#i need to know because i did say WAD was basically inside but gay and also worse

[kindaorangey]

ok i really need to know. do dan and phil know who bo burnham is😭

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Free to Be You and Me: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,439

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

After Castiel found the perfect abandoned house to set up the ritual, you three got to work. Castiel said he needed to get an important part of the ritual, so it was just the two of you in this house. Dean was pacing back and forth with John’s journal in his hands while you sat on a chair and watched. The angel has been gone for a while now, and you were staring to get worried.

“Where could he have gone?” you asked just as Castiel appeared with a ceramic jar. “Where the hell were you?”

“Jerusalem.”

“Oh, how was it?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“Arid.”

“What is that?”

“It's oil. It's very special. Very rare.”

“So, this ritual of yours, when does it got to go down?” you asked as you got up.

“Sunrise.”

“Tell me something. You keep saying we're gonna trap this guy. Isn't that kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?” Dean asked.

“No, it’s harder.”

“Do we have any chance of surviving this?” you wondered out loud.

“You two do.”

“So, odds are you're a dead man tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Well, last night on earth. What are your plans?”

“I just thought I'd sit here quietly.”

“Come on, anything? Booze, women?” Dean asked as you walked around to stand behind Castiel as he sat in the chair you were previously sitting in. When Dean asked the question, the angel looked away uncomfortably.

“You have been with women before. Right? Or an angel, at least?” you asked as you placed your hands on his shoulders. The only response you got from Castiel was awkward neck rubbing which gave you your answer.

“You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?”

“Look, I've never had occasion, okay?”

“Alright,” Dean shrugged on his jacket after you two locked eyes. There was only one way to pass the time, and you were going to make sure Castiel got his fill. “Let me tell you something. There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch. Let's go.”

“Let’s go soldier,” you grinned as you pat his shoulders before following your boyfriend. Castiel stared after the two of you before hastily following.

Dean had taken Castiel to the best brothel bar in town, and it turns out to be one of the best ideas he could have done. Upon entering, Castiel could not take his eyes off the women who were walking around the bar. Dean found a table immediately, and you took a seat next to the Angel while Dean sat across from the two of you. Castiel didn’t know how to react to this, so he looked so terrified, you thought he was going to have a heart attack.

“Hey. Relax,” you sighed.

“This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here.”

“Dude, you full-on rebelled against heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks,” Dean grinned. 

The angel still looked terrified, you thought of something that might help him unwind. Without using your words, you looked at Dean with your idea in mind. He seemed to understand what you were getting at, so he nodded for you to go ahead.

“Castiel,” you spoke as you scooted closer to the angel. 

He tensed when your hand found his tie, and you loosened it to give him that sexy look that women loved so much. You unbuttoned the first few on his white shirt before pulling it apart to show some of his chest hair. “Just be yourself, but women like it when you compliment them. Make her feel good about herself. Cherish her in every way you know how. Make her feel like she is the only woman on the planet.”

“Showtime,” Dean smirked as he saw a hooker approach the table with her eyes on Castiel. 

Taking your hands off him, you left his side and joined Dean’s before looking at her.

“Hi. What's your name?” she asked Castiel with a seductive smile. The angel refused to even look at her.

“Cas,” Dean said for him. “His name is Cas. What’s your name?”

“Chastity,” she smiled as Castiel drank his beer.

“Wow. Is that kismet or what, buddy? Well, he likes you, you like him, so dayenu,” he grinned. The hooker grabbed ahold of his coat before tugging him up.

“Come on, baby,” she grinned as she took his hand and stated to lead him away. Dean took out a wad of cash before stopping the angel.

“Hey, listen. Take this. If she asks for a credit card, no. Now just stick to the basics, okay? Do not order off the menu. Go get her, tiger,” he chuckled. The angel just stood still, and your boyfriend sighed. “Don’t make me push you.”

“You really think he can pull it off?” you asked as the hooker led Castiel to one of the back rooms.

“Nope,” he popped the p at the end. “But it will a hell of a lot of fun to watch.”

“You’re evil, but sexy,” you grinned before kissing him softly. 

No one around you was paying any attention to the two of you, so he took it a bit further before a scream rang out from the back rooms. Pulling apart from him, you two got up and headed to the back when you saw Castiel rush out of the room with Chasity following him with hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Get out of my face! Leave me alone! Bastard! Screw you, jerk!” she yelled as she threw something at Castiel who looked a little disheveled. “I’ll kill you1”

“The hell did you do?” you asked the angel.

“I don't know. I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father Gene ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office.”

“Oh no, man,” Dean sighed.

“What?”

“This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It's, it's the natural order,” Dean explained as two bouncers appeared through the door that Chasity left through.

“We should go. Come on,” you urged, pushing the men to the exit before the bouncers could get you. Once outside, you and Dean couldn’t help but laugh at how the evening ended. Castiel didn’t have any game, and this night proved it.

“What's so funny?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, nothing. Whoo. It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard. It's been more than a long time… years,” Dean chuckled, but when he really thought about it, his laughter died out. Seeing his smile falter, you cleared your throat before grabbing his hand in comfort.

“Come on, we need to get the ritual started,” Castiel said before leading the way to the hospital where Donnie was currently residing.

Peeking around the corner, you watched a nurse leave Donnie’s room before disappearing down a hallway. Nodding that the coast was clear, you and Dean snuck inside Donnie’s room before you quietly shut the door. Castiel was already inside pouring the holy oil in a circle around Donnie’s wheelchair.

“When the oil burns, no angel can touch or pass through the flames, or he dies.”

“Okay, so we trap him in a steel cage of holy fire, but one question. How the hell do we get him here?” Dean asked.

“Very simple. There's, well, almost an open phone line between a vessel and his angel. One just has to know how to dial,” he said as he leaned down close to Donnie’s ear. He started muttering something in a language you didn’t know or understand.

“I'm here, Raphael. Come and get me, you little bastard.”

“Just out of curiosity, what is the average customer wait time to speak to an archangel?” you asked nervously.

“Be ready,” he said before lighting a match and dropping it onto the oil. It formed a ring of fire around Donnie’s body. Looking around the room, nothing was happening from when the oil began to burn. A few more minutes passed, and nothing.

“Isn’t he supposed to be here?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Well that's a day I'll never get back,” Dean complained as he drove back up to the abandoned house you were using earlier. Sighing you entered the house, but the angel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you from entering the house.

“Y/N, wait,” he said. Bright, white light shone from inside the living room, and Donnie stood there with an intense look on his face. However, you knew it wasn’t Donnie but Raphael. As the bright light intensified, Raphael spread his wings to show you just how big and strong they were. Lightbulbs began to shatter, and you shielded them from your face.

“Castiel.”

“Raphael.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be impressive. All you do is black out the room,” Dean said as he walked closer to him.

“And the Eastern Seaboard,” he spoke. Lightning began flashing outside, and you bit your lip in nervousness. “It is a testament to my unending mercy that I do not smite you here and now.”

“Or maybe you're full of shit,” you spoke as you walked into the room. Raphael’s eyes were on you with a look you couldn’t quite place. “Maybe you're afraid God will bring Castiel back to life again and smite you and your candy-ass skirt. By the way, hi, I'm Y/N. That’s Dean.”

“I know who you two are. And now, thanks to him, I know where you are.”

“You won't kill them. You wouldn't dare.”

“It’s not like I would let you,” you said bravely as your eyes glowed a bright blue.

“I should kill you for what Amara did. Finally end her line of vessels,” he growled as he glared at you. “But I will take him to Michael.”

“Well then. Sounds terrifying. It does. But, uh, hate to tell you, I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer?”

“Yeah, that was, that was hilarious,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, he doesn't have anything close to my imagination.”

“I bet you didn’t imagine one thing,” you smirked as the light in your eyes died out.

“What?”

“We know you were coming you fucking son of a bitch,” you smirked as Dean lit his lighter before dropping onto the oil that Castiel poured prior to going to the brothel. The Holy oil ignites in a circle around Raphael.

“Don't look at me, it was his idea,” Dean ratted.

“Dean,” you hissed as you lightly slapped his arm.

“Where is He?” Castiel demanded to know.

“God? Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel. Dead. There's no other explanation. He's gone for good.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century? Think the twenty-first is going any better? Do you think God would have let any of that happen if He were alive?”

“Oh yeah? Well then who invented the Chinese basket trick?” Dean chuckled.

“Careful. That's my Father you're talking about, boy.”

“Yeah, who would be so proud to know His sons started the fucking apocalypse.”

“Who ran off and disappeared? Who left no instructions and a world to run?”

“Daddy ran away and disappeared. He didn't happen to work for the post office, did He?” you asked.

“This is funny to you? You're living in a godless universe.”

“And? What, you and the other kids just decided to throw an apocalypse while He was gone?” Dean asked.

“We're tired. We just want it to be over. We just want... paradise.”

“Then find another planet to destroy.”

“So, what, God dies and makes you the boss and you decide you can do whatever you want?”

“Yes. And whatever we want, we get,” he said, using his powers to shatter the windows. The glass bursted inward, and you shielded yourself from the shards as Dean did.

“If God is dead, why have I returned? Who brought me back?” Castiel asked. The rain started pouring inside, but you ignored it as you looked at the Archangel.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?”

