#poor egg quality

[gaudiumivf]

Understanding Poor Egg Quality and its Influence on IVF Success

For individuals facing poor egg quality, there are some strategies that the Best IVF Doctors in Mumbai may employ to improve their chances of success during IVF. Supplementing certain antioxidants and vitamins, like coenzyme Q10 or vitamin E, might help reduce oxidative stress and potentially enhance egg quality.

[crystaivf]

Poor Egg Quality: Symptoms, Causes, And Treatment

Poor egg quality refers to eggs that are less likely to fertilize or develop into a viable embryo, and is a common cause of infertility in women.

Poor egg quality may not have any specific symptoms:

Irregular menstrual cycles

Shorter or longer cycles than usual

A history of recurrent miscarriage

Failed IVF cycles

Decreased response to fertility medications

Explore more at: https://crystaivf.com/blogs/poor-egg-quality-symptoms-causes-treatment/

[alexvals]

just watched through pepito and cellbit time yesterday.... i am UNWELL. spiderbit family why you gotta hurt like that

[pupkou]

can we come together as a community and be honest with ourselves .. because i’m tired of seeing everything turned into an egg roll. not everything needs to be an egg roll

[thelooniemoonie]

i love you congee thank you congee

[samrudhfertility]

Medical Conditions That Can Cause Poor Egg Quality

Egg quality is a crucial factor in a woman’s fertility. Poor egg quality can significantly impact a woman's ability to conceive naturally or through assisted reproductive technologies like IVF (in vitro fertilization). Various medical conditions can lead to poor egg quality, making it challenging for women to achieve their dream of parenthood. In this article, we'll explore some of these medical conditions and how seeking help from an IVF clinic in Padmanabhanagar, Bangalore can provide solutions.

1. Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS)

PCOS is one of the most common causes of infertility in women. It is a hormonal disorder characterized by irregular menstrual cycles, excessive androgen levels, and polycystic ovaries. Women with PCOS often experience poor egg quality due to hormonal imbalances that affect ovulation. These hormonal imbalances can prevent the eggs from maturing properly, leading to difficulties in conception.

2. Endometriosis

Endometriosis occurs when the tissue that normally lines the inside of the uterus grows outside it. This condition can cause inflammation and scarring, which may affect the ovaries and fallopian tubes. The presence of endometriosis can lead to poor egg quality due to the inflammatory environment it creates around the ovaries. This inflammation can disrupt the normal development and maturation of eggs.

3. Age-Related Decline

As women age, the quality and quantity of their eggs naturally decline. This age-related decline is due to a decrease in the number of viable eggs and an increase in the likelihood of genetic abnormalities. Women over the age of 35 often experience a significant drop in egg quality, making it harder to conceive. For those seeking assistance, an IVF clinic in Padmanabhanagar, Bangalore can offer advanced treatments and technologies to improve their chances of success.

4. Primary Ovarian Insufficiency (POI)

Primary Ovarian Insufficiency, also known as premature ovarian failure, occurs when the ovaries stop functioning properly before the age of 40. Women with POI have a reduced number of eggs, and the eggs they do have may be of poor quality. This condition can result from genetic factors, autoimmune diseases, or other unknown causes. POI can make natural conception difficult, but treatments at an IVF clinic in Padmanabhanagar, Bangalore can provide hope.

5. Thyroid Disorders

Thyroid disorders, such as hypothyroidism and hyperthyroidism, can impact a woman's fertility by affecting her menstrual cycle and ovulation. An underactive thyroid (hypothyroidism) can lead to irregular periods and what causes poor egg quality , while an overactive thyroid (hyperthyroidism) can cause similar issues. Proper management of thyroid conditions is essential for maintaining good reproductive health.

6. Diabetes

Diabetes, especially if poorly controlled, can affect a woman's reproductive system. High blood sugar levels can interfere with hormone regulation, ovulation, and the overall health of the eggs. Women with diabetes should work closely with their healthcare providers to manage their condition and improve their chances of conception.

7. Autoimmune Diseases

Autoimmune diseases, such as lupus and rheumatoid arthritis, can negatively impact egg quality. These conditions can cause chronic inflammation and immune system dysfunction, which can affect the ovaries and the eggs they produce. Managing autoimmune diseases through medical treatment and lifestyle changes is crucial for maintaining fertility.

