. "There's no such thing as werewolves."

"Uh-huh," you say. "Tell you what-- when I unload this revolver, if I don't find silver I'll buy you a good steak dinner. Is it a bet?" Blondie deflates, puffing out a disgusted sigh. "That's what I thought." You uncock the weapon, open the cylinder, and dump the bullets into your hand. Silver rounds all right. You flick the cylinder back shut and offer the weapon, butt first.

Blondie takes it and stuffs it into a shoulder holster under her coat. "Who are you?"

You introduce yourself, taking the handful of bullets and make sure the kid can see the silver touching your skin. "See? No pain, no blisters. Not a werewolf. Hold out your hand." You dump the bullets into her outstretched palm and note the lack of reaction. As your new friend tucks them into her pocket, her phone rings. "Put it on speaker when you answer," you tell her, and it's not a request.

"Fuck you," she says. An Alpha’s snarl, and a strong Alpha scent of vanilla and cinnamon.

"Not into girls. Do it."

Rolling her eyes like she just can't even, the kid digs into another pocket. "Agent Beatrice Quimby."

"Oh thank God," Dean's voice comes over the speaker in a thick Canadian accent and you bite your lips to keep from giggling. "There's a bear, it's the size of a freaking TANK! I think it wants my pick-a-nick basket!"

The kid does that eye roll thing again. "Hi Dean."

"Hi Dean," you echo and the kid's jaw actually drops. "How'd it go at the hospital?"

"Um . . ." you grin. Rare to catch your Alpha off his feet. "It went okay, until Hayden's mother said she got shaken down by a blonde claiming to be Fish and Wildlife. Know anything about that Claire?"

And that's how you meet Claire Novak.

---

"Claire what are you doing here?" Sam asks as you flop on the loveseat next to Dean. You lean into each other, just for a moment. Wolves touching noses, taking in each others' scents.

"Same as you. Werewolf case," she says, trying to play it cool and missing by a few inches.

"She pulled a pistol on me when I was looking over the crime scene," you explain.

There's the eye roll. "Yeah, real impressive-- I had you cold," she scoffs, trying to get a little dignity back.

She's not going to get it back from you. "No you didn't. I heard you stomping around the whole time. Credit for at least wanting to make sure before you took your shot."

Claire scowls, and yeah, you can see the resemblance, see Castiel’s vessel in the shape of her mouth and her beautiful blue eyes. "So. You bring your girlfriend on Hunts now Dean?"

"Watch it kid, I've been Hunting since before you were born," you warn her. “You really should have your hair tied up and covered if you're in country."

Mick arrives from the bar with two hands full of bottles. "Beers all around," he says.

"Who're you?" Claire asks. Manners were clearly not part of whatever training she's had.

"Oh-- Mick Davies. Men of Letters. British." He offers his hand and, looking thoroughly nonplussed, Claire shakes.

"Long story," Dean says at her quizzical look. "And like, Downton Abbey boring, so . . ." as Claire reaches for a beer Dean plucks it from her hand. Holy hell how old is this kid?

"Okay," Claire sighs. "Anyway, I've been on this a day. And guess what? The girl, Hayden? Her story about what happened the night of attack? One big lie."

"Her mom said the same thing," Sam confirms.

“Where was she?” Dean asks.

“She was at the local dive bar, getting trashed. It’s about half a mile from where she got attacked. I tracked her phone and asked around and--" she grins at the grownups around the table. “Bartenders love me. It’s a gift.”

“What’d they tell you?” you ask.

“The guy I talked to was a scumbag. Tribal tat, motorcycle, grabby,” Claire continues.

Dean’s jaw goes tight. “’Grabby?’”

Patiently, Claire says, “I'm a big girl. I handled it.”

“What about the hospital? How’s Hayden,” you ask.

“She’s a little knocked about but she’ll be all right,” Mick reports. “She said she heard her brother scream, and when she ran towards him she was ambushed by a large man wearing black clothes and a mask.” Mick glances over at a giant clock decorated with elk horns. “Right. Think I’m gonna call it a night.”

Glancing at his watch, Sam notes, “Dude, it's 5:30.”

“Yeah,” Mick replies, “but my report's due at 6:00 sharp. All work, no play.” To Claire he gives a distracted smile. “Nice meeting ya.”

“So,” Claire observes when Mick’s safely out of earshot, “your foreign exchange student’s totally lame.”

“Yeah. He's Sam's best friend,” Dean tells her, ignoring Sam’s bitchface and exasperated sigh. “They’re like nerd soul mates.”

"We're hoping he's trainable," you say.

"Anyway," Sam changes the subject, "why are you alone?"

"Jody's busy with sheriff stuff. And she said to call if I found anything." Right. Your big sister instincts say Lie.

Sam sees it too. "So you called her."

"You called first," Claire says. "And she's great, by the way. And so is Alex. So," she changes the subject back, "should we go to the morgue?"

"Take it easy, Clarice. Morgue's closed," Dean says.

"By the way," Sam says, looking the girl up and down, "when's the last time you had a hot meal that didn't come from a Gas-n-Sip microwave?"

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Dean says.

"It's been a while," Claire admits.

"Well--" Dean hands Claire a menu. "Go nuts. It's on, uh, Harry Potter."

"Cool," Claire says with a laugh.

"And when's the last time you slept in a bed? One you didn't have to worry about tiny livestock in the mattress?" you ask. "I got a suite I'm not using and this hotel has a laundromat. You can get a tubsoak, do your wash."

"Hell yeah," Claire says. But then she thinks it through a little and gives you and Dean a look. "Ew. Seriously?"

---

"Swanky," Claire observes, unshouldering her duffel.

"Yeah," you say. "Pro tip-- never pass up an opportunity to do laundry." You toss Claire a pill bottle full of quarters. She catches it easily. Good reflexes.

"Yeah whatever," she scoffs.

You give her a look. "And learn how to say thank you. Believe it or not this job runs on relationships."

"You know," oh fuck, you gave her something to get pissed at, "I'm really damn sick of people lecturing me on how to do my job. Especially after they steal my gigs."