“No.”

“Think about it. He needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up.”

“Let’s go,” the lower angel said before starting to leave the room.

“Castiel, I'm warning you. Do not leave me here. I will find you,” Raphael threatened.

“Maybe one day. But today, you're my little bitch,” Castiel said through the rain.

“Damn Castiel,” you grinned before following in his footsteps.

“What he said,” Dean smirked and the three of you left the house with the trapped angel inside of it.

Without Sam in the car, you were able to enjoy the front seat while Dean drove and Castiel in the back. The car ride was silent, but you could sense the tension coming from both of you and Castiel, but from Castiel mostly.

“You okay?” you asked the angel but received no answers.

“Look, I'll be the first to tell you that this little crusade of yours is nuts, but I do know a little something about missing fathers,” Dean said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there were times when I was looking for my dad when all logic said that he was dead, but I knew in my heart he was still alive. Who cares what some ninja turtle says, Cas, what do you believe?”

“I believe he's out there.”

“Good, then go find him,” you encouraged.

“What about you two?”

“What about me? I don't know. Honestly, I'm good. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I am, I'm really good.”

“Wait, really?” you gasped softly, looking at the man you love.

“Even without your brother?” Castiel asked.

“Especially without my brother. I mean, I spent so much time worrying about the son of a bitch. I mean, I've had more fun with you two in the past twenty-four hours than I've had with Sam in years, and you're not that much fun. It's funny, you know, I've been so chained to my family, but now that I'm alone, hell, I'm happy.”

The car grew silent after his confession, and Castiel took that as a sign to leave. Once the car was free of the angel, you looked at Dean to see his smile falter.

“Yeah, we both know that’s not true,” you scoffed as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “That kind of love and dependency doesn’t just go away because you declare it so. You miss Sam. I can see it all over your face.”

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[angelofthequeers]

Ladybug and Reine Nuit: Chapter 20

Pixelator

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Okay so I’m extra salty about ‘Animaestro’ and That Guy’s self-insert tantrum but by god am I gay for Buninette

I really don’t like Pixelator, but I do need to introduce Uncle Jagged within this story’s universe, so…yeah, I basically used the necessary intro scene.

@miraculousl4dybug @livinthebilife tagged as requested :)

Check out my Ko-fi for writing commissions!

Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

“I like it!” Tikki chirps. Marinette hums in indecision as she turns her head, examining her reflection from all angles.

“I haven’t worn a bun in years,” she says. “I found the pigtails way cuter and easier. I’m not even sure why I decided to try this today.”

“The bun makes you look cute too!” Tikki says. “You look cute and mature. Not that I don’t like your pigtails!”

“No, no, I know what you mean.” Marinette twirls a lock of hair framing her face to give it a slight wave. “I actually kind of like it.”

“Well, you’ve got about two more minutes to decide before you’re officially running late.”

“What?” Marinette springs into action to grab the nearest pair of jeans and a flowy pink top that’s just big enough to tie it at her waist fashionably. Once she’s dressed, she snatches up her purse and tries to balance hopping down the stairs with pulling on her usual ballet flats, which she thankfully pulls off without tripping and breaking her neck.

For once, she’s actually not late to school, which is probably thanks to Tikki keeping track of time because heaven knows Marinette can’t. She’s still sweaty by the time she makes it there, though, and she needs to collapse on the stairs outside the front of the school to catch her breath. Not only is she not late but…she’s early. She actually has time to relax beforehand rather than freaking out and trying to get to class.

“Dupain-Cheng,” sneers a familiar voice as a shadow looms over her. Marinette rolls her eyes and looks up to see Chloé blocking the sun, hands on hips and smirking widely.

“What now, Chloé?” Marinette sighs. Chloé reaches out and flicks Marinette’s bun.

“After what happened last year, I’m surprised you’ve got the nerve to wear that thing again,” she says. Oh, that’s right. That’s why Marinette’s been wearing pigtails. Her hair used to be long…until Chloé had thought it would be very funny to stick a wad of gum in her bun. As a livid Sabine had carefully and soothingly cut a bawling Marinette’s hair to the length it is now, that’s one of the only times Marinette can remember being terrified of her usually quiet, cheerful mother.

“It’s called change, Chloé,” Marinette says. “Something you don’t seem to understand. You can’t even be nice when it’s Adrien asking.”

“Adrikins and I will always be friends,” Chloé scoffs. “Even if he’s being utterly ridiculous right now. I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand true friendship like ours.”

“Are you done?” Marinette’s not even annoyed at this point. Honestly, Chloé’s daily antics have just grown exhaustingly bland with the knowledge that she’ll never change and that she’ll just keep being the same old nasty girl, even when she’s lost both her best friends. It’s not like she’s harmless, what with how many people she’s bullied to the point of vulnerability to Hawkmoth. Just…more like a mosquito hanging around and buzzing, rather than a venomous snake constantly striking and biting.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you, Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé says.

“It’s old, Chloé.” Marinette stands up, brushing the dirt off her blue jeans. “You show up, say some mean things, then walk off laughing while I get angry. You can’t even be original when it comes to bullying me.” She turns to head into school.

“Original?” Chloé storms in front of Marinette to block her way with crossed arms and a dangerous scowl. “I am original! Everyone looks up to me! I’m original and exceptional and you’re just a ridiculous –”

“Oh, back off, Chloé,” says Alya from behind Chloé, her arms crossed. Marinette climbs to her feet. “Picking on Marinette is the least original thing about you. Although you are exceptional at being a bully.”

With a snarl, Chloé shoves Marinette out of her way as she storms up the stairs. Marinette shrieks and teeters on the edge of the step, then topples forward and would have cracked her head and ribs if not for Alya rushing to grab her.

“Um…thanks!” Marinette says with a sheepish grin. “Nice reflexes!”

Alya just smirks and pulls Marinette back to her feet. “I gotta have good reflexes with you around, girl. Love the bun, by the way.”

Marinette rolls her eyes with a grin as they head after Chloé at a more sedate pace.

“Marinette!”

Marinette and Alya pause at the top of the steps to let Nino catch up. Before Marinette can react, Nino’s throwing his arms around her and saying, “Thanks again for getting Reine Nuit to take me to see Luka, dude.”

Marinette smiles as warmth blossoms in her belly. “Of course, Nino. I’m glad she could help.”

“Sorry, wait, what exactly am I missing?” Alya says with her hands on her hips.

“Never mind,” Marinette says as Nino releases her. “Just something I did for Nino.”

The three of them head inside for class as the bell rings, Alya pestering Nino for details the whole way there. They’re the last ones into the room, which has erupted in drama with half their classmates on one side and the other half on the other side. Only Chloé’s sitting separate from the drama, painting her nails with a scowl.

“Uh, what’s going on?” Alya says.

“My last video got nuked for graphic violence,” Adrien says sullenly. “Again. I’m losing subscribers because people don’t see the point in sticking around for someone whose videos keep getting taken down.”

“Uh, I can help you make your own blog,” Alya says. “Then you can post whatever. Why didn’t you ask me before?”

“It didn’t occur to me!” Adrien’s eyes start to sparkle. “You’d do that for me, Alya?”

“Yes, yes, because I am a kind and gracious queen.” Alya sits down next to Adrien and pulls out her laptop.

“I get the feeling that’s not what the drama is about,” Marinette says. She’s immediately confronted by Alix, whose eyes are narrowed at her.

“Which team are you on?” Alix demands. Marinette blinks.

“Um…what?”

“Which. Team?” Alix says. She jabs her thumb at the people on Adrien’s side of the room. “Those losers think that Ladrien is where it’s at. But we are dedicated LadyNuit fans.”

“Ladrien? LadyNuit?” Marinette stares at Nino, who just shrugs.

“Ship names!” Rose chirps from the LadyNuit side. “Ladybug with Reine Nuit, or Ladybug with Adrien!”

“Wait, as in…romantic?” Nino says.

“Oh, come on!” Ivan says. “Adrien’s always running after Ladybug! And she’s always saving him! He’s the Lois Lane to her Superman!”

“Yes, there is an eighty six percent chance of Ladybug and Adrien eventually realising their feelings for each other within the next year, what with their obvious fondness for each other,” Max says, adjusting his glasses. “LadyNuit only ranks at –”

“Excuse you, but Reine Nuit is Ladybug’s partner,” Juleka says. “They’d die for each other. They’ve always got each other’s backs.”

“You weren’t there when they kissed!” Kim boasts. “But I was!”

Marinette freezes as ice coats her insides. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Alya’s cheeks darken furiously. “K-Kissed?” she says.

“Yep!” Kim slides down to the front of the room and slings an arm around Marinette, no doubt thinking that he can lure her to the LadyNuit side. “When I was Dark Cupid and hit Ladybug with an arrow! Reine Nuit kissed her to break the spell after destroying my akuma so she could use Miraculous Ladybug!”

“Because true love defeats hate!” Rose squeals, bouncing up and down.

“It could be platonic love,” Mylène pipes up. “There’s no reason why Reine Nuit’s platonic feelings wouldn’t break the spell.”

As her classmates argue, a dazed Marinette sits down in her usual seat. Nino sits with her, since Alya is currently helping Adrien establish his new blog.