Seeking Help from an IVF Clinic in Padmanabhanagar, Bangalore

For women facing fertility challenges due to poor egg quality, consulting with an experienced fertility specialist at an IVF clinic in Padmanabhanagar, Bangalore can make a significant difference. These clinics offer advanced diagnostic tools and treatments tailored to address specific medical conditions affecting egg quality. Options such as IVF, egg freezing, and preimplantation genetic testing can improve the chances of a successful pregnancy.

Conclusion

what causes poor egg quality can be caused by various medical conditions, including PCOS, endometriosis, age-related decline, POI, thyroid disorders, diabetes, and autoimmune diseases. Understanding these conditions and seeking appropriate treatment is essential for women who wish to conceive. An IVF clinic in Padmanabhanagar, Bangalore can provide specialized care and innovative solutions to help women overcome these challenges and achieve their dream of parenthood.

[artfertilityclinicsposts]

Unveiling the Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment of Poor Egg Quality | ART Fertility Clinic

Discover the root causes, common symptoms, and effective treatment options for poor egg quality at ART Fertility Clinic. Explore how we can help you achieve your dream of parenthood with our specialized fertility solutions

[less-freshly-vegan]

Obviously animals raised for their skin, meat, milk and eggs are treated extremely well because a stressed animal gives poor quality skin/meat/milk/eggs. A farmer isn't going to cut corners or do the bare minimum, nevermind outright abuse the animals, because that would be bad for the output.

It's similiar to how employees are always treated well. Companies know that stressed employees work poorly, so they never underpay, or expect ridiculously long hours, or bad working conditions, because it's bad for output.

[grymghoul]

It didn't take long for you to find out that teasing ARTHUR MORGAN was fun. Batting your lashes at him is one thing.. you take it to a whole other level. The moment there's no eyes on you two, your palm is pressed to the front of his pants. You can trace the outline of his cock and you won't stop until you can feel every vein and ridge. Until his head is neatly outlined against the inside of his right thigh. Then you scoot off to do something else, smiling in self satisfaction. Sometimes, when he's journaling or otherwise distracted, you'll sneak between his thighs. Not really sneak, he's all too aware of your presence and the almost nuisance like quality you contain. Hell, his hand even rests on the crown of your head, a subconscious tic. However, it always jolts him when he feels your hot mouth on him from outside his pants. He'll shift his hips, as if asking nicely for you to not tease him this time. It's like you're trying to suck on him from outside of his jeans. He can be a proud man, but he's not too proud to admit he's almost cum from that alone. You can be absolutely torturous to the poor man. He'll bite his bottom lip, try to go back to journaling or reading, he'll tug at your hair. None of it deters you. Especially the hair tugging, seeing him squirm and be too much of a gentleman to tell you to stop unless you plan to choke on his cock. Some of the things he can be teased with are so simple, it's nearly laughable. When you tug him by his belt, the bandana around his neck, even tugging on a singular button of his shirt gets him going. Just enough for his dick to twitch. The worst part? You always choose times where he can't just have you. He can't just pull you into bed and fuck the teasing right out of your silly brain. He can't just shove you face first into the mattress and egg you on for as long as he wants, ignoring your whimpers and sobs. Partially because he's not entirely a degenerate, the other part is that canvas tents aren't really sound proof. He makes a whole elaborate show of getting you back. A nice (as nice as it can get) dinner, something fun like dancing, and a room for the night. Complete with a bath. He's sure to space it out between your teases and his nights out with you that you remain unsuspecting. But the second he's got you well fed and pampered and entertained (so you can't cause him anymore grief), he's on you. Deep kisses and wandering hands, slowly your clothes fall off. Before you realize it, he's got you crying out into your pillow, make up all ruined (he insisted you dress nice for this outing, he really just wanted your face to stain even more hotel pillows). He thought he was so clever. That you'd never catch on. That you'd always be in the dark. He never stopped to wonder why you insisted on teasing him so much.