"We didn't steal shit," you counter. "And people are more likely to treat you like an adult when you behave like one. Hayden's mom had you pegged for a phony the minute you opened your mouth. You're lucky she's too worried about her kid to report you to the cops."

"Right. I'm gonna take advice from Dean Winchester's breeder."

In three easy moves, you've got Claire on the floor with a knee in her back and her arm twisted up to her shoulderblades. "Watch your fucking mouth, girlie-o. I've been taking down scarier things than a mouthy Alpha teenager since you were in diapers."

"Let me go!" Claire cries.

"No. You're going to calm down, you're going to apologize, and you're going to get in the habit of listening when someone's giving you friendly advice. Sam and Dean might have reservations about giving you some wall-to-wall counseling. I do not." You jerk her wrist up to emphasize your point.

Claire's not a complete idiot. When she realizes she's staying put until you let her up, she goes still. "All right," she surrenders. "All right, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for calling you a breeder."

"And?"

"What?"

"And 'I promise to listen when people are trying to help me be better at my job, because people care about me and don't want me to fucking die.'" That's the rub, you know. Claire's got the same problem the boys have; somewhere they picked up the rock-solid belief that they don't matter enough to care about. In spite of all possible evidence to the contrary.

Claire struggles with all her strength. When she runs out, she lays panting underneath you. "All right," she says again. "Fine. I promise to listen when people are helping me, because they care about me and they don't want me to fucking die. Happy now?"

"Provisionally," you say, letting go of her arm and getting to your feet.

Glaring at you with every bit the fool's pride one might expect of a young Alpha, Claire rolls over and stands. Still, there's a glimmer of intelligence under the attitude. Whatever else she might be, she's a survivor. "How did you do that?"

"Your contempt for Omegas," you answer. "You assumed I wouldn't get physical with you, because of your age, my designation, and the fact that you're friends with my mate. Here's another pro tip-- allowing contempt to rule your judgement will get you killed one day. The Omega," you point at yourself, "got the drop on you twice. If the werewolf we're tracking has any experience with Hunters at all, you're meat."

"Wait-- mate?" Claire asks.

You show her the marks. "Mate."

Claire's attitude recedes and she stares at you. At your buzzed hair and ratty turtleneck. You stare right back. "Wow," she says, with a little laugh. "Just-- wow. Dean Winchester the turbo-slut--"

"Watch it kid or get real used to the taste of floor."

"Sorry," she says, not sounding very sorry. "Is the lecture over?"

"One more thing," you say. "The day you stop learning how to do your job better, write out your will and your If And When letters."

You head to the bathroom and strip out of your work clothes and put on some shorts and a tank top. You weren't kidding about taking every opportunity to do laundry. When you come out, Claire's sitting on the bed sorting her clothes. Her eyebrows go up when she sees you. More specifically, when she sees your scars. You look down at yourself, and up to meet her eyes. "Ask if you want to know."

"Okay," she says, so you give her the scar tour. The insouciance fades a little with every mark you point out, until she's listening raptly. You tell her about Peg, about those first times in the field when you were so scared you threw up every night and barely slept. "In retrospect I grew up pretty sheltered," you say. “I was a tomboy when I was a kid but I wasn't prepared to hunt things that could hunt me back."

"Yeah," Claire says. She tips her head to one side and you can see faint white puncture marks. "Vampire. He was targeting Alex and took Jody and me as bait."

You nod. "I'd show you my bite mark but I was tied up and the fucking pervert took it from my femoral artery." You point to a spot high on your inner thigh, covered by your shorts. "I almost bled out. Thank God, Francois got me to a medic in time. Three units of B-neg, a shitload of Sprite, and two days bed rest. Fuck vampires."

"Yeah," Claire says, lighting up with a laugh. "Fuck vampires."

---

And that's how the evening goes. You and Claire do your laundry together, talking a little when the mood takes you or sitting quietly, you reading the local paper and Claire messing around on her phone. She's a charming girl when she drops the attitude, and you can tell she's craving the company. Sam and Dean join you just after you put your clothes in the dryer. You take control of the TV and tune in to the local news. The attack is being chalked up as a wolf attack, with no mention of Benjamin Foster's missing heart.

"Still think we should've hit the morgue," Claire grumbles.

"You've already been made," you point out. "You get caught breaking and entering, that's attention we could do without."

"She's right," Sam says around a yawn. "The body will still be there in the morning."

"Just because you old farts need your sleep--"

"Hey!" Dean says, stung.

"Who said anything about sleep?" you say, grabbing Dean by his shirt and hauling him to his feet. You snag your bag of clean laundry on the way by.

"Totally whipped," is Claire's judgement call.

"Oh yeah?" Dean bends you backwards and lays one of those full-bodied, take-no-prisoners kisses that sends you from zero to slicked-up mess in ten seconds.

"Are they always like this?" you vaguely hear Claire ask Sam.

"Jesus Christ yes," Sam groans.

---

What started as an attempt to put Claire’s nose out of joint turns into something else PDQ. In Dean’s room, shirts fly everywheres. “Please baby,” you pant into Dean’s mouth. He hasn’t let go of your lips for more than little sips of air.

“Yes,” Dean grunts. He winds his arms around you and balances you just right as you hop and wrap your legs around him. Whoever told you your libido would ebb after bonding lied. Oh how they fucking lied.

Yelling as your claws cut into his back, Dean tears at your shorts until they’re reduced to scraps and elastic strings. You fumble his belt apart and his pants open, totally deaf to Dean’s plea to hold on a second. His cock hardens to steel in your hand, like an animal you can command. “Good cock,” you pant.

“I got a good cock?” Dean pants back, laughing.

“Best cock,” you tell him. “So fuck me with your good cock.”

“Hell yes, I’m gonna fuck you with my good cock,” Dean tells you, falling on the bed with a whuff of pillow top and billowy duvet. “Gonna fuck your good pussy with my good cock."