“The Ladyblog!” Alya declares, waving her hands. “It’s perfect!”

“But I like being called Ladybugreste,” Adrien sulks.

“Just use that as your pen name,” Alya says. “And Nino can make up his own name. Duh. Look, you can livestream and upload videos and pictures and posts – I can handle the blog posts, by the way, since I’m the journalist around here – and fans can interact with you and – it’s gonna be so cool!”

“You’re just living vicariously through me, aren’t you?” Adrien says.

“Of course,” Alya grins. “If I can’t be the Ladyblogger then I’ll just have to settle for leading the school blog and nudging my little sunshine apprentice who got in first.”

“Good morning, class!” calls a voice over the din. Everyone immediately shuts up and scrambles to their seats, saying good morning to Ms Bustier as they do so. Alya and Nino switch their seats back in the chaos.

“LadyNuit and Ladrien?” Marinette hisses to Alya, who just shrugs.

“I’m personally on team LadyNuit.”

“Alya!”

.

Apparently, today is their year’s work experience today at Le Grand Paris, although Marinette can’t be sure if she’d just forgotten this or if she’d been actively trying to block it out. The latter seems more likely when their class arrives at the hotel and not only are Alya and Marinette assigned trash sorter and gopher as jobs respectively, but Chloé’s job is specifically to hang around an uncomfortable Adrien and cling to him. This is payback for the confrontation that morning, isn’t it?

“Wow!” Chloé gasps. An annoyed Marinette turns to see what Chloé’s so stunned over, only to feel her jaw drop to the floor at the sight of Jagged Stone walking into the hotel! Jagged Stone is here? Here?

“Mr Stone, welcome to Le Grand Paris Hotel!” André rushes to simper to Jagged Stone. “I am Mayor Bourgeois, the owner of this luxury establishment; in fact, the most luxurious in all of Paris! How might we serve you?”

“How d’you think?” Jagged Stone says in his British accent. Marinette giggles behind her hand. “I didn't just come here to admire your lobby.”

“Jagged would like to check into your most luxurious suite,” says Jagged Stone’s assistant, a woman with bright purple hair that’s still not as bright as Jagged Stone’s.

“And Fang better get a real bathtub, not a tiny water hole like the one in that hotel across the street!” Jagged Stone adds.

“We have everything you need, Ms Fang,” André says to Jagged Stone’s assistant. “Even a state-of-the-art entertainment centre!”

“That’s Penny,” Jagged Stone says. “Fang’s me crocodile.”

André lets out a nervous little laugh at the sight of the collared crocodile at Jagged Stone’s feet. “Mr Stone, we have everything you require for your…Fang. Would he, um…enjoy a bubble bath?”

“Crocodiles don't like bubble baths. That dries their scales out!”

Marinette frowns at Fang as he trots around a large planter box to where a blond man is hidden with a camera. She nudges Alya and points.

“Oh no, not him again,” Jagged Stone groans when the blond man is frightened out of hiding by Fang.

“Remember me, Mr Stone?” the blond says. “Vincent Aza! Just one photo to show everyone in the world that we're best buds! Come on, please! I'm your biggest fan!”

“I know, you've been to my last thirty-six shows,” Jagged Stone snaps. “But we are not friends.”

When Vincent tries to take a photo with Jagged Stone, Penny promptly ejects him from the hotel. Once the stalker fan is gone, André personally escorts Jagged Stone, Penny, and Fang to their room, with Marinette and Ms Bustier following, although Marinette can’t figure out why she’s being dragged along. Not that she’s complaining when she gets to be in the same elevator as Jagged Stone!

“Mr Stone is going to need a new pair of shades for tonight's gig,” Penny says once Jagged is settling into his room by playing hoops with Fang. “Red, white, and blue, with two large Eiffel Towers on them. Can you get that for him?”

“Of course we can!” André says. “Marinette here is our gopher. She'll take care of that for you.”

“Huh?” Marinette says. André leans in to whisper in her ear.

“A gopher is an employee who goes for anything a customer needs. Anything at all. So, go ahead. Goph!”

With a sigh, Marinette trudges out of the room and leans against the wall. “How am I supposed to find those sunglasses?” she complains. “They don’t exist! Ugh, I knew Chloé was setting me up to fail.”

“Then don’t give her that satisfaction,” Tikki says, poking her head out of Marinette’s purse. “So what if they don’t exist? Get creative!”

Marinette gasps as an idea strikes. “You’re right, Tikki!” she says, speeding down the hallway. “Let’s go!”

Once at home, she rummages in her drawer until she finds an old pair of sunglasses, then pops the lenses out and gets to work. It takes the better part of an hour, but she manages to create a pair of sunglasses with two large Eiffel Towers over the lens holes in the French flag colours, and so she runs back to the hotel to deliver them. She’s gasping and panting as she hands them to Penny, who looks a little concerned for her wellbeing but promises to pass them on to Jagged Stone when he’s finished resting.

Just as Marinette’s about to enter the elevator to head back down for her next assignment, a bright flash of light bursts behind her. Her eyes widen at the sight of the bright blue and black figure standing in the doorway to Jagged Stone’s room, and she ducks into the elevator and cries, “Tikki, spots on!” Her work experience is going to have to wait a while. Hopefully she doesn’t fail from lack of effort in the meantime…

.

BONUS:

“I'd like to dedicate this song to the girl who saved my life!” Jagged Stone announces at his concert that night, wearing Marinette’s sunglasses, while everyone in Ms Bustier’s class minus Chloé cheers from the front row. “This one's for you, Ladybug!”

Best. Day. Ever.

[thetolkiengeek]

we could turn the world to gold - a Klance Road Trip AU

we could turn the world to gold by thetolkiengeek

Chapters: 4/8

Words: 18,568

Summary: 

At twenty-four, Lance isn't where he'd expected to be, working some mindless job at a decent company, bored out of his mind and trying not to feel like the tedium was slowly choking him to death. So when he gets the opportunity to transfer to a position all the way out in California, he jumps at the chance. With all his life packed in his car, he's ready to leave.

But then, Shiro calls in a favor, and suddenly he's got an unexpected guest on his grand, solo, cross-country road trip. He and Keith could barely stand to be in the same room together in college, and he doubts that three years apart will have made a huge difference. But being stuck in a car for days on end with his ex-rival leads to some unexpected discoveries, on both sides.

---

Or, the Road Trip AU that no one asked for.

Snippet:

Lance had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, the fact that they agreed on something was a sign that he and Keith were going to get along just fine, that his fears that the next several days were going to be tortuous and horribly awkward and full of meaningless arguments, were unfounded.

Boy howdy was he wrong.

They were barely out of the state, and they’d managed to fight about pretty much everything .

Where to stop for gas, where to pee (“ Those require two completely different venues, Keith! ”), which drive-thru to hit, appropriate road trip snacks, whether or not Lance should actually be in the left lane.

“Dude, I’m telling you, stop at Love’s,” Keith said, gesturing at the blue highway sign advertising the gas station.

“And I’m telling you, not gonna happen. There’s no way in hell I’m going to a place called Love’s. It’s probably covered in Hepatitis.”

“You’re impossible,” Keith groaned, crossing his arms and sitting huffily back in the seat.

“I think you mean impassable,” Lance replied.

“If you keep camping your slow ass in the left lane where no one can pass you, then yes.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “It’s a reference to Alice in Wonderland , you philistine, and I’ll have you know I am driving well above the speed limit here.”

“Five miles is not ‘well above’ and everyone on this road, including me, hates you.”

“You say that like I care,” Lance scoffed, though he flicked on his blinker and slid into the middle lane.

To be perfectly honest, Keith’s words cut deeper than he was letting on. It was no secret that they didn’t get along, and the first couple hours of this trip alone spoke to the fact that three years apart really hadn’t changed much between them. But Lance never thought that they hated each other, not really.

Keith probably didn’t mean it beyond commenting on Lance’s driving, but it didn’t stop Lance from dwelling.

He sighed and signalled, veering off onto the exit.

“What are you doing?” Keith asked as Lance followed the signs.

“Going to Love’s,” Lance said. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Keith snorted. “You’re so magnanimous.”

Lance decided not to dignify that with a response, instead pulling onto the sparse stretch of road with the only true landmark being this miraculous gas station that supposedly was good for snacks and had consistently clean bathrooms.

“There’s nothing else here,” Lance murmured as he pulled up to the pump.

“Hmm?” Keith unclicked his seatbelt.

“The road is empty,” Lance said. “Usually there’s like...five billion fast food places, and it all looks the same no matter where in the country you are. You know, American Gothic. This is just plain cursed.”

“You think everything is cursed,” Keith huffed. “I’m going inside for snacks. You want anything?”

Lance opened his mouth to respond, but Keith held up a hand.

“Do not say sour cream and onion because that’s not going to happen.”

“You’re no fun,” Lance pouted as he cut the engine and popped the gas cap. “At least get me an Arizona Iced Tea?”

Keith rolled his eyes and nodded before shoving out of the car.

Lance opened the door and climbed out into the late August heat, relishing the opportunity to stretch his limbs. They’d only been driving a few hours at that point, but he figured they shouldn’t push it this early in the trip. California was a long way away, after all.