[hoe4sports]

Expantion

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: After a miscarriage, you are pregnant again hopeful that this time will be it. But this time, things are not what you hoped they would be.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Something is wrong. The midwife is taking an extra second look at the ultrasound. She’s stopped talking. She’s stopped smiling. She’s stopped everything. She’s just looking. Her eyes glued to the screen without as much as an emotion on her face. She’s moving the probe. And looking some more. Oh no. Not again. Your heartbeat was increasing. It felt like it was about to beat through your chest. You had miscarried once already. The first IVF attempt had surprisingly worked. Only to be ripped away from you after 2 months. No heartbeat. No baby. No future. You had decided that you were ready to try again just shy of Christmas. It was now May, and summer was fast approaching. Alexia had been stuck in traffic as practice had been running late, and she was just around the corner. You couldn’t even imagine having to tell her that once again; your body had killed her egg, her baby. The first time it happened, she didn’t say much. She was so supportive that I t hurt. But when she thought you were sleeping, she let her tears flow. How was she gonna react to this again? What was a third try gonna look like? Would she even want to go for a third try? You didn’t know if that was a possibility. Due to the poor state of her eggs, you didn’t get many good eggs from her, and very few of them had matured into good quality embryos ready for transfer. It had all happened in a short amount of time: from kissing her for the first time to buying a house and trying for a baby all in the span of 3 years. What if she couldn’t handle this? You got nauseous by the thought of it.

“Sorry, I’m just gonna go and get the doctor. Just wait here mrs.Putellas.” The midwife said as she stood up and walked out. You reached for your phone as you pulled your sweater down causing the gel to stick to the inside of your sweater. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to see the tiny bump. You didn’t want to let the doctor see the bumb. You didn’t want the doctor to tell you that your baby was dead. You wanted to hide the bump, and to run away so you didn’t have to deal with reality just yet. You had to once again tell Alexia that you fucked up. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s mistake. It had to be yours. You had been so careful, but you had that one piece of shrimp you shouldn’t have had a few weeks ago and you had a stomachache a few days ago without connecting in to the pregnancy. Alexia had insisted on seeing a doctor, but you insisted that you were perfectly fine. And now you were paying the consequences for it.

“Hola, mi amor, lo siento mucho. The traffic was horrible, so I parked upfront. Don’t expect anything but a fine” the Spaniard sang as she walked into the room, a little out if breath. Her smile quickly faded as she saw your serious grin. “Preciousa, are you okay, no?” She asked with a shaky voice as she pulled a chair out to sit close to you while she grabbed your hand. You shook your head as tears formed in your eyes. “Ale, she said that she was gonna get the doctor to come look” you mumbled as your head hang down. “Oh” alexia said as her good energy died out. “I’mo sorry” you said as you buried your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, ale. I’ll do better next time, I promise” you said as a tear escaped your eye. “Amor, let’s wait for the doctor. It will be okay. I can get some time off and we can travel, just stay at a resort and relax in the heat, si?” She said as her hand touched your belly as if it was purely routine. “But for now, let’s wait for the doctor” she said as she kissed the side of your tiny belly that were still covered by your sweater. You nodded as you tried to distract yourself with the thought of going on vacation. Thailand would be nice, or Bali. Or south-Africa. Greece was also nice, but you had already been there. Cap verde was close and had lots of beautiful beaches. You sat in silence for a while until the door swung open again. “Sorry again, Mrs.Putellas, let’s take a look now shall we” the older woman said as she gestured for the doctor to sit down on the chair to look at the ultrasound. You unwillingly leaned backwards and pulled up your sweater awaiting your penalty. The midwife pointed on the screen and the doctor nodded. “Mhm, I see” she said as she moved the probe around on your belly. You held your breath terrified of the words that were about to come out of her mouth. You didn’t wanna hear it. You gripped Alexia’s hand hard and got a second of reassurance when she squeezed back.