You toss your head back as he suits action to words, shoving into you thick and hot. Dean’s lips are everywhere, caressing every little bit of your face including your eyelids and up into your buzzed hair. You arch back into the mattress. God, the perfect deep fuck of your mate inside you. He sucks at the fang cuts over your mating gland and you yell and hope to God the Wild Elk Lodge has good soundproofing or Mick’s getting an earful.

“Not gonna last,” Dean says and yeah, his eyebrows are kinked the way they get when he’s already riding the edge.

“’Sokay,” you tell him, “gimme your fucking knot Alpha, I want it, give it to me already.”

Dean takes a second to rebrace himself and catch his breath. “Hang on honey,” he grunts, and you hang on.

---

You're in the shower the next morning when a text comes over both yours and Dean's phones. A second later, you hear Dean swear. "What is it?" you ask, peeking around the shower curtain.

"Hayden. She's dead."

"What? How?"

"Don't know. Sam just hung up with the doctor. They don't know cause of death yet."

You rinse, dry, and head for your room. You use your keycard and find Claire still dead asleep. "Hey Novak, up and att’em." You show her the text as she blinks awake. To her credit she's alert in a snap and reaching for her clothes.

"Here." You hand her an eyeshadow palette in pale browns and a fistful of bobby pins. For your part, you throw on a silk blouse and trousers and complete the look with a brunette wig.

Claire looks you over and nods her approval. "Very soccer mom."

"Thank you." Your Glock goes in the holster at the small of your back. Throwing on a jacket, you hold the door for Claire as she steps into a pair of low pumps and heads out. She did a good job; the neutral makeup and business casual ages her up a few years, turning her from a high school student to a twentysomething professional woman who takes good care of her skin.

The guys are already waiting between the Chevy and Claire's little rustbucket. "Ladies," Mick greets you.

"Morning. What do we know?" you ask.

"Not much," Sam says. "She was recovering well yesterday, but around one in the morning her mom found her body."

"Jesus," you say.

"Yeah,” Sam agrees. “But here's the weird part-- her room was torn up. Somebody knocked over the IV pole, Hayden's body was on the floor, the window was cracked."

"What the hell?" Claire says.

"You know that's a wonderful question," you say.

---

"Thanks for coming by so quickly," Dr. LaPere says. "Ms. Foster gave us your number."

With the five of you, the room feels uncomfortably crowded. Thank God, the staff is so harried they don't question the abundance of officers of the law outside what's supposed to be their jurisdiction.

Hayden, a lovely brunette in life, lies pale and cold on a gurney. Your heart twists with pity. Three days ago, her mother had two children.

"You have any idea what happened to her?" Dean asks

Dr. LaPere sighs. "Autopsy's tomorrow, but it could be an arterial embolism, cardiac arrest."

You frown. "She's a little young for heart issues."

"It gets weirder. When we admitted her, she had defensive wounds to her arms. Now . . ." he lowers the blanket covering Hayden from the chest down and picks up one of her arms, "they're gone." The doctor's beeper goes off. He glances at it, frowns, and says, "Just give me a second."

"Of course," you say as he leaves. The door whuffs shut behind him.

You all wait until you're sure he's out of earshot. Claire goes first. "Okay seriously now-- what the hell?"

Dean looks over at Mick. "You checked Hayden out. Did you notice anything weird?"

"No," Mick says, "but, uh, the girl could've had internal injuries or . . ."

"But somehow, her external injuries all healed?" Sam says. "No way. This is almost like, uh . . ." He thinks a second. "You know, what if she turned?"

"What, like, 'wolfed out' turned?" Dean asks.

"Explains the whole Wolverine healing factor thing," Claire says. You're looking at Mick when she says that, and you frown at the furtive look in his eyes. Something ain't right there.

Dean sees it too. "Yeah, no, but that'd be crazy because that means she would've been bit. And Mick here says that that didn't happen. Right, Mick?"

"Uh . . . uh, no, not-- not that I saw." You and the boys exchange a glance. Right, that's not suspicious at all. Neither is the thing you see on the dead girl's chest, out of everyone else’s sight line. You don't point it out. See how the situation develops.

"Are you a hundred percent sure?" Sam asks.

"Unless I made a mistake," Mick confesses.

"Hell of a mistake," Dean says.

"Dean . . ." Sam begins.

"No, I told you we shouldn't have dragged him along. I told you!" Dean snaps.

"Don't!" Everyone in the room turns to look at Claire. She glares back, an equal amongst colleagues. "Whatever got Hayden is still out there."

"She's right," you say. "So the night of the attack, the wolf kills the brother for his heart, nails Hayden, and then, what, runs for the hills?"

"That doesn't make any sense. Maybe he let her go," Sam thinks out loud.

"On purpose? Why?" Claire asks.

"Perhaps he didn't want her dead," Mick chips in. "He wanted her turned."

"Right. Which means this wasn't random," Sam adds the next bead.

"Which means it would've been somebody who knew her," Dean ties it off. "Friends, family."

"Or someone from the bar," Claire adds.

"Okay," Dean says, taking command. "All right, Sam-- you and Claire, you go talk to the girl that she was supposed to be crashing with, and us and amateur hour will hit the bar, see what shakes loose."

---

Outside, Sam takes a look at Claire’s ride and sighs. You hide a smile. The poor man's gonna have to ride with his knees up around his ears in that thing. You pull your bag of spare clothes out of Baby's trunk and, crouched down in the seat to avoid prying eyes, swap your blouse for a turtleneck and your blazer for your denim jacket. Just a blue collar slob on her day off looking to have a drink or five. A stocking cap goes over your wig.

"Dean," Mick says as the three of you walk up to the bar's front door, "what happened back there . . . my mistake, it won't happen again."

Dean’s not in a conciliatory mood. "Better not." He hangs back as Mick reaches for the door, only to see Mick pull his arm back with a grimace. "Problem?"

"The old carpal tunnel," he says, clenching and shaking out a fist.

"Well, allow me, your lordship," you say, pulling the door open. "I'm gonna hang back, do a circle of the building."

Mick thanks you and walks through the door, but you stop Dean as he turns to follow. "I saw a needle stick in the middle of Hayden’s chest," you mutter.