He watched as Keith stomped towards the store in his red combat boots. How he stood to wear those in this heat was beyond Lance--though he really couldn’t remember a time when Keith wasn’t wearing those monstrosities. He wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in them.

Lance shifted his gaze towards the numbers on the pump, wondering how much gas would be in California, if he’d actually be able to afford it.

It hadn’t been easy, deciding to leave basically everything he’d ever known. Though his family was originally from Cuba, they’d moved to Florida when he was young, and then when he was twelve his dad had gotten a job in Atlanta, and he’d lived there ever since. He had even stayed in state for school, where he’d met Shiro, Keith, Pidge, and Hunk.

After graduating, he’d gotten a job at a tech company in the city, and he’d decided to pull a true millennial move and stay with his parents. It had seemed like the right thing at the time--he could stick around to see his younger sister graduate, keep in touch with Pidge and Hunk, who had both gotten research positions at one of the big universities in the area, and even occasionally go visit Shiro in one of the nearby suburbs.

For a while, it was fine. Great, even. But an itch had settled under his skin and the air had felt too thick, and what once had been comforting quickly became stifling. He loved his family, he really did, and he’d do anything for them, just…

The pump clicked and startled Lance out of his reverie. He shook his head, clearing away the weight of his thoughts. He’d made his decision--he was moving to California and starting at the San Francisco office in a better position. That was all that mattered.

He twisted the gas cap back on and clicked the cover shut, locking the car doors before heading into the station.

Whatever he was expecting from a gas station called Love’s, this wasn’t it. It was a large building, clean, bright cheery signs indicating that the showers in the back were vacant.

Color Lance impressed.

Not that he’d ever tell Keith that.

Lance peered around and caught a glimpse of the telltale mop of messy hair in the curved security mirror hanging in the corner. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, leaving him in the chip aisle and heading towards the bathroom.

And okay, Keith was right. Those were clean, too.

He walked out to see Keith with an armful of snacks stomping his way to the counter--because Keith always stomped everywhere, as long as Lance had known him, seemingly incapable of walking normally.

He snuck up behind him, a wicked grin pulling at his mouth, and poked him in the side. Keith jumped, squirming away.

“What the hell, Lance?!”

Lance doubled over, laughing even as Keith hit him with a glare that should have vaporized him on the spot.

Keith slid a giant green can of iced tea and a bag of chips to his side of the counter. “If you’re gonna be an asshole, you can pay for your own snacks.”

Lance pulled himself together enough, wiping at his eyes for comedic effect before looking down and gasping at the familiar green bag of Lays. “Keith, you do care!”

Keith hit him with an unimpressed look as he handed the cashier a five dollar bill.

“Can you not be a drama queen for like...five minutes? That’d be nice.”

“Can you not be a stick in the mud for like...five minutes? That’d be nice.” Lance quipped, pulling out his own wallet and handing a wad of singles to the very tired cashier.

Lance counted it as a victory that Keith didn’t respond, just frowned before grabbing their snacks and pushing out the door.

Lance shrugged and followed, unlocking the car and climbing in, starting the engine and getting the air going again.

Keith was quiet as Lance pulled out of the station and made his way back to the highway, and the only sounds in the car were the crinkle of the chip bag and Queen’s “I Want It All” playing at half volume.

“So,” Lance said, turning down the music when he had successfully found himself in the flow of traffic once more. “As much as I love road trip snacks, I’m getting hungry for, like, real food. You wanna stop at--wait.”

Lance did a double take as safely as he could.

“Are you eating...pickle flavored chips?”

Keith shrugged and popped another one in his mouth. “Yeah.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Hang on, you gave me shit for sour cream and onion, which is a completely acceptable chip flavor, I might add, and you’re eating dill pickle-flavored chips ?!”

“Yup,” Keith said, continuing like there was absolutely nothing strange about pickle-flavored chips. “Now what were you saying about real food? Because I could really go for a sandwich right about now.”

“I--” Lance shook his head. “We’re coming back to this, mark my words--jesus are you licking the inside of the bag?! Keith what the actual fuck ?!”

Keith looked up from where he had torn open the bag along the side and shrugged.

“Okay, you know what, forget I asked. I don’t want to know.” Lance refocused on the road in front of him, shifting his hands on the wheel. “But yeah, I don’t really want to stop stop, but if we’re gonna get to Louisiana by dinner, I’m gonna need milkshakes and fries. So, Mr. I-Have-a-Wrong-Opinion-on-Everything, you got a preference for where we go?”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. I-Hate-All-Good-Music,” Keith said.

“Hey hey hey, we both like Queen, so you can just step off.”

Keith snorted, ducking his head, but then he fell oddly quiet, the only sound being his fingernail tapping on the door and the occasional whisper of Freddie Mercury hitting some insane high note.

“Keith?”

Lance glanced over to see Keith biting his lip.

“Okay, so feel free to revoke my gay card or shame me all the way to New Mexico but...I just really want Chick-fil-A.”

“Oh thank god, me too,” Lance said, giving a half-nervous, half-relieved laugh.

“Why the fuck does it taste so good?!”

“Those waffle fries?”

“With the Polynesian sauce?”

Lance very nearly crashed the car he was laughing so hard.

“We’re horrible people,” Keith said. “We’re bad gays.”

“We’re going to the Bad Place, for sure,” Lance said even as he scanned the highway markers for the Chick-fil-A logo.

“You wanna borrow my rainbow bracelet to wear when you’re paying?”

“Hell yeah.”

Read the rest on AO3

[idiopath-fic-smile]

Oh my goddd I was scrolling back through your blog and the 1950s lesbian exr is a thing that just could not conceivably be any further up my alley (I realise what this sounds like and I apologise), so I was wondering if we could get another little snippet? No pressure ofc. PS I love your writing and even if we never get any more of tscosi it's still probably my favourite podcast of all time

Hi!

Thank you so much. There will definitely be more Starship Iris eventually, but I really appreciate that.

Re: the fic, I was simultaneously trying to write a historically accurate-ish look at 1950′s American lesbian identity and activism, and give it a bit of a noir feel, which in theory I think you could do because holy shit these women were risking so much, and they had to basically be spies anyway because the FBI was legit trying to keep tabs on them and their meetings. I don’t really know if I’m the person to do it, though; this feels pretty damn far out of my lane, to be honest.

I really wish there was more historical fiction about this cause in this period; you can find some fascinating shit just doing a cursory wikipedia crawl. Like, the first lesbian periodical was created in 1947 by a 25-year-old who was working as a receptionist at RKO Studios; her boss was like ‘just look busy so people think I’m a big deal’ and so she was secretly using company equipment to type and format a zine about lesbianism, like 25 years before the APA stopped calling homosexuality a mental illness.

Anyway, I only wrote about three pages; I stopped when I realized how long it would need to be, and how much work would be involved, and also frankly it’s a lot easier to situate Enjolras in a fic about queer activism post-Stonewall, because the D.O.B.-era organizing tended to be pretty assimilationist. Like, I think their work was important and has been unfairly neglected, but I still think Enjolras in any era would chafe at their gradualism. 

Enjolras isn’t even mentioned by name in this, but uh I think you’ll be able to find her. 

(Head’s up: this is the very opening of the story, it’s from Grantaire’s POV, and she has not begun to work through her issues yet, so quick content warning for period-typical internalized homophobia and self-loathing, as well as period-typical sexism. Also, historical note: from what I can tell, “lesbian” had negative connotations even within the community at the time.)

“Grantaire, are you alright?” said Murray. He didn’t try that hard to hide his laughter. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

“You’ll need to set aside your small-town attitudes if you want to succeed in the big city,” Chester added. “There’s all sorts here, as you can see.”

Grantaire nodded. There was nothing more dangerous than someone desperate to prove they were more Bohemian than you, she thought. She wondered if they were only doing this because she had corrected Chester about Rothko. Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut. She could have just let him be wrong and avoided the whole adventure, or prank, or byzantine office hazing ritual–whatever had inspired them to take her here, of all places.

The Musain. Run by the mob, of course, but that wasn’t what made the place so notorious. There wasn’t exactly a neon sign screaming gay bar! But even if Grantaire was as naive as Chester and Murray seemed to assume, she probably could’ve put the clues together herself from the clientele, men mingling with men and women mingling with women. 

How much looking was too much looking? It all felt like too much. She tried focusing on the grimy wall of bottles behind the bar, except one of the bartenders had hung a poster of a pin-up girl back there, naked but for a strategically-placed ukulele, grinning a slick, lipsticky grin. There was no safe real estate to rest your eyes on. Every inch was dangerous, an admission of something.

“I’ll be right back,” she croaked. “Ladies’ room.”

“If you can tell which one it is,” laughed–Chester? Murray?–who even cared, she thought, ducking into the crowd.

The water did not help like she’d hoped. Grantaire switched off the tap and wiped at her face, badly wanting a cigarette. She wondered how much longer she could hide in here before it got suspicious. Two or three minutes, she figured, but when she stepped back into the bar she’d need to be perfectly composed.

Then again, neither of her new colleagues seemed too perceptive. Case in point: this present stunt, designed to unnerve her in an entirely different direction. Even now, she could at least detect a certain sick humor about the whole affair. She was still half-smirking when a woman walked in. Grantaire looked away on instinct, but foolishly, right into the mirror, to be pinned instead by the stranger’s reflection. There was just no catching a break tonight.