“So, the results. Two things.” The doctor started as your heart-rate skyrocketed. Alexia gripped tighter in your hand and you felt her skin becoming somewhat damp. “First: Your little girl is perfectly fine, she’s small for her age, but she’s getting there” the doctor said as you gasped. Your little girl. A girl. A girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes looking like her mami. “A girl?” Alexia said as her eyes teared up. The doctor nodded as she smiled. “A girl, a princesa” she said as she smiled. She turned around the screen of the ultrasound so you could see your daughter. She was moving her legs slightly, but she still wasn’t big enough that you could feel it. “The second thing i wanted to tell you is, well, exactly that. Second. The second baby is also a girl. Twins. Most likely identical.” She said. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. “Que? There’s-there’s two?” alexia said as she scooted closer to the screen as the doctor pointed out the second twin. “Si, dos, correct. She was just hiding behind her sister, which is why she hasn’t shown herself yet” the doctor explained as she gave tons of information about how check ups were gonna have to happen more often than before. You didn’t catch any of it, as you were just releaved that the baby was alive. Your eyes were glued to the baby on the screen. Well, the babies. The girls. Your two girls. They were fine, healthy and growing. You were snapped out of your thoughts when the doctor and the midwife left the room to allow you to breathe. None of you said a word. The room was dead quiet.

“I-I guess we need to go shopping again” she stuttered while looking it you. You nodded. “Two cribs, two strollers, two carseats for both of the cars, oh my god! Do we need a new car to fit the girls??” She panicked as her eyes widened kicking your brain into action. “Babe, it’s okay. There is two girls. They are both healthy. Everything is good. We are all good.” You said as you stood up and embraced her. She held you tight. “God, I just can’t believe it. There are gonna be little girls running around soon. Not just any little girls, our little girls” she said as she wrapped her arms around you kissing the top of your head. “Yea, our little girls. And twice the love” You said as you breathed in her scent instantly calming you. “Our perfect little girls” she said as she placed a hand on your belly. «Our perfect little girls» you repeated as she kissed you.

[sserpente]

My Pleasure

Excerpt from Gortash's Private Memoirs, No. 48:

Quite recently, I have been able to observe an interesting phenomenon. The new tadpoles, as per my last visit to Moonrise Towers, are forming a protective layer, a membrane, around themselves, a process resembling that of a human or an elven embryo. These rather soft “eggs” filled with brine allow the tadpole to grow without any external influences which in turn improves its quality for later use.

In order to fully embrace this potential, I have a theory that once put into practice, will be exceeding the effectiveness of the brine pools, enabling the production of more tadpoles directly in Baldur’s Gate—as soon as I’ve had it relocated to the city. And all I will need is a woman.

A/N: Okay, hear me out. This is the most depraved, most vile, most perverted, and filthiest thing I have ever written. I actually pondered for a couple of days whether I should post it or not but you know what? Fuck it. The Emperor inspired me. Somehow I really enjoyed writing it and I bet there’ll be at least one person out there who will enjoy reading it and that’s good enough for me. Please, for the love of the gods, HEED THE WARNINGS before proceeding and if you realise this story isn’t for you…don’t keep on reading, don’t traumatise yourself. And if anyone who worked on BG3 one way or another comes across this Imagine and wants to read it…please just don’t? :D

Words: 4435

Warnings: dub-con & non-con smut, abduction & captivity, angst

Additional NSFW warnings: tentacles, ovipositor (yeah that’s a thing I had to google it), eggs, bondage, forced orgasms, edging, mechanical sex device, CMNF, sexual submission, scientific experiment

Gortash’s Private Memoirs, No. 48

The increased production of altered tadpoles is coming to fruition but I cannot help but ponder over how to guarantee success even quicker. Last night, I had a devilishly promising idea. The tadpoles thrive best in warm, dark, and wet environments, hence the brine pools in which they are birthed.

Quite recently, I have been able to observe an interesting phenomenon. The new tadpoles, as per my last visit to Moonrise Towers, are forming a protective layer, a membrane, around themselves, a process resembling that of a human or an elven embryo. These rather soft “eggs” filled with brine allow the tadpole to grow without any external influences which in turn improves its quality for later use.

In order to fully embrace this potential, I have a theory that once put into practice, will be exceeding the effectiveness of the brine pools, enabling the production of more tadpoles directly in Baldur’s Gate—as soon as I’ve had it relocated to the city. And all I will need is a woman.

The idea is to insert the tadpole eggs into the vaginal canal of an elven, a human, or a tiefling woman (or any person with a uterus) where they will remain until they are fully grown. If my theory is correct, the eggs will allow the host to easily expel them once they are ready. From there, the eggs will be placed back in a single remaining brine pool where they can hatch, ready for insertion into a citizen.