"I knew it," Dean growls, just as low. "I fucking knew it."

"Play it cool for now," you say. "We'll put him through the wringer later."

With a nod, Dean goes inside. You do a lap around the building, but nothing jumps out at you. You do catch sight of surveillance cameras covering the front parking area and the back alley. Going inside, you ignore Dean and Mick grilling some tattooed jackass and belly up the bar. From the nervous look on the bartender's face, he's already spent a few minutes getting a Dean Winchester Special Glare. "Vodka and cranberry juice, please." You glance at the patron beside you and get out your phone. "Hi. Ever seen this girl around?"

The canvass is a bust and the manager's not in, so no looking at the security camera footage. Frustrated and disgusted with yourself, you wait outside for the guys to finish up.

They're only a few minutes. "Found the guy Hayden'd been seeing on the sly," Dean reports. "Total douchebag. Definitely fits the profile."

"Did you get a chance to slip him some silver?" you ask.

"No, we're gonna have to do that later."

"So that's the plan? Come back tonight?" Mick asks.

"Yeah. Nice work in there, by the way," Dean says.

"Thank you," Mick replies.

"Yeah, that alibi-- I almost bought it," Dean says.

"Sorry?"

"Gun," Dean tells you. Quick as thought you snatch Mick's weapon from the small of his back and Dean arm-bars him against the nearest wall. "See, here's the thing about sixteen year old girls, especially sixteen year old freshly minted werewolf girls-- they don't just die. And you've been acting sketchy all day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You jab Mick in the shoulder and he yelps in pain. "Care to explain why the needle stick from her IV was gone, but not the needle stick in her heart?"

The uncertainty and little-kid dread falls away. Mick straightens his back and looks Dean in the eye for the first time all day. "I did what needed to be done."

"And that means?" Dean asks.

You grab Mick's injured shoulder and squeeze. "Answer him, Mr. Davies."

"Last night, I injected her with silver nitrate," he confesses, groaning in pain.

"So you killed her?" Dean demands. "She never hurt anybody and you killed her."

"Well, she attacked me," Mick defends himself. "She tore up my shoulder. And . . . I had orders."

"No. You had a choice," you say.

"Did I?" Mick demands. "Killing monsters is what we do. Or maybe palling around with demons and witches, you've forgotten."

"Don't you dare tell us how to do our job," you growl.

"Well, then do it," Mick says.

"You really think it's that fucking simple?"

Mick glares at you. "I really do."

"Yeah?" Dean asks. "I used to think the same thing. Well, here's a little tip. Things aren't just black and white out here. All you have is a case in front of you, like Hayden. A few months ago, there was this kid, this psychic. She was killing people, but she didn't mean to hurt anyone-- she was being abused and she was trying to call out for help! So we gave her a second chance because it was the right thing to do."

Mick retorts, "Well . . . that's your luxury. We have a Code."

"And just where does the saving people half of Hunting figure into that Code?" you ask. "Is that a priority or a happy side effect? Because that's not what we're trying to do here."

"And now Hayden's mom, she gets to bury two kids instead of one, thanks to you and thanks to your Code," Dean wraps it all up. "Nice work."

Dean's phone rings as you take shotgun. "It's Sam," he says. "You're on speaker."

Sam tells you.

---

Soaked with sweat and moaning in pain, Claire thrashes on the bed. You check her temperature with the back of one hand. "Fuck, she's burning up. Go fill the tub, we gotta get her fever down."

"No no," Mick corrects you, grabbing the extra blanket from the room's couch. "Keep her warm."

"Back off," Sam snarls at him, using his Alpha voice

"Look, I understand you're angry--"

"You killed a kid," Sam says, and oh hell, you can see the points of his fangs. Mick sees them too, and you can tell he's fighting not to cringe. Fucking Omega reflexes. "We're not angry-- we're done."

Holding herself and shaking, Claire asks, "How long have I got until--"

"It varies," you tell her. "Sometimes it takes a full moon. Sometimes it just takes time."

"Hey," Dean says softly, kneeling in front if the young Alpha. "Listen to me, Claire. Nobody said this was gonna be easy, okay? But you can live with this."

Claire shakes her head. "No way."

"Hey, look at me." When he has her undivided attention, he says, "So you have to stay locked down for a few nights out of the month. The rest of the time, you're you."

"Unless I break out," Claire says as you're thinking it. "Maybe some people can control this," her voice breaks on a sob, "but I can barely keep it together on a good day. So if there's any chance I could hurt Jody or Alex, or anyone, I'd rather die."

You heart breaking, you sit next to Claire and take her in your arms. She buries her face in your neck and scents you. You do your best to keep yourself soft, nurturing, not-scary, an older mated Omega offering comfort.

"Claire, there may be another way," Sam says, his words tripping over each other the way they do when he's thinking and talking at the same time. "There's-- there's the blood therapy that you talked about."

"I told you," Mick says, "it doesn't work. "

"It says right here," Sam finds a passage in the book in front of him and points it out, reading out loud, "one out of nine test subjects was cured. "

"Cured?" Claire asks.

"That study was on mice!"

Dean stalks towards Mick, and yeah, his protective Alpha mode is fully engaged. "You want to tell me what the hell he's talking about?!?"

Mick gulps. "We experimented with the blood of sire werewolves. And we found it was possible to reverse the early stages of lycanthropy. In rodents."

"So you never moved on to human trials," you say.

"Once," Mick reports.

"And?" you ask.

"The subject died, in agony. Sorry," he says to Claire, and to his credit he sounds like he means it.

"Yeah, well. Maybe second time's a charm," she says.

"Hey, no, no-- you don't get a vote in this," Dean tries to head the whole idea off.

"It's my life," Claire counters, her tone brooking no argument. "I get all the votes."

"You guys wanna back me up here?" Dean asks.

“Claire’s a grown woman and a Hunter," you answer your mate. "She's the one who gets to say whether or not this is an acceptable risk."

“She’s right,” Sam adds.

Outnumbered, Dean turns his anger on Mick. "I bet you think this is a great solution. Hmm? It works, or she dies. Either way one less monster, right?"