Grantaire had seen the stranger already from the other side of the bar, would have noticed her from a hundred paces. She was tall and athletic-looking, dressed like a man in a button-down shirt and trousers. Normally a girl of that stature slouched, pulled in her shoulders as if apologizing for taking up the space, but every line of this woman’s body was utterly assured, self-possessed. Her hair was cropped short, and there was a stark beauty in her strong brows and sharp cheekbones, feminine without a trace of softness.

Her eyes slid to Grantaire and away again: registered and dismissed in a single motion.

Grantaire dried her hands—slowly, because she still did not really want to go back. Anything was preferable, maybe including this.

In a way, it was almost a relief to see that nothing had changed. Seasons came and went but Grantaire was still Grantaire: a bundle of too-tight nerves and awkward elbows, scratchy throat, furtive gaze bouncing everywhere it shouldn’t. Still nursing a fascination with the most dangerous-looking female in the area. A puppy dog panting after a wolf.

Grantaire snorted, echoing in the cramped space. The woman looked back at her.

“Sorry,” Grantaire mumbled.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Your friends seem to be having a good time,” she said. Her voice was cold and dry as the Arctic Desert. Searing sun, powdery snow.

Chester and Murray weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination. They were barely co-workers; Grantaire had only been at the magazine for five days, had only arrived in the city three days before that, had been hired sight unseen by the eccentric editor-in-chief on the strength of a portfolio sent by mail and a first name that could pass as a man’s. It was even odds that once the bossman returned from his honeymoon and discovered his brand-new cartoonist was a she, Grantaire would be right out the door again, no chance to slip a single drawing into the lineup. As it was, her presence at the office had the air of a lingering typo.

Best-case scenario, her new employer would turn out to be one of those awful tyrants who refused to acknowledge any degree of fallibility, and he’d keep her on out of sheer hardheadedness. Perhaps after a year or two, she’d fade from a novelty to a background detail, and she’d finally grow up enough to stop trying to prove herself when it mattered the least.

None of it was worth explaining.

“They’re harmless,” said Grantaire instead. “That new intellectual type. They like modern art and smoking marijuana and pretending to understand poetry. They’re not here to gawk, not really.” She could not make herself shut her mouth. It was like having a fit. “They only brought me by to try to get a rise out of the girl from Skokie,” she was saying. “They’ve got nothing against your kind.”

“My kind,” the woman repeated, and Grantaire gave a helpless inward flinch. Was it rude to imply someone was a homosexual simply because she was wearing trousers at a gay bar? It didn’t look like a costume; she wore it with too much grace. “Don’t you mean ‘our kind’?” the woman said.

Grantaire froze, still clutching a wad of paper towel. She hadn’t expected to feel caught out. She had almost hoped for it, maybe, some slight terrified swoop of the stomach, but one foot inside the Musain, one glance at the flesh-and-blood patrons flirting under threat of police raid, had put it to rest.

(“Welcome to city life,” Chester had said, with a chuckle. “Meet your new neighbors!”)

Grantaire could only stand there, in the drab skirt and blouse she had picked specifically to blend in at the office, and measure the distance in miles, in light years.

She threw the paper towel in the trash, made herself meet the woman’s eyes. Grantaire was a head shorter, but somehow it was her spine that craned down, her shoulder blades that pulled together, her posture that begged forgiveness for the sheer fact of her blood and muscle and skin.

“I’m nothing like you,” said Grantaire.

“Really?” came the reply, unimpressed. “Because I could’ve sworn I saw you in here last week. Minus your friends.”

It had to be a bluff, thought Grantaire. Without two rowdy men at her back to make the whole thing a joke, she had barely managed to step in before she’d hightailed it back out.

It had to be a bluff, unless it wasn’t.

First Chester and Murray, and now this. Grantaire had just about had it with people trying to shock her by telling her things she already knew. Sex perverts exist, Grantaire, on one hand. You’re one of them, Grantaire, on the other.

At some point, a girl reached her limit.

“Oh,” said Grantaire, “I’m a lesbian, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The woman blinked at her, not expecting—what? The directness? The word? The slightest illusion of a backbone?

Grantaire bared her teeth in a grin: another illusion. Nothing but well-honed reflex at this point; every bone in her body knew how to lie.

“And that’s the beginning and end of what we have in common,” Grantaire said. It had been a long day; she gave herself the petty satisfaction of slamming the door on her way out.

“Feeling better?” Chester asked, all mock-sympathy, when she returned. “Maybe a ginger-ale to settle your stomach?” It had the shape of an offer but the taste of a dare: can you stay long enough to drink it.

“Throw in some whiskey and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. Murray laughed. Her head hurt.

“Don’t look now, but there’s a woman, if you can call it that, watching us,” said Murray in a low, amused voice. “Think she’s got her eye on you, Grantaire.”

For once in her life, she wouldn’t rise to take the bait. “You’re hilarious,” said Grantaire without looking up. “A regular Bob Hope.”

“They still laughing at Bob Hope out in Skokie?” Chester said.

“It’s Illinois,” she snapped, “not the Mesozoic Era.”

“Mesozoic,” said Murray, as though he’d never heard anything so ridiculous. “Big word for a little lady.”

Mesozoic. Eight letters. But it didn’t matter how you contorted yourself; somebody would always find a way to be sore at you for being too much of one thing or another.

Grantaire hunched down on the stool, away from the sweep of those imagined eyes, and forced herself to smile.

[carlosvalderama]

Substitution for teasing!

My sister continued her dating. She would also continued to allow me to smell her pussy and ass, eat her pussy and ass, and finger her. It was becoming less frequent however. One day she comes home form school and tells me that she plans on having sex with her boyfriend. I was devastated. She wouldn't allow me to fuck her! She wouldn't even suck me or jerk me. I was really upset. She ask, "why are you so upset? I let you eat me out and I let you put your fingers inside of me." I said, "I know, but I want more. I'm the one who does anything for you! I love you. I want you to be my first." It was clear, I was really into her but she had other ideas. I pleasured her everytime she allowed me. I would kiss her passionately all the time. Well, things changed when I told her how I feel. Although she reacted negatively, I knew deep down, she felt the same about me. As far as I knew, she started to have sex with her boyfriend. As for me I was cut off. I wasn't getting anything from her. This went on for years. When she was 17, my parents let her live in our basement apartment. My older sister moved out. She went to college. My brother moved in with my grandma because he went to a school out of our district. So I basically lived alone with my parents. My sister got knocked up at 17 and had her son when she was eighteen. I was turning 15 when I really came into my own. I had sex with a few girls, but this is not the story that needs to be told. My sister was alone again. Her boyfriend went into the military and she was alone to raise her kid. I would help here and there. Doing what I can. You can see she was lonely and horny. I would hear her masterbate in her room. I'd watch her change. I would sniff her panties. She knew all this was happening. She would tease me also. She would wear shirts with no panties on and walk around the house. She would sit on my lap, she would bend over in front of me, and she would work out in front of me. I wanted her so bad. I found it wierd that she never moved on me. I also didn't move on her. I didn't want to scare her again. I would just jerk of into her dirty panties. Needless to say, I really needed some sex. I would fantasize about her boyfriend fucking her. I would watch them sometimes. I was really turned on hearing him cum and watching him cum all over her. I really loved it when she saw me watch. She would really get wild with him. It was summer and baseball was in full swing. My teammates were close in age from all different back grounds. We played for the park league. After practice, we would hang out in the locker rooms and fuck around before we'd shower. We would grab each other's cocks to see who would get hard first. Then we would tease the loser and call him gay. If we couldn't make anyone hard by doing that, we would dry hump each other for a couple minutes to see if any of us got hard. We were a room full of horny teenage boys with sex on our minds all the time. One day, we all started talking about jerking off and sex. No lie, it was hot as fuck to hear some of those stories. I got rock hard. They started to call me gay and laugh. After a while, most of the guys had left. A few stayed. My close friends stayed. It was 7 of us. We all talked about sex again when we decided to jerk off with each other. I'll never forget the sight of all my guys with their cocks in their hand. The look of their faces, the slapping sound of their balls. The smell in the air. We rubbed and stroked till we all came. It was awesome!!! All l that cum on the floor. We were quiet and awkward. I then said, "let's play who gets hard!" They all agreed. No one got hard. I figured someone would. We were all naked running around with our dicks dripping cum, flopping around. Well, we kicked it up a notch. We started to hump. Now mind you, we all had cum residual on our dicks. My friend, who was black, humped on me. That's when it got real interesting. His dick head slipped into my asshole. I felt it!! He knew it. I turned around and looked at him in shock. He looked worried, as if I was gonna snap. I smiled in shock and he smiled back. "What was that?" I ask. He said, "I think it slipped in!" "Let me see" I said. I crouched down, grabbed his cock, and sniffed his head. Now when I sniffed, I purposely let his dick hit my nose and lips. I sniffed and looked up. His face was in ecstacy as he looked up at the ceiling. I said, "can't smell anything, let me try again." This time, he moaned when I did it. I knew he wanted what I wanted. I slowly slipped his dick into my mouth. I sucked his dick good. I stood up and stroking his dick, I kissed him. That made me immediately hard. I ask him if he wanted to fuck. He said yes. I bent over and prepared myself for his cock to slide in. He pushed in slow and deep. I can feel my asshole stretch. I loved his hands on my waist. I lost it when I felt his balls on mine. It was fucking incredible. He slammed his balls against me, pulling me in hard. Fast and deep he went. I was moaning and loving every inch of his black man meat. He started to say he was gonna cum. I wouldn't let him pull out. He came all up in my ass. I felt him shoot his load. I loved the way my hole felt when he pulled his cock out. I turned around and saw just how hard his dick was. I felt the cum drip down my legs. I crouched down and started to kiss his balls. He pulled me up and started to kiss me. He was jerking me off while he kissed me. I was about to explode when he bent down and started to suck my dick. I blew my wad in his mouth. He kissed my balls and dick, working his way up to my face. He started to kiss me again. All that cum. Spitting and dripping all on our faces. I was so turned on. He told me he was gay. He asked if I was. I said no. I told him I like girls, but I love sex. He laughed and said he was glad I was willing to do it with him. He asked if I would fuck him next time. I said sure. I asked him not to tell anyone. He said he wouldn't. We were both in for a surprise. We were being watched by our friends. We didn't know about them watching, until they used it against us. That's a story to hear. And the thought of telling it, is making my cock hard. This was my first experience with a guy. I was really into it. I can see why guys are gay. It feels good having a cock slide in and out of you. I really liked hearing him moan and knowing it was my ass and my sex appeal that made him that way. I loved feeling his lips against mine. The distinct smell of gay sex as opposed to regular sex. His muscle tone and body shape. His uncut dick and his midnight dark skin. Tight ass and sweet sweat dripping down his chest and running down his back. The way his cum felt in my ass, the way we kissed with cum in our mouths. They way we held each other as we kissed. Rubbing his back, sliding my hands down to his ass. The smell of his cock when I licked his balls. The smell of his balls before we showered. It was intense. I didn't regret it, nor will I ever. He gave me ecstacy like no one before........other than my sister.