Your journey, unfortunate as it was, began innocently enough. You came to Baldur’s Gate seeking refuge after the army of the Absolute laid waste to your home. You had nothing left. No gold, no possessions, and nothing more than the clothes you were wearing on your body when you fled.

Baldur’s Gate was your only hope—until it wasn’t. Perhaps the alarm bells should have started ringing when after the eerie assessment of a Steel Watcher—the new guards of the city, so you learned—you were let through past poor and terrified families with children, only to be escorted directly to Wyrm’s Rock by a Fist.

Oblivious still, you obliged, thinking they would need you to register, to record your name. But your journey led you further until you found yourself in the dungeons of the fortress.

And then—darkness, as if someone had taken your memory and left you with nothing but pictorial crumbs and aching limbs.

“Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?” Lord Enver Gortash stepped into view after a heavy door fell shut behind him, a sly and cold smile on his lips.

“Please…please let me go.”

It was a game the two of you played. Gortash would show up, loom over you, and mock, tracking his progress—your progress—and you’d plead for him for mercy. The taste of humiliation had long gone stale. Your half-torn dress, the last one you’d owned, was in shreds, revealing your entire lower body and the most intimate parts of you to his calculated gaze.

“You know I cannot do that, my dear. Not when we are so close to success.”

You were his first, he’d said. That he’d seen you through the eyes of his Steel Watch. That you made the perfect test subject.

Lord Enver Gortash—the people’s hero, the city’s saviour…the ruthless tyrant in disguise.

Bound and helpless and at his mercy, he’d taken you captive and had you brought to a secret hideout underneath the Upper City. Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks.

You didn’t know what his plan was. He’d never told you what it was that he wanted from you—what he wanted from your body. Only that not a single day passed on which you were not being violated. Not by him…but by whatever thing he’d tamed. A monster? Perhaps. You’d never seen its face, never even seen a real body—only its long phallic tentacles with a small opening boring themselves deep into your core, again and again, and again.

It was the same procedure every day. Of course, it was. This was your life now. Your body was a tool for whatever sick game Gortash was playing.

You heard them before you saw them. The slimy, slithering sounds of those things. The archduke raised his fist, a purple gemstone illuminating the dimly lit room he kept you in.

A whimper escaped your lips when the tentacles writhed around your thighs and your waist, holding you in place for the vile act they were about to perform on you. There was no pain, at least—the tentacle slipped inside you effortlessly, its shiny saliva, discharge, whatever it was, acting as an odourless lubricant. In, out, in, out. It wasn’t getting any pleasure from the act, nor was it trying to bestow it on you, this much you’d learned quickly. This was about something else entirely. The tentacle curled inside you as if to probe you, to explore you. You winced when it slid across your walls and pressed against your cervix for a moment. Then…it stilled until eventually, it released you and retreated back into the darkness.

Gortash sighed—disappointed by this outcome—he was every day. “A shame. There must be something I am missing.”

“Please…if you let me go, I swear I won’t tell a soul about this.”

Gortash chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t, my dear. But alas, I still need you.”

“Why me?” you whined. “What are you doing to me? What is this…this thing?”

“So many questions… Well, I suppose I can answer one of them at least. Why you? Because it was convenient. You are not Baldurian. Your absence from the city will go unnoticed. You are young, potent, durable…you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, my dear.”

“F-for what? Durable for what? For…for this?”

Gortash only chuckled in response. His dark eyes fell on the half-eaten stew from a few hours ago when one of his men you’d recognised as a Banite, reluctantly fed it to you.

“I’ll have something else brought down for you to eat. You’ll need your strength if our little experiment is to work.”

“N-No, fuck you! Please, don’t leave. Please, just…just stop, please, I’ll do anything, please!” You thrashed against your bonds, hot tears burning in your eyes.

Gortash smirked. “Such inappropriate language for a lady. I shall see you tomorrow, my dear.”

Your screams and curses ricocheted off the walls as he left, leaving you to your fate once again and to ponder over how travelling to Baldur’s Gate as an innocent refugee had turned your life into an utter nightmare.

Gortash’s Private Memoirs, No. 49

It turns out that the brain was rejecting the girl for a very specific reason. I was missing a rather significant variable. Arousal. In order for a female to grow warm, wet, and receptive, in this case for the tadpole eggs, she too needs to be in a, let us say, welcoming state.