The human being Mick Davies actually is says, "I don't think there's any great solutions here."

"Dean . . . please? I can't--" Claire moans

“All right,” Dean concedes. “If we do this-- if . . . how do we get it done?”

“We need blood. Live blood, from the werewolf that bit her,” Mick reports.

“Who we lookin' at?” Sam asks.

“Tribal tat, back at the bar,” Dean says. “We shook him down about Claire, and right after, she gets bit-- that's not a coincidence.”

“Timing works out. Connection to both victims,” you note.

“Then we should go,” Mick says. “The full moon rises in less than an hour, and if she turns and feeds, our cheery success rate drops to zero.”

You make as if to rise, but Claire grabs for you, whining softly. “Don’t.”

“It’s okay, I’ll stay right here, it’s okay, shh,” you sit back down and let Claire cling, humming under your breath.

“You trust him?” Sam asks, ticking his head at Mick.

“Mick's a smart guy,” Dean replies. “So when I say that if anything happens to her, and I mean anything--”

“You'll kill me.”

“No,” you tell him. “The boys will bury you.”

Claire peeks up from your neck. “Sam, if you're not back--"

“We’ll be back,” Sam swears.

---

Claire can't sit still, as the change really starts to dig into her. She keeps sitting down, getting up, pacing, sitting down again, clinging to you, shoving you away. Her pale skin bakes with fever and runs with sweat. Her scent shifts to something . . . defiled. Spoiling meat, old blood. Does her designation speed up the process or slow it down? You don't know. Everything you know and everything you can do is useless here, if the object is to preserve life the way you claim it is.

Claire spies Mick’s pistol on the coffee table. Mick sees it and gets to it first.

“You don't understand-- it's happening!” Claire wails. “Give it to me!”

“No,” you and Mick say together.

“Then you do it, please! It's happening! And you don't understand how this feels!”

Mick raises his weapon, and you draw on him. “Make a move asshole. Make a fucking move.”

He doesn’t even look at you. “I know a man who would shoot you right now without a moment's thought,” he says. “And every instinct I have says he's right. That I ought to do my duty.” Your finger tenses on the trigger. You bet you’re faster than he is. “But . . .” Mick’s arm sags, “but my instincts haven't been so grand of late. Sit down.” He notices you, and, making sure to move slowly and telegraph his movements clearly, tucks his pistol into the small of his back.

Claire moans, curling herself into a tight little ball. She looks awful, pale and in pain. “Hey, hey--" you say, rubbing her back. You look up at Mick. “Is there anything we can do for her?”

Mick digs in a suitcase and comes up with a tangle of thick canvas straps. “Firstly, we're gonna restrain you, right? For all of our protection. Okay?” He puts down the straps and picks up a brown glass vial.

“Woah woah woah-- what’ve we got there?” you demand.

“Animal tranquilizer. Xylazine, to be exact With any luck, when you wake up, this will all be over,” he tells Claire.

“If I wake up.” Tears roll down her ghost-pale cheeks. “I gotta call Jody. She's gonna be so mad at me.”

You kneel in front of her, the way Dean did. “Where do you keep your If And When letters?”

Claire sniffles. “What?”

“You’re a Hunter kiddo. It’s a good idea to keep your affairs in order. A will with your next of kin, and if you’ve got a final message for anyone, have it written out.”

She bursts into tears. You hold her and let her cry. You don’t judge. You did the same thing when Peg confronted you with that nugget of advice.

“That’s one hell of a thing to say to her,” Mick snarls at you.

You ignore him in favor of holding Claire. Moving her hair aside, you check the bite wound. The punctures are gone, without a trace. “Shut up and get the fucking straps.”

All three of you leap to your feet as the door bursts in, shattered to kindling.

“MICK NO!” you cry as he goes straight for the intruder, a big guy in a black hoodie and a skull mask. The guy pitches Mick right into you and you go down hard, your pistol flying out of your hand.

The guy advances on Claire. Slowly, he pushes back his hood and pulls off his mask. “Fuck me,” you groan. It’s the bartender from earlier, the one who looked like he’d just taken one in the nuts after getting grilled by Dean. You see your weapon over against the wall and start crawling for it, cussing. Mick’s unconscious body has your lower half pinned, and the fucker’s heavy. A hard sound of flesh and bone and Claire goes down in a flare of golden hair.

You finally fight your way free of Mick and snatch up your Glock. You get one shot off which grazes the guy’s ribs. Before you can fire again he smacks your gun hand to the side and snaps a big hand around your neck.

God you hate it when the bad guys do the Darth Vader thing-- the bartender stands and lifts you by the neck until your toes brush the carpet. “Fresh meat,” he snarls through a mouthful of fangs.

“’Et go,” you wheeze, clawing at his wrist as black sparkles wash across your vision.

---

You wake up in the trunk of a car, hogtied. Motherfucker did a good job of it too, the cords have no play at all and you can’t quite reach them with your claws. You can wiggle and inchy-worm and even turn over a little. And that’s all.

The car stops just as you wrap your fingers around the trunk release. “It’s all right, honey, the pain will pass,” the bartender says softly as he opens the passenger side door and pulls out a groaning Claire.

Maybe he’s leaving you in the trunk for now? Maybe you have enough time to creep away? No choice but to go for it; you twist and pull hard as you can on the release handle and the trunk lid pops up. Good. Great. Air. Smells like the paper mill that’s still operating outside of town.

“Aw no ya don’t.” Picking you up easily despite your struggles, the bartender hauls you inside a rundown little tract house on a long block of houses just like it. The other houses are dark, the driveways buried in snow and plowed in. No one around for miles likely to call the law at a scream or a stray gunshot.

Inside it’s your basic drunk bachelor crashpad, looks like a landfill and smells like a bottle return hasn’t been cleaned since Clinton was in office. The bartender drags you to a couch and dumps you on it. You see Claire tied to the support column between the kitchen and the living room, pale as milk and twitching in pain. “You okay Claire-ree?”

She shoots you an annoyed glare.