[huntertales]

Part Two: Someone’s Got Daddy Issues. (Free to Be You and Me S05E03)

Useful Links: Last Part | All Episodes Word Count: 3,375. A/N: I know, I know. It's been over a week since I updated, but I have a reason why. The plan I had for the episode got scratched, making me plan out yet another idea. I was going to try and tie in Sam's storyline for this episode so he's not cut out completely, it didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. But he will be in this episode, I promise you! I've got a little idea in my head. I hope this part makes up for me being a terrible person for not updating for so long. The next one should be out very soon. Enjoy!

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You glanced around at the abandoned house Cas had told you to meet him at midnight sharp, for whatever reason that might be. The place was far from town, a once quiet little farm house from what you could presume, was now overtaken with weeds and thrown to the natural elements to wear and tear. You managed to find a table and chair that were salvageable enough to use. Dean kept himself occupied by brushing up on some reading from his father's journal, curious to see if he could find any useful information for what the three of you were about to do. Cas, very briefly, explained what needed to be done in order to make this work just right before he just disappeared yet again, like he always did. You let out a quiet sigh and looked down at your phone to see the time. One minute to midnight, and no missed calls from anyone.

Shoving the phone back into your pocket, you looked up when you heard the familiar rustling of feathers and saw Cas standing just across the room. “Finally. Where have you been?”

“Jerusalem.” Cas answered for you.

"Oh." Dean replied with a sarcastic eagerness. "How was it?"

Cas walked over to the table you were sitting at and set down what appeared to be a clay pot, and from the sounds of the sloshing around, there was some sort of liquid inside. "Aird."

"What is that?" You asked, pointing a finger at the pot.

“It’s oil.” Cas explained as he took a seat across from you. “ It’s very special and very rare.”

"Okay, are we gonna trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?" Dean asked, Cas answered with a no. "So, this ritual of yours, when’s it got to go down?"

"Sunrise."

This conversation was interesting as watching paint dry. You looked around the room, wondering what the three of you were going to do to pass the time, or what the risks you were going to take in order to do this. "Tell me something—you keep saying we're gonna trap this guy," You said, your eyes wandering over to Cas, "But isn't that kind of like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?"

"No." Cas said. "It's harder."

"How reassuring." You muttered underneath your breath. "Do we have any chances of surviving this?"

Cas shook his head, “You two do.”

"So, odds are, you're a dead man tomorrow?" Dean couldn't help himself but ask, knowing the last time the two were in a room together, Cas got blown to smithereens. The angel nodded his head to answer the hunter's question. "Well, last night on earth. What are your plans?"

"I just thought I'd set here quietly." Cas said, seeming rather too casual about what might happen.

You let out a quiet laugh, thinking for a moment the angel had learned some humor, but from the nonchalant expression that never left his face, you slowly grew quieter when you realized he was serious. "Dude. Come on. Anything? Hmm? Booze, women?" Dean asked, hounding the man for something to do. If anyone in the world knew how to have a good time, it was Dean Winchester himself. You looked over at Cas to see him rubbing the back of his neck before he dropped his gaze to the floor, avoiding eye contact. You furrowed your brow, wondering what was making him so nervous. It took a second before you realized what it was. “You have been with a woman before, right? Or an angel at least?”

"Dean," You muttered the hunter's name with a hiss. "Don't be so...personal."

Dean, of course, never liked to do what he was told, for the thought that struck him as absurd kept his mouth running as he hounded the angel with too personal of questions. "You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?"

"Look, I've never had the occasion, okay?” Cas answered the hunter, hoping the questions about what he didn't do in his free time would stop and the attention would be drawn away from him after it was making him rather uncomfortable.

The older Winchester finally grew quiet, seeming that it was taking him a moment to process the information. You hoped yourself that this conversation would dwindle away to something else, but that wasn't Dean's style. He headed over to the chair you were occupying so he could take his jacket from the back of his chair before putting it on. "Let me tell you something. There are two things that I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay.”

"What's the other one, Casanova?" You asked with an arched brow.

"Two, Cas is not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch." Dean said. "Let's go."

You watched as the man walked to the front door, having every intent to get this party started. You stayed back for a moment and looked over at the angel, who was beginning to look like a deer in headlights. He looked over at you, almost unsure of what he should do. You shrugged your shoulders, ever so slightly curious to see where the night would take you.

+ + +

You thought the night would take you to a bar, not a brothel. For a second you wondered if this was even legal. The place was crawling with men and scantily clad women, working their way for the paycheck as they giggled and twirled their fingers, molding their customers exactly how they wanted them. You had nothing against how people made their money, looking down at someone who sold themselves for money was almost comical for someone like you—who stole people's identity and hustled drunks at bars. What you were having a problem with was how the poor angel that sat across from your right in the black leather booth was reacting. He stared at the scenery with absolute terror, and it wasn't because of the dim fluorescent lighting or the deep hues of purple and black color scheme. You glanced over at Dean, who seemed like he was in Heaven from what he was surrounded with

"Hey," Dean seemed to have found himself being pulled out of his trance long enough to see how Cas was doing. The angel sat across from him with widening eyes and tensing facial features, almost making it appear he was close to having a panic attack. "Relax, man."

"This is a den of iniquity." Cas whispered. "I should not be here."

"Dude, you full-on rebelled against Heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks." Dean said, trying to sweet talk the angel into doing something that was obviously making him uncomfortable. You kept yourself quiet as you traced the rim of the glass full of the alcoholic beverage you didn't even really want, but Dean insisted upon you having. Dean turned his head ever so slightly to see a potential lady come into his view, and from the looks of it, her eyes were targeted on Cas. “Showtime.”

A woman, who looked to be no younger than the age of twenty, came strolling over with a seductive grin across her lips when she noticed the free man up for grabs. She wore the innocent shades of white with a babydoll nighty, you shook your head in discomfort and looked away from the train wreck that was about to unfold. “Hi.” She greeted the angel with a flirty and friendly tone. “What's your name?”

The angel fell dead silent, his gaze lingered away from the woman, and if you could tell from the dim lighting, he was actually blushing. You were about to open your mouth to excuse the poor man from making the worst decision of his life, but Dean jumped to the rescue. “Cas!” He shouted the angel’s name, making the poor fellow nearly jump out of his skin from surprise. “His name is Cas. And what's

name, sweetheart?”

“Chasity.” She answered, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and lowering her cleavage ever so slightly for the man to take a look. Cas quickly did the opposite and averted his gaze away when he got a sliver of courage to try and make eye contact with her.

“Chasity? Wow. Is that kismet or what, Buddy?” Dean said with a light hearted grin. You wanted to gag yourself from how tacky the name was as you looked over at Cas, wondering how he was still handling the pressure being throw on him without a choice. Your eyebrows shot up when you saw the angel reach for his beer and started chugging like there was no tomorrow. “Well, he likes you, and you like him, so...dayenu.”

The woman named Chasity leaned down to grab Cas by his hand and started leading him to the back where only clients were allowed. Dean reached for his glass to take another sip of his beer and looked over at you, thinking you would be sharing the same amused expression as he, but you stared at him, slowly shaking your head in disapproval. Dean slowly looked away, and only then did he realize that he was throwing Cas to the wolves—without any money.