The tadpoles are used to a wet environment such as that—the vaginal canal will therefore have to replicate it if the brain is to deposit the eggs inside of her.

Now it is highly unlikely to get the test subject into such an aroused state without any external help and additional stimulation. The girl is terrified enough as is, even if I did command the brain to work her to climax and then keep her in a libidinous state, the attempt would prove fruitless.

Taking care of the matter myself is unthinkable, of course. I am Lord Enver Gortash, it is beneath me to lay a hand on a poor refugee girl to pleasure her of all things—even though I will admit that the thought has crossed my mind. My own needs have come rather short since the retrieval of the Crown and with the Urge gone, I have no one else to blow off some steam with every now and then.

Be that as it may, over the last week, I have created a contraption that will easily get the job done for me and simplify this little experiment immensely. In order for it to work, it is of idle importance to focus on the clitoral region. My contraption will stimulate the area with both suction and vibrations.

Connected directly to the brain, it can be powered for a long period of time, enabling me to keep the girl in a constant state of arousal without my interference.

And, on a personal note, the result will truly be a sight to behold.

Gortash did not return the next day, nor the day after. You remained sleepless most nights, dozing off every now and then during the day. Not that you were able to distinguish between day and night anyway. You counted the meals, however. Seven. Seven days went by without him continuing to torment you, and even though the suspense was killing you, the retreating soreness in your aching core, that reminder of those tentacles claiming your cunt for themselves, ebbing away slowly, was a welcome break.

On day eight, the tyrant returned. Your stomach churned when you heard him approach, the way his steps sounded long engrained in your brain.

“Good morning, my dear. I sure hope you haven’t missed me too much. My apologies for neglecting you. I had a couple of things to take care of—archduke duties, you understand.”

“No, please…please, just…”

“Hush now, my dear. Lest I’ll gag you. I believe I realised what my mistake was. The brain has no grounds for breeding if the host is not receptive. It’s kind of obvious once you think about it, really.”

Breeding? “The b-brain? What brain?”

His response never came. You watched him, terrified, as he raised his fist, his purple gemstone glowing yet again.

He spoke up when those loathsome tentacles wrapped around your thighs and your waist to hold you in place, their wet squelching noises sending ice-cold shivers up and down your spine.

“Oh gods…no, please no… s-stop…make it stop…you don’t have to do this, please!”

The archduke did not react—at least not in a way you’d like him to. Instead, he stepped forward, an eerie metal contraption with four metal claw arms and a small, suspicious-looking hole in his hands.

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear. Today is going to be a lot more pleasurable for you than usual.” With that, and ignoring your weak protests, he latched the metal device onto your exposed cunt. The claw arms sprang into action and gripped you immediately, wrapping around the very crease where your thighs and your pubic bone met, the other two dug into your butt cheeks, clinging on to you, lodging the contraption in place. Gortash pressed it down on you further until the round opening enveloped your clit.

You froze. Was he going to hurt you? Torture you? Even without extensive biology lessons on human anatomy at school, it was common knowledge the clitoris had over eight thousand nerve endings. It was sensitive. The pain this little device could inflict…

He left you no time to ponder over it. It hummed to life, tightening around your cunt. But instead of pain, what rippled through you was…pleasure. A gentle suction increasing gradually, combined with soft pulsing vibrations pampering your sensitive bundle of nerves peacefully, having you grow more and more…aroused.

No. This was wrong. You shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here, not when…you gasped when Gortash placed his hand on your bare stomach, the metal claws of his jewellery caressing your skin almost gently.

“That’s it, my dear. Let it happen. You are going to enjoy this one way or another so there is no use fighting it.”

“W-Why are you doing this?” you breathed out.

“You’ll see soon enough. You are going to be part of something extraordinary, dear. You should be honoured.”

You didn’t feel honoured. But you did feel arousal. Your breathing quickened, your core growing warm, wet. It felt…good. And that, given your hopeless situation, was horrifying. You didn’t want this, not like this, not with this faceless beast violating your body, and not in front of him. He had no right to watch you during such an intimate moment and yet…when the suction on your clit increased once again, a moan escaped your lips. Whatever this device was, it had but one purpose—to force an orgasm from you.

