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]

( He seems to consider the question for a moment, then shrugs one playful shoulder. )

Basically.

( When it suits him — like now, when it's more likely to get him laid. Everyone else but Nadine has been largely getting the same yarn spun at them: Dean is dead. He's somebody else.

Keeping the name's just easier. The idea of the man is gone.

He dips in as though he means to whisper into her ear again, but this time, it's to gently press his lips to her neck right below it. There, he mumbles into her skin. )

I'm whoever you want me to be, sweetheart.

[princessvegas]

[ Despite what an outside observer to this conversation might believe, Julie is not a complete idiot. Something is off here; she knows that these answers don't make sense, that even near-death experiences (or actual death) don't change people so deeply, so quickly.

They don't give people eyes like empty, gaping maws.

But something inside her has always been weak for the wrong choice. Drawn to the worst decision like a moth to the brightest flame. Absolutely hypnotized by it.

Without thinking, her hand goes to the back of his head, fingers curling in his short hair. Electricity prickles across her skin and raises her hair on end. The club lights flash, the music changes.

She inhales sharply and lets her head drop to the other side, neck bared. Where she still has one hand on his arm, she digs into his bicep with her nails.

The sludge fills her mind again, makes her feel dark and heavy and pliant. This is good. This is right. ]

[righteously]

( That's all the green light he needs. He has been granted permission to cross the threshold, he's been given access that he intends to take full advantage of. The bodies around them are an inconsequential blur. The music sets a tempo he's happy to meet.

He tastes the sweat on her neck. Explores the shape of her shoulder blades with his fingertips. Finds the curve of her ribs, and then the hollow of her hips, and then the shape of her ass — all on their trajectory toward thighs, so he can grip and lift her like she weighs less than a god damn feather.

He lifts her, but doesn't seem to have any intentions on putting her down just yet. He wants her legs around his waist. He wants her face just a little over his, so he can angle his chin up and offer his lips as an invitation. )

[princessvegas]

[ There's no hesitation in her movements. Now that he's no longer talking, the weight of simply going along with it carries her easily. No questions, no thinking. That was how she lived for months and months on end, and falling back into that headspace is like sinking into a featherbed.

She practically hops into his arms, legs wrapped tightly around him. While some kind of docility has clearly been triggered in her mind, she hasn't been rendered passive; her hand slides from his arm to his face, her fingers spanning his cheek, and she kisses him like she might well devour him.

The pulse of the music seems to grow dim in her ears, fades to the background as the sound of her own blood rushes in her ears. ]