Dean got up from his seat and quickly shoved a hand inside his jacket, pulling out a small wad of twenties and stopped the two for just a moment. He handed the money to Cas, who stared at him with the continuous look of panic, but with the money now resting in his hand, a small twinge of confusion crossed by. "Oh, hey. Listen. Take this. If she asks for a credit card, no. Now, just stick to the basics okay? Do not order off the menu." Dean instructed to the man, for he's done this far too many times for your personal comfort to think about. "Go get 'em, tiger." Cas didn't listen, he just stood there with the same terrified expression, unsure of he wanted to do this. "Don't make me push you."

Cas did he was told, holding the money tight in his grip, you watched as he headed to the back of the curtain with Chasity, disappearing from your sight just a moment later. You occupied yourself by taking slow sips of your drink, and ignoring every chance you could to avoid eye contact with Dean when he sat back down with you. A moment of silence passed between the both of you, making you wonder why you agreed to even come here in the first place. You were against this plan all together, but when Dean sunk his teeth into an idea, it was hard to stray him from the plan. "I'm going to the bathroom." You mumbled as you reached for your glass to take one final sip. "Be back in a few."

You slipped yourself out of the booth and found your way to the back without help. You were gone for a few minutes, and during your time away, you decided this little plan was stupid, after all. Cas shouldn't have been pressured to do something that he clearly was uncomfortable with, and from what you could tell, he was far too naive to lose his innocence in a brothel. You let out a heavy sigh, realizing your life has come to a very strange point. Heading back to the booth where you left Dean, you made your way through the workers and their clients, thinking you would find the man sitting ever so quietly. But you found yourself stopping dead in your tracks when you saw him at the bar, talking to a woman, and from the looks of her outfit, she was trying to make a move.

You walked over to the bar with a calm demeanor, taking the presumption she was just working like everyone else here, but that didn't help explain what Dean was doing. You headed over and took a free spot next to Dean, while you reached out an arm to hold his arm, you squeezed hard as you could, inflicting pain from how his smile faltered. "Could you excuse us for a second, Crystal?" Dean asked the young woman as he flashed her a toothy smile. She nodded her head and grabbed her drink, you watched as she walked off to the other side of the room, tending to the tables. You slowly drew your gaze over to the man, and from the expression settling on your face, he knew you weren't exactly happy. "Y/N, it's not what you think. Her and I were talking while you were gone, and get this—she does couples. "

“So what—oh. No, no, way.” You bitterly chuckled to yourself, shaking your head from the proposition Dean was trying to throw your way. He was a lot of things, and while you loved him with every fiber of your being, there was some things that would just remain a little fantasy in his head. "You're such a pervert."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with you on that point, "But I'm yours."

You rolled your eyes and leaned yourself against the bar, deciding that Dean had enough fun for one night. But as you opened your mouth to tell him it was time to wrap up the night, what came out next was a loud pitched scream, coming from behind the curtain. You looked over at Dean for a moment when a streak of worry came over you. Both of you headed over and pushed back the purple velvet curtain to see what the commotion was about. A long hallway of open doors with women and their clients stood frozen to stare at the scene which was unfolding. You looked straight ahead to see Chasity standing in the middle of the way with her back turned to you, and with Cas standing in the doorway of her room, with a disheveled appearance. But from how she was reacting, it seemed neither of them were satisfied customers.

"Get out of my face! No! Leave me alone!" Chasity screamed on the top of her lungs, throwing her heels at the angel to try and inflict pain upon him. "Bastard! Screw you, jerk! I'll kill you!" You stood there with a baffled look on your face, wondering what had happened to make her this mad. Chasity huffed out a breath and turned around in her spot, deciding she needed a drink after the client from Hell. You stepped back when you crossed paths with her, she leaned forward at Dean to yell a slur of profanities at him. "Screw you, too! God!"

"What the hell did you do?" You asked the angel, walking forward to figure out what went wrong.

"I don't know. I just looked at her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father, Gene, ran off." Cas admitted, shrugging his shoulders. You shook your head as you covered your face with your hands, knowing how wrong it was, despite that being personal information that nobody would know except for the woman. Talking about family issues never made for a good pastime, either. "It was because he hated his job at the post office."

"Oh, no, man." Dean said, chuckling to himself at the mishap. Cas looked at the man, wondering what he had done wrong. "This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It's the natural order."

While Dean found himself amused enough to let out a laugh, you looked over your shoulder to see the fun was about to cut short. You patted Dean on the shoulder when you noticed two men heading your way, and from the looks of it, they weren't exactly happy from the story Chastity from have told them. "We should go." You said. You looked forward to see there was an exit, a perfect way to make an escape before being thrown out. "Come on."

You pushed the two men forward to the exit and began walking fast as you could, trying your hardest to make a getaway before being caught. The three of you headed down the staircase, all while you cautiously looked over your shoulder, wondering if the bouncers from upstairs would catch up. You managed to get out of the place without anymore of a hassle, you pushed open the door to the alleyway and stepped out into the cold night air. While you turned around with an annoyed expression on your face, Dean seemed to have an opposite reaction, for he was laughing, something you hadn't seen him do in such a long time.

"What's so funny?" Cas asked, unsure of what was so amusing for the man.

"Oh, nothing." Dean said. He swung up an arm and rested it against Cas' shoulder, leading him to the parked Impala just a few feet away. "It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard. Oh, it's been more than a long time. Years."

You couldn't help yourself but allow the smallest smile to start spreading across your lips, happy to see Dean having a bit of fun, after everything that was going down. You started heading for the Impala yourself, but before you could make it very far, you heard the sound of your phone ringing, making you wonder who was calling you at this time of night. You stopped for a moment to fish out your phone and looked at the home screen to see the I.D., you had to look twice when you saw a familiar name pop up on screen. Before you could let it go to voicemail, you excused yourself, answering the phone before it could make its third ring.

"Sammy," You greeted the younger Winchester with a friendly enough of a tone, relief flooding into your system after hearing from him after weeks of silence. "It's about damn time."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Sam apologized, but it didn't seem right. He sounded distant, almost like he was regretting this phone call, as if it was a big mistake. "I thought you might send a rescue team if I didn't reply to your million missed calls."

"Can you blame me? You vanished without a trace, Dean and I are worried about you." You said, making a little white lie. You doubt for a moment that Dean was truly concerned about his brother's whereabouts. There was something nonchalant about the older Winchester's behavior when he broke the news to you, almost as if he was relieved to have a break from him. "Where are you?"

"Garber, Oklahoma." Sam answered.

You looked over your shoulder when you heard Dean calling out your name, he stared at you with a look of frustration when he stood outside the Impala with the keys in his hand, you pointed a finger at him, wanting him to give you a minute. "We're in the middle of something right now with Cas. But if all goes well, maybe we could meet up again—"

"Y/N, that's not why I'm calling." Sam cut you off, shooting down your only chance to bring the family back together. You fell silent, wondering what he was going to say, but it wasn't what you were expecting, or wanting to hear. While it was painful for him to say the words, it had to be done. "You need to stop calling me, okay? I'm not coming back anytime soon. Just...leave me alone. And stop trying to call me. Please."

You could feel your free hand slowly retract itself into a fist, bottling up all the anger that you felt from what he had said, trying your hardest not to react with the words that sat at the tip of your tongue. But that would only make things worse. Instead, you did what you thought was best for the situation, you hung up on him. You let out a frustrated breath, wondering what had crawled up his ass to make him so distant from you. You shoved your phone into your pocket once more and headed to the car, ignoring the stares from Cas as Dean seemed to have found a different mood, wondering what had happened between you and his brother. His only answer was you slamming the passenger side door, not saying a single word to anyone.

[meanwhileinoz]

Sex Workers Share On Reddit What Their First Night At Job Was Like

Many Jobs Are More Controversial Than Others.

Whether you think being a sex worker is okay or not is not what we are here for. You see, there is a Reddit post where a user asked other users to tell about their first experience as an escort.

Their answers were quite different. Some people got discouraged while some felt ’empowered’. Following are some of the answers on the post.

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I drank a heap of wine before I went to the agency. This was about 2.5 years ago when the industry was booming. I did booking after booking and went home with a massive wad of cash. As, I didn’t think about it too much. I just loved the rush of being booked and making so much money.

I started working because I’d gotten a few propositions through a dating website. I was studying med at the time and I was short on money. So one time, this guy made me what seemed like a lucrative offer and I agreed.I didn’t know how any of it worked, so I told a friend I was going out and to call or text me in an hour’s time.

We initially met in a park at night, sat in his very, very nice car, had a bit of a flirty chat, then made an appointment. He said he was 58 years old, but I think he was about 15-20 years older than that. A week or two later, I drove over to his apartment.

I was petrified, but I needed the money so I rang the doorbell. It was a lovely apartment, and he paid upfront. He was nice enough. He asked me to do some things that I didn’t want to do, so I said, “Maybe not this time.” Kept an eye on the time (via the helpful clock radio next to the bed) and thankfully he finished on time.

Had a shower, bit of a chat afterwards, and then he kissed me goodbye on the cheek. I think the fact that I said no to rimming annoyed him a little, but he texted later and asked if I would like to do a threesome with another working girl. Things proceeded from there.

Throwaway for obvious reasons, but I’m an actively working girl. My first time was only about a month ago. It was through a website where you make offers to pay a girl to go on a date with you. They had to be very clear that it wasn’t a prostitution website (you compensate for time it said, many many times) but sex was fairly well implied.

My first time was with a 43 year old married man in town on business. He had contacted me about a week prior, through the website, offering $80 for a date. he said he would give me $2000/month for regular sex if we liked each other. I said yes, and he told me which hotel to meet him at and when. He also told me what to wear.

I arrived and he wasn’t too bad looking–slender and way more tan than you normally see as far north as I am. He bought me a drink first at the hotel bar and we talked for a bit. I was unbelievably nervous, but he was fairly reassuring. I was sure everyone knew what I was there for, and I was terrified of anyone calling me out.

Eventually he suggested we head up to his room, and I gave the meekest “okay” that has ever passed my lips. We went up and sat on the bed and chatted a bit more before he kissed me. after a couple seconds he pulled back and said “i like the way you do that. Let’s take off your clothes, and see what else you do well.” I got naked and gave him a blowjob.

I wasn’t really expecting him to finish that way, but he did. After that he laid back on the bed and indicated I should join him so we snuggled and talked for a bit more. Eventually he told me that he thought I was funny and sweet and “too good at that” and that he didn’t want to see me again in case he formed an emotional attachment.

He said he just wanted sex, he didn’t want to mess things up with his wife. I said that was fine and we talked some more. Eventually I started putting my clothes on. I was waiting for him to give me some money, but he wasn’t making any moves in that direction, so I sat and talked with him a little longer.

Eventually I reminded him that we had agreed on $80 for the date, and he acted all surprised. then he made a show of looking for his wallet and then counted out each bill and dropped it on the bed as he did. I took it and left, not accepting his offer to call me a cab. I felt pretty gross. My later experiences were better.

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I was an independent escort for 4 years. My first night, I was ridiculously nervous. I went to an upscale hotel, nervously walked through the lobby, hoping I looked like I belonged there, and not like what I was really there for. As, I was really nervous the whole elevator ride up to his room.

I walk to his room, lightly knock on the door. He opens the door, says (for the story’s sake, we will use the name Sarah) “Hi, Sarah?” and like an idiot I reply with my real name. We laughed it off. It was quick, 10 minutes. He was polite and clean.

In the area for business. I ended up seeing him a few more times over the years, always very nice. Tipped on top of the hourly rate, which was always appreciated and made me choose to see him over other clients in the future.

My first job was a private client, and I was totally calm on my way there and during, it wasn’t until I got into a cab to go home that I started crying. I wasn’t even upset, It was just involuntary.

A month later I joined an agency my first night they gave me this guy who became my first regular, always booked half an hour and I never stayed longer than 10. The other job of the night was in an office in an old industrial estate, two very married man and another escort.

She was really nice and reassuring and helped me get over the initial embarrassment. The rest of the night was just sitting in the car with my driver talking about world war 2 and listening to Frank Sinatra. most of the time I even had fun!

But I still always got butterflies on the drive there. I think it was the anticipation of not knowing who the guy was, they could he sincerely nice or they could be a complete jerk.

This sounds awful, but I was so desperate for money that I posted on Craigslist. Obviously that was stupid and dangerous, but I was 17 and I didn’t think about it. I basically asked people to bid to see who I would go with. Keep in mind this was a suburb in the midwestern US, so the money wasn’t crazy.

I ended up driving 45 minutes to meet a guy who then drove me to his house. Again, so stupid. I can’t believe I didn’t die that night. This dude was like 50, heavy cigarette smoker, smelled like booze. I told him I was 19. (So stupid.) The guy paid me $60/hr for three hours.

He smoked a few bowls, talked about jazz, and then very creepily went on and on about my boobs. I jerked him for like 30 minutes with this horrible rose-scented lotion, blew him, and eventually we had sex. I was impressed he could get it up with how high he was and figured he must be on something else.

That’s mostly what I was thinking about the whole time. I didn’t feel it when he came because I was too concerned trying to give a good performance. So awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice. When I got off him there was no condom on his dick and I freaked until I realized it was still inside me.

We “hung out” for a little while (read: he slept and I tried not to puke) and then he took me back to my car, filled up my tank and gave me $300. All in all, not a horrible first experience, but also not wonderful. He’s called me a few times, but I never went back.

No longer an escort (only saw a few clients and decided I’d rather make money the normal way) but here’s my first experience. Signed up to an escort & cam girl site, my partner couldn’t accompany me to the meet so I got my gay best friend to drive me.

It was in a Travelodge (classy!) And I was super nervous. I’d asked him if there was anything in particular he wanted me to wear, and he had said he wanted me in casual clothes and no make up. Of course, guys don’t really have a clue what girls look like without a stitch of makeup on so I put on foundation, blush and mascara and a cute sundress.

The guy was around fifty (I was twenty at the time) and he mainly wanted to make out and cuddle. For some reason he had covered himself in talcum powder which was odd, and he wasn’t attractive which made it hard for me to get aroused but he seemed very happy.

The thing that weirded me out a little was he kept talking about how young I was and asked me for my real name several times (I had a fake name for obvious reasons). I was reluctant to give him my real name and instead just gave him another fake name.

I told him my real name was Elizabeth but my friends called me Lizzie and he called me Lizzie for the remainder of the appointment – then had the cheek to try and haggle me down for an extra hour which I declined. Afterwards, when I was 300 quid richer for an hour of “work”, I felt strangely empowered.

I was 22, just graduated with a BA in a major that would make me no money. Moved in with my parents and was on a downward spiral. I posted on Craigslist ($400 an hour, I had no clue about rates and still don’t but from this thread it seems high) and met a man the next night at his house for an agreed-upon 30 minutes.

We sat on the couch and talked a little bit. He ran a small business, divorced, overweight, 40s. Really ordinary and quite nice, actually. He took me into the bedroom and there were lit candles and a bottle of lube on the nightstand. I wouldn’t kiss him for awhile, but he seemed lonely I guess?

I eventually did. (Stupid, probably.) He put a condom on and I blew him for awhile, but he didn’t stay hard consistently. I climbed on and rode him and he didn’t come by the time the 30 minutes were up. As, I liked him, so I kept going until he finished — maybe another 20 minutes? I didn’t charge him for the extra.

I didn’t enjoy it as much as I would with a regular partner, but it wasn’t bad. After we finished he thanked me and we hugged. He suggested that next time he make a spaghetti dinner and we could eat and get to know each other.It wasn’t as bad as I had expected, and I wasn’t traumatized, but I never did it again. I’m not sure why. He texted me several times after and eventually I told him I’d moved.

This was only a few months ago. I haven’t made the best decisions in life. As, I was still 18 at the time and I moved out on my own. I started having a hard time making rent so I started posting ads and going on “dating” sites.

I got a lot of attention and started to talk to a lot of men but never actually went through any of it. That was until a month later or so and I got desperate and finally accepted an offer from one guy I had been talking to for a while.

He was in his 40s, from another town, and offered me $900 for the night.When the night came along, he booked a hotel, and I went over there some time that evening. I was so nervous, I could barely speak a word when I got there. He was an average looking guy.

I wasn’t attracted to him but it didn’t cross my mind that it mattered. I was still about to have sex with someone I technically just met, and for money. He ended up offering drinks (yes, I know how stupid this was now that I think about it) and I got drunk enough eventually to relax a lot more. Once I was relaxed, he started kissing me, we eventually got naked, performed oral.

We had sex twice and he got off in less than two minutes each time. Which was a really good thing because he was bigger than I expected too. After that, we just went to sleep and I left in the morning. yes, i stayed over night which was probably another dumb thing to do but oh well.

I guess it ended up being better than I expected but maybe I was just luckier than some girls here that he wasn’t too creepy or gross. Since then I’ve only done this twice more but not with him.

I remember the first time I accepted money for sex. A guy messaged me on a gay dating site. I was 17 at the time, “18” on my profile. This man (60-something years old) offered me $100 to suck my dick. I knew I was down immediately. I countered back that I’d do it for $150, and he had to let me watch porn while he did it.

“Can I swallow it?” Uh yeah, duh.So I went to his place. As a (28 year old) adult now, I think – what the fuck… that guy could have murdered me. He could have raped me. He could have cut my skin off to wear it like a dress. But he didn’t do any of those things.

He put on some porn for me (very helpful, as I wasn’t attracted to him at all). I pulled out my dick, started jacking off, and once I was hard he sucked me to completion. $150. Thank you very much.

“Would you be willing to come again some time?” Uh yeah, duh. So I would head over to his place about once a month. Cum. Get paid. Repeat. When I moved away for college I found similar guys. Old men. Fat men.

Especially ugly men. I never had to make them cum. They just wanted to make me cum. So that’s what I sold them – a chance to make a hot young guy with a big dick cum. (forgive the vulgarity).

It was all about letting these guys fantasize that they had gotten me without paying for me. I learned quickly that they were happier if I could make them feel like it wasn’t an exchange. My favorite/fondest memory though was one guy who didn’t even want that.

He wanted someone to cuddle with, rub against. We stayed in our underwear. I actually sort of felt good about visiting him because it didn’t feel as gross. He just wanted human contact. And I gave that to him. For a price, but I gave it to him.

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