Panting, you writhed against your bonds, the tentacles only tightening around you in response and the suction and the vibrations increasing as if the more you resisted, the more Gortash—and whatever this thing was—wanted you to relax into it.

The thick tentacle inside you moved with tenacity, probing and prodding where it didn’t belong. Only this time…this time your body couldn’t help but welcome it. You were lost. Lost in the pleasure, the bliss forced upon you. And the more time passed…the longer Gortash watched every single one of your desperate movements…the more any coherent thoughts left your mind until all there was left was an overwhelming desire…to come.

He was edging you, biding his time. His dark eyes were glued on your pussy as the thick tentacle disappeared inside you again and again and again. Squelching wet sounds echoed through the dimly lit room, riling you up even further. It was your own slickness this time producing these noises…and the more your arousal grew, the more you found yourself giving up all refusal.

You let your head fall back, unable to escape the invasive treatment any longer.

“That should suffice now. You’ve done well, my dear.” Gortash’s hand wandered down to your lower belly, the purple gemstone glowing. “Let us take this up a notch now, shall we?”

“N-n-no…”

Your weak protest fell on deaf ears. Without any forewarning, the pressure on your clit increased even more, the suction growing almost painful. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you had wanted to; the pleasure rippling through you like lightning in a thunderstorm conjured by the gods as you fell apart before him, your wet and aching walls clenching and contracting around the still moving tentacle inside you. You gave in, letting your orgasm consume you. The relief was so overwhelming you were on the verge of tears once the last waves of pleasure subsided and left you shaking in your bonds.

Gortash chuckled darkly. “Bravo…” he praised, his tone condescending, almost mocking.

But this wasn’t over yet, for it was then you felt something being released into your warmth, the tentacle still buried deep in your pussy pumping something into you. Gortash pressed his palm down on your lower belly as if to confirm what was happening.

Your eyes widened as it popped into you, the momentary pressure making you flinch.

“Good, good…keep going.” He wasn’t addressing you anymore. But there was something else you realised. Whatever these tentacles were, whatever they belonged to, they were pumping their eggs into you. Another one plopped in, then another, then another. You whimpered, fear digging its claws deep into your intestines, your heart pounding.

You counted five eggs until it finally stopped and the tentacle retreated. Trembling and with chattering teeth, you found Gortash’s satisfied expression.

“Very good…”

It was his words that finally triggered your full-blown panic, the shock of what had just happened sinking in. You couldn’t feel the eggs inside you anymore, they were small enough not to stretch you out painfully but knowing they were there in the first place…you gasped for air, fending off a panic attack. What if they hatched inside of you? What if whatever was growing inside you now would eventually bite and claw its way out, ripping you open?

“P-please, please, I beg you…get them out of me, please. Please do something, please, please, please…get them o-out of me…” Your words were drowned in sobs and tears, yet Gortash remained unfazed.

“There, there, there is nothing to worry about, my dear. The eggs won’t have to stay up there for too long. A couple of days, at most. Do not attempt to push them out before then,” he demanded—and the fear of what he might do to you if you disobeyed was somehow even greater than what the eggs inside you might do to you after what he already put you through.

“Am I going to die? Is this going to kill me?” you choked out.

“Of course not. Not if you behave. Rest now. I shall return to you soon, my dear. Don’t go anywhere.” He removed his hand from your lower belly and left with a malicious chuckle.

Gortash did not return for another five days, yet his contraption remained latched onto your body, unwillingly bestowing pleasure on you and keeping you in a constant state of arousal, edging you—but never allowing you to finish. To keep the eggs wet. To keep them warm and comfortable. Soon…soon…

Soon this would all be over and perhaps then the tyrannical archduke would let you go, surely. There were no thoughts remaining in your head other than your freedom and relief—sexual relief. Every cell of your body was on fire, and you were sure that the slightest touch, perhaps from a clawed hand, could toss you over the edge and have you coming for hours.

Thinking straight was not an option anymore. It was a luxury you couldn’t afford, not with your nerves turning into lava. You used to welcome the breaks in between—now, they were pure torture, a merciless reminder that Gortash held your pleasure in his hands—and he wasn’t even here.