“Okay, stupid question,” you concede.

“Shut up! Don’t talk!” the bartender snaps, rushing around the place with a duffel bag and throwing in assorted bits of rickrack. Claire curls up as much as she can and groans. The bartender goes to her, caresses her face. “I know this is sudden, but you and your friends, you should've let me have Hayden. She was miserable here. She . . . we had big plans.”

“Yeah?” Claire asks. “Was that before or after you bit her?”

“I had to know if she could survive the change. Not everyone does.” Claire tosses in her bonds, crying out. The bartender nods. “See? It hurts at first, but eventually, it's like the best drug ever times a thousand.”

“Right. Eat me, Teen Wolf,” Claire snarls.

“It's not like I want to do this,” the bartender says. He pulls up a chair and sits backwards. “My pack, we were happy. We didn't hurt anyone. And then hunters with weapons that I've never seen before, they show up and take out 20 of us, just like that. The ones that made it, we split up, but we weren't meant to live like that. A werewolf needs his pack. You'll see. I'm a nice guy."

"You know who says they're a nice guy?" Claire retorts. "Clingy, insecure bitches with mommy issues."

"The lady is wise beyond her years," you say.

"That's just the change talking. You'll feel better once you've had something to eat." He glares down at you. "I was gonna take you with us, nice juicy Omega. But you're mated, so we'll have to kill your mate first. It's one of them isn't it? One of those guys?"

"Oh you mean the guys who think of killing things like you as exercise? You're dead, boy, and my mate knows how to make dying last for-fucking-ever."

"She's not kidding," Claire adds. "I saw what happens when you rub Dean Winchester the wrong way. He was outnumbered five to one, and when it was over the other guys were in pieces."

"We don't have time to eat fresh," the bartender says. "I'm sorry, we'll have to save her for later." He heads for the refrigerator and pulls out a heart wrapped in Saran wrap. "You'll feel better once you eat something."

"Claire look at me," you say as the bartender peels the wrap off and pries Claire's jaws open.

"Try it," the bartender coaxes, shoving the heart in her open mouth. "You'll like it. Nothing better than human." He shoves harder and you fight to keep from throwing up at the sound of raw meat tearing apart. "As soon as I saw you, I knew . . . you're just like me. Alone. "

Claire hawks back, and spits the bits of torn tissue and blood right back into the bartender's face.

"Good girl!" you shout.

"Wrong," she tells the bartender. "I have a family, and they love me."

"Damn right we do," you add.

Yelling at you to shut up, the bartender drops his claws and fangs. But before he can make a move on you, Claire snaps the ropes around her like they're not even there and hits him from behind. Her fangs are down and her eyes have gone yellow, and superstrength comes as naturally to her as breathing.

The bartender's taller and almost twice her mass though, and it doesn't take long before he has her pinned to the floor. Almost the exact same way you did . . . God, yesterday.

"Claire look at me," you order. "Look at me!" Claire's terrified yellowed eyes lock with yours. "We are not the same as the things we hunt," you tell her, making every word distinct. "You hear me? We are not the same, and we must fight, every minute of every day, to prevent becoming so."

"Please, and you're so fucking civilized," the bartender sneers. "You kill helpless people that never hurt anybody, and in your world we're the monsters."

"You killed an eighteen year old boy, for meat," you retort. "Shove your moral judgements up you ass."

And that's when the door caves in, driven by a kick from Sam. Sam hits the bartender with a full body slam and they both go flying into a wall with a crunch. Dean's right behind him with a knife, and when he sees you he cuts you free with a few neat slices.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Fine. See to Claire," you say, working blood and feeling back into your numb limbs.

Dean helps Claire to her feet. "Claire?" Her head comes up, her mouth full of wolf fangs and her eyes shining gold and round. "Hey, easy, come on--"

She throws him into the wall. You leap onto her back but she grabs your arm and flips you to the floor. You roll out of the way just in time to avoid a punishing kick.

"Woah woah woah woah! Take it easy--" Dean tries again, deflecting a few clawing swipes. She manages a good one across his leg. Dean's trying his damndest to defend himself without hurting her but Claire's out of control and she's fast.

You grab a rope from the floor and throw it over her head, stopping just shy of enough force to choke her. You make yourself ignore her cries and hang on. "Guys--"

In the corner of your eye you see the bartender go down and Sam land on his back. "MICK, HURRY!"

Producing a syringe from God knows where, Mick stabs it into the bartender's back. The bartender whiplashes his head back, catching Sam in the nose and knocking him out cold. Mick grabs him in a sleeper hold but the bartender throws him off before Mick can get a good grip.

Claws rake over your side as Claire twists enough to reach, and you lose your grip. "HEY!" Dean shouts, and when Claire turns her attention that way Dean says, "Sorry kid," and lays her out with a punch in the jaw. The bartender lunges for Dean, and two gunshots ring out. The bartender drops, dead before he hits the floor.

Mick holsters his weapon and plucks the ampule full of blood off the bartender's back. "Find a vein," he snaps at you as he pulls a little zipper case out of his chest pocket.

"Right. Belt," you say to Dean and he yanks it off and hands it over. "Hold her down in case she comes to," and Dean rolls Claire to her back and drapes his torso over her hips. Sam's just coming around; he takes the situation in an eyeblink and holds down Claire's legs.

"She wanted this. Right?" Dean asks Sam.

"Oh yeah," Sam confirms.

You cinch Dean’s belt around Claire’s bicep. Thank God, Claire's got nice big veins. She's just starting to moan her way back to consciousness when Mick slips the needle in and injects the cure.

Claire's eyes blink wide. Her body convulses and everybody leaps away. Screaming in pain, she rolls to her knees and curls up in a tight little kowtow.

---

It goes on like that for the rest of the night. Dean sits backwards in one of the café chairs, blood crusted on his shredded pant leg. Sam gets out the scuffle with some bruised ribs and a monster headache. Mick's still favoring one arm from earlier and he's sporting a hell of a shiner. All three men look pale as cream, watching Claire writhing on the couch. You're bathing her forehead with cool washcloths and letting her scent your wrist. No idea if it's helping or making things worse, but you don't want her to feel you leaving.

"How long does this process take?" you ask Mick.

"I don't know!" he whisper-screams at you. "It could take hours or days!" You bite your lips to keep from asking, if Mick brought the tranquilizers and the silver nitrate. If this doesn't work you're going to do what you can to make sure Claire passes painless, going to sleep and never waking up.

Dean abruptly gets to his feet, muttering something about needing air. You could hate him in that moment, you really could. An Alpha has the luxury of display, you recall from the one comportment class your mother forced on you. An Omega must be made of sterner stuff.

Claire arches back as every muscle in her body seizes. She howls, long and agonal, and slumps back on the couch cushions.

You rest your fingers over Claire’s pulse. “Her heartbeat’s really irregular,” you report.

Mick nods. “Stand by to start chest compressions,” he says.

“Wait,” you say. Her jaw and mouth are shifting, subtly. “Claire?” you ask, as Sam yells for Dean and Dean bursts in through the ruined door. “Claire-ree, can you hear me? C’mon, open up those baby blues for us.”

Claire’s eyes flutter open. Pure blue, deep lakes and Midwestern skies. “You guys look like crap,” she croaks.

“You look worse,” you retort, and you and Claire share a painful little laugh.

---

With the resilience of the young, Claire’s back on her feet after a few hours sleep and a solid breakfast. “That girl is a walking miracle,” Mick notes the next morning as Claire stuffs her gear into her car.

“In many ways,” you agree. You and Claire had drunk a couple beers and gotten to talking as you'd worked together cleaning and dressing the claw marks on your side, the kind of girl talk you suspect she wouldn’t be comfortable having with the boys. In the process she’d told you about letting Castiel possess her, and watching her father begging to take her place. You’re still not sure how you feel about that; Cas is your brother now, but . . .

“Listen, uh,” Dean says to Mick, and you put away your brooding for now. “Thanks for the win back there.”

“So,” Mick says, sounding a little bit hopeful, “we’re good?”

“Not quite, but we’ll give you a second chance,” Sam replies.

“Just don’t fuck it up. There won’t be a third,” Dean adds.

“Okay,” Mick accepts.

“And we’re gonna want to know more about this Code,” you say.

Before Mick can formulate a response, Claire comes over. “Hey.”

“Hey. How you feeling?” Sam asks.

Claire smiles. She really is breathtakingly beautiful. “Honestly? I’m sort of craving a Milk Bone right now.” She swallows. “Look, um . . . what I said before . . . you guys are here when I need you, and that’s all that matters.”

“You gonna tell Jody what happened?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” Claire admits. You bite back your opinions; Claire already knows them and this isn’t the time for an argument. You stand by your remarks to Dean. Claire's a grown woman and has the right to decide how much she shares of her life.

“Well whatever you decide, we got your back,” Dean tells her. He opens his arms and Claire steps into them, letting him hold her close. Sam does the same; she looks tiny in his embrace. They’d make wonderful fathers, your boys, and it’s viciously unfair they’ll never get the chance.

You put your hand on Claire’s shoulder. She turns and throws her arms around you. “Here,” you hand her a card. “Anything you need, call me-- backup, expertise, someone to bitch to besides law enforcement.”

“I will,” Claire promises.

She looks over at Mick, who’s hanging back. She grabs him in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she says.

Slowly, like a man who isn’t used to being touched, Mick’s arms go around her to hold her gently. “You’re very welcome, miss.” He touches the back of a knuckle to her cheek. “Take care of yourself Claire.”

“So!” Dean says as the four of you watch Claire get into her car, her phone held up to her ear, “that was fun.”

“’Bout as fun as a root canal,” you grumble. Baby growls up and the good guys pile in. “Homeward, Jeeves.”

---

“Oh God, fuck!” you cry out.

Dean’s beyond articulation, he's all animal grunts and moans. His hips snap into yours, burying all his cock inside you again and again. You force your knees apart so far you can feel tendons straining. Anything to get your mate closer, get more of him inside where he belongs.

As your arms collapse and your front end slumps over, Dean drags you upright. Those big, clever hands are everywhere. Everywhere he touches, the nerves fucking riot. If sex had ever felt anything near this good you don’t remember. You vaguely recall thinking, it was just a cycle, nothing you and Dean haven’t gone through already. You weren’t prepared for this. Your heat; it’s deeper, hungrier, now that it has a specific target. Not just Alpha. Your Alpha.

You cry out, “No!” when Dean suddenly withdraws.

“Wanna see your face,” he pants, flipping you onto your back. He pumps his cock once as he guides himself back to your soaked, slick pussy. You throw your legs up over his hips as he slides in, as he goes right back to fucking every single cell of your brains out. You cough out a giggle when Dean clonks his forehead to yours. “Shut up,” he heaves, holding your eyes to his with a hand on your jaw. They’re gleaming, the green deep and dark and beautiful.

You clamp yourself around Dean when you finally come, in a harsh burst of light and dark and just . . . force. Arms and legs and pussy, all of it holding him to you tight. “Oh baby,” you pant, almost weeping. That wasn’t a climax-- it was a fucking fusion explosion, the kind that ignites stars and sets galaxies whirling.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, panting like he just got done sprinting around the world. “Yeah.” Careful of your knotted together bodies, Dean rolls to his back. You shiver as he shifts inside you. God you're so . . . blown away the aftershocks almost hurt.

You lie together in warmth and quiet, as Dean’s knot eventually collapses and your cunt lets him go. Dean fluffs at your cropped hair, making you giggle and kiss over his heart.

“It keeps getting better,” you say.

“Mmm?” Dean grunts.

“Every time,” you say. “I keep thinking, yep, this is the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. And it keeps getting better. How do you even do that?”

Gleaming with pride, Dean kisses you. “Grading on a curve?”

Giggling, you smack his arm. “Oh knock it off, your ego’s big enough.”

“I didn’t think it’d be like this either,” Dean says. “I mean, I thought-- I mean, the closest thing I ever had to, y’know, this, was Lisa. And . . . I . . .” Dean trails off, searching for words. “I cared about her, a lot. Wasn’t like this. Not even close.”

“She’s a Beta, right?” you ask. Dean’s nothing if not a considerate lover but there’s still physical challenges involved when a knot goes near a hole not designed for it.

“Yeah. And that’s-- it’s part of it, yeah.” Dean goes quiet, one hand warm on your back. You’re fine with quiet. Who wants to hear about The Ex four seconds after getting their world rocked to the molten core? “It wasn’t real though. Not really. I wasn’t . . . me, then. I wanted it to be. But . . . it didn’t fit right, you know? I thought-- I thought I could just . . . not be me, when I was with them.”

"What's so awful about being you?" you ask.

Dean recoils a little. "You're kidding right?"

You look into his face. "Dude it's not your fault the forces of evil want to take a bite out of your ass. Shit, I applaud their good taste."

Dean scowls. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"Not."

You sigh. "You're never gonna completely forgive yourself for that whole situation are you?"

"I shouldn't," Dean says. "I mean, I swore-- I caught Ben playing around with one of my shotguns once, and I swore-- I swore, as long as I was around he'd never shoot a gun. Then Sam calls and what do I go and do? I run off. If I'd really cared about him, I would've told Sam to stick it--"

You snort. "Yeah, that's never happening. Look," you say, and hope like hell you're not sticking your foot in your mouth, "if it hadn't been Sam it would've been something else. You can't . . . I don't think you could turn your back on the bad guys forever. That doesn't make you bad. Not being suited for normal doesn't make you a bad man, man. You did the best you could with the shit situation you got handed to you."

"So did Dad," Dean says. "And look how that turned out."

"Don't say that," you tell him. "You're not personally responsible for the shit state of the world and you did the best you could to mitigate the damage. Baby you gotta let the rest go. As much of it as you can anyway." You stretch up and kiss him, gently.

“Anyway, what I started to say was . . .” Dean trails off again. “Loving you . . . I mean, being in love with you . . . I mean, it feels like it’s something that just is. I don’t have to worry about who I am when I’m with you. Because who I am-- that guy loves you. I think he always did.”

“Referring to ourselves in the royal we now?” you tease. As the words leave your mouth though, a tear falls out of your eye and splats down onto Dean’s chest.

“Fuck, baby, don’t cry--”

“I’m not,” you sniffle. “Post-world-rocked blowback.”

“I rocked your world?”

“Knocked the building down. You’re a mighty mountain shaking Alpha of a man, Dean Winchester.”

That gets your face seized in a fierce kiss, Dean speaking with his body the way he does when the words won’t come. You answer him with yours as best you can, kissing along his jaw and down his neck. Love and family-- after years of living on the shallow sips of professional acquaintance, you’re knelt by an oasis drinking deep. Water and shade and flowers under the desert sun.

You smile against Dean’s mouth. Dammit, love’s making your flowery. But beneath the sweet metaphors and soft feelings is something hard and watchful, and it makes a decision right about the time Dean buries his head between your legs and has you for dessert.

---

In your experience, it’s always a table for two in a dim and quiet restaurant. The other person is always an older gentleman with courtly manners and dead eyes. He sips tea from a Russian style glass-in-metal cup. “You have been our friend for many years and never asked for anything in return. Then you ask for a very large favor and come to ask another.”

“That’s right.” Unnecessary talk isn’t welcome here. You’re an ally, not a confidant-- best for all concerned it stays that way.

The elderly gentleman takes a baranki as you decant more tea from the samovar on the table. The scent of citrus and sugar floats on the rising steam. “Steadfast friendship should be rewarded. Tell me what you need.”

You outline the situation, noting the lack of surprise in the elderly gentleman’s face. That could mean a lot of things though. Or it could mean nothing. The elderly gentlemen do not reveal their feelings, certainly not to you. “I need to know everything. Their leadership, their history. Their allies and their enemies. Assets and liabilities. Everything.”

“This is a very large favor,” the elderly gentleman notes again.

“Too large?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He studies you a moment, with the eyes of a scientist examining a cell as it dies on a microscope’s slide. “May I know why you agreed to collaborate with these . . . Men Of Letters if you do not trust them?”

“Because on the face of it, they’re right. Centralization and coordination would let us push back against the enemy in ways we can’t working alone. Honestly, I’m probably just being paranoid.”

“Your instincts have guided you true for many years now. They are worth listening to.” The elderly gentleman thaws, just a little. “You must love him very much.”

It’s a fact, that’s all. Peg’s friends need to know. “With every fiber of my being.”

The elderly gentleman nods. “We will do what we can for you. I must ask this-- does your mate know of your association with us?”

“He knows I have allies I haven’t told him about and that I do them favors,” you say. “I’ll have to tell him the rest someday.”

“You will warn us before you do.” It’s not a request and you nod. The elderly gentleman finishes his tea and rises, bending to kiss your cheeks. “Shchisleevava putee.”

“Spasibo. Do svidanya.”

You linger over your tea a while after he leaves. We must be what we are, else we become our enemies, another elderly gentleman had said to you once, the first time your impulse for pity backfired and people died. We are not the same as the things we hunt, and must fight every minute of every day to never become so, your own voice many times over the years-- in plea, in instruction, in explanation.

Your continued relations with the monstrous people is in service of an older, darker truth. One of the harsh things you and Dean share. The grease on the slippery slope, the bed under the road paved with good intentions.

There is nothing beneath me when it comes to protecting my family.

---

AN2: Russian: "Safe journey." "Thank you. Goodbye."

The Battle of Cassino was an attempt by the Allies to neutralize enemy positions around the historic Benedictine abbey on top of Monte Cassino, part of the larger campaign to capture Rome. To make a very long story short, it was a bloody affair that took four months and ended with roughly 75,000 total casualties. Allied forces finally captured the abbey on May 18, 1944. Rome itself fell on June 4.

Starting to go seriously AU, so the next installment might not be for a while. Don't worry, we're not done here. Not by a long shot.

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