𝐼𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦 ( open )

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester & Open.
When: April 1 - early May.
Where: Aquila; Cadens; The Horizon;
What: Demon shenanigans part 1 — featuring hobo'ing through the Horizon, hiding out in Aquila, and then returning to the Free Cities.
Warnings: Rated R for sexual content, demonic violence, psychological abuse, and suicidal ideation.

𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠-𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠, 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑠
𝐼𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡, 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑟𝑡, 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑡, 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡, ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑖𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦
𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑜𝑓, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝑃𝑢𝑠ℎ, 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑
𝑂ℎ 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑, 𝐼 𝑎𝑖𝑛'𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢
𝑀𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝑂ℎ 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑒, 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑜

Comments

[righteously]

She's mostly right.

It's him. It's not him. It's him, but it's something else. Certainly something exists, and it looks an awful lot like him. Sounds an awful lot like him, except for the subtle ways it doesn't.

The better question might be whether her curiosity edges more toward discomfort or intrigue.

He hums softly at this little correction, a revelation. Some force even greater — does he care enough to ask? Probably not. Destiny, fate, who gives a shit. Divine intervention. Whatever. It's not important now, because it doesn't apply here.

"Wouldn't it have been better the other way? If he chose you? If it was a decision you both made?" He smooths her hair down gently with his palm; tucks the strands gently behind her ear. Grazes his thumb down the slope of her throat. He dips down, brings his lips to her ear to murmur, "I choose you."

[nadine_he_loves]

Something is really not right.

But it's Dean. When it comes to the bedroom, she's always been particularly dominant and, for lack of a better word, aggressive with him. Here and now, there's a sense that she has control simply because she's used to having control. Doubly so as this is her space, the one place in all existence she has control over.

His question is ignored, because there's no easy answer and conversation doesn't seem to be at the forefront of today's activities. Nor does Nadine feel like philosophizing or playing 'what if?' right now. She does enough of that in her own time.

"You do, do you?" Her head tips to the side to give him access. "For what, exactly?"

It's not ineffective foreplay, however odd and uncharacteristic it may be.

[righteously]

She bares her throat, and that dark thing inside him coils tightly, pleased. His lips touch down gently — at first. Soft, petal kisses down toward her shoulder. In between them, he mumbles, "To keep. To live."

To be quietly exempted from the eventual hit-list he'll imply to Geralt, at that. If it comes to that, she can stay. He'd kill the rest of them, but he'd like to keep her for himself — at least for a while, until he can either take that darkness in her for himself, or coax it into a proper flame.

His palms slide along her waist, down her hips, around the back of her thighs. Fingertips grip tightly in her glutes, hard enough to bruise, to keep her in place for when he sharply nips at her throat. The impression of his teeth sink into skin, not hard enough to break it, but sudden enough to be startling. He kisses it to soothe it, and adds, "To take with me."

[nadine_he_loves]

There's a part of her that wants to laugh.

As vaguely unnerving as this is, there's something absurd about it as well. Or perhaps obscene, considering where they are. Either way, it's so beyond the realm of the expected or familiar that Nadine can't help but focus in some way on that absurdity. There's something of a romance novel to it, but a scene out of context. The way he talks, handles her....

But it speaks to something in her. That part of her that's drawn to darkness, to power. Whatever that thing inside of her is that makes her just a little bit different, a little bit strange. It's always there, somewhere deep, always waiting. The thing that lets her kill so easily, lets her lie and manipulate, the thing she can't ever cut out or squash entirely. That thing needs an outlet, sometimes.

She has no intention of being a passive participant in whatever bedroom game this is. She isn't the passive thing she'd once been. Doubly so because she's used to having control now in so many aspects of her life.

In part because of him.

Her own hands go up, to his shoulders, digging her fingers into him when his teeth dent her skin. She inhales sharply, blood warming.

"What makes you think I'd be so easy to keep?"

[righteously]

He traces his tongue along the impression his teeth left behind, and then dips to pick her up. To carry her carefully toward the altar, where he can set her down and settle between her legs. His fingers find her hair, and comb the strands back from her face. Fondly, almost dotingly — or condescendingly.

"Well... it's because I can give you something nobody else can," he explains gently, earnestly — an expression that might be a little unsettling when it's accompanied by a set of black, empty eyes. "I can find your darkness. I can find the piece of you that you hide from everyone else, and I can touch it. Match it. I can show you things... you have never seen before."

[nadine_he_loves]

Now Nadine does laugh, quick and throaty as he sets her on the altar and makes her his promises.

She ought to be afraid. There are so many clear signs that she should be afraid. But she isn't, much. No matter what's seized him, what can he actually do to her here? She can just leave the Horizon if she wants to, simply vanish back to her physical form and the waking world. Dean can't keep her here, can't compel her to come to him here.

Comparatively speaking, what really is there to be afraid of?

"I don't know if you could." Her legs wrap around him tightly, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck. She won't let him feel like he has the upper hand. "Whatever's gotten into you right now...I've seen a whole lot, Dean. And been touched by a much worse darkness than you."