Perhaps the fact you stopped eating by day three was what had him pay you another visit. Perhaps he merely thought that those disgusting eggs inside of you were ready to hatch. You didn’t feel any different down there. They didn’t grow in size, didn’t move, didn’t poke. But knowing they were there…

You took a deep breath when the door opened and you recognised his footsteps approaching, preparing to start the so-familiar game of begging.

“P-please…” But this time, it was different. You didn’t want to ask him to stop. You wanted him to end it. To finish it—to let you experience the relief he’d been withholding from you for the past five days.

“Please what, my dear? You’re doing quite well…though I am a little concerned you are refusing the food I had my servants bring down. This isn’t some sort of belated rebellion, is it?”

You fought hard to shake your head, tears of exhaustion burning in your eyes. You flinched when the metal contraption hummed to life yet again, vibrating and sucking and forcing you to the edge within seconds.

“P-please…I need to come…I can’t…I can’t…take it anymore. It’s t-too much…please…”

“Hmm…” It was gone before you could be sure but for a moment, you believed to spot genuine desire in his dark eyes. His gaze skimmed over your helpless and trembling body, over your hardened nipples poking through the ruined fabric of your dress, drenched in sweat, and over your exposed sex gushing with your juices. “I don’t see why not. I think we can take the next step. Come, my dear.”

His words alone would have been enough to make you oblige, yet as if on cue, the device’s efforts intensified too. You were barely able to process how fast it tossed you down an endless cliff of bliss and relief. Your orgasm was almost painful as pleasure as sweet as honey and as sharp as glass pulsed through you, making you see stars.

You could feel the eggs now. You were contracting around them, your body forcing them out.

“Very good,” Gortash purred. “Keep going. Push. Them. Out.”

And so you did. Eager to be rid of the foreign spawn resting inside of you. You took a deep breath, the intensity of your climax still clouding your senses, and pushed. At this point, you wouldn’t even have cared if you had peed yourself right in front of him. All you wanted was for this to be over and…more pleasure.

What?

The first two eggs popped out of you, covered in your slick juices and you propped yourself up as best as you could to catch a glimpse of them. Then you wished you hadn’t. They were almost see-through and milky, a tadpole-shaped creature swimming inside acidic-looking water. You were even more eager now to get them out of you, pushing even harder.

Another two eggs plopped out, followed quickly by the last one. You breathed out, relieved. Finally. They’re gone…they’re gone…

Gortash snapped his fingers and seemingly out of nowhere, a Banite hurried toward you to collect the eggs with thick leather gloves on. Where he took them, you didn’t even want to find out. You were glad they were out of sight. And then, at last, he removed the contraption and set it aside.

Your clit was numb—fuck, your entire pussy was numb, and yet…as his fingers brushed over your pelvis…you moaned.

“You have become part of a scientific breakthrough today, my dear. You should be proud.”

“I…I’m…I…”

“Hmm? What’s that? Gods, look at you, you’re a mess.” His eyes found your dripping sex, lingering there a little too long. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t shake your head. You didn’t deny it. Your walls were tingling, needy for something else to mould around. Because he was right. You did need more. And you hated your body for it.

“Beg me,” he demanded.

Your eyes widened in response.

“I…I…”

“Go ahead. Beg me. You want something from me, my dear.”

You swallowed. There wasn’t much of your pride left anyway. “P-please…”

“Please what?”

“Please…h-help me.”

Gortash tilted his head, clearly amused by your weak request—but he seemed satisfied.

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when he opened his trousers and pulled out his cock. You had affected him. He was hard. Or perhaps it was the simple fact you were in such a submissive state that had gotten him so aroused.

He positioned himself between your legs, his red tip pressing against your slick entrance. There was no need to prepare you for this after all. One way or another…you had begged him for it.

Gortash pushed inside with but one long thrust, slipping inside you to the hilt. You whimpered when his pelvis, lined with curly black hair, brushed against your clit. It was no gentle lovemaking. It was pure, carnal fucking.

He withdrew almost entirely, his fingers digging into your thighs. The metal claws hurt like a bitch but you were so beyond any sensation aside from pleasure you barely registered it. When he plunged back in, you gasped for air, his steady and frantic rhythm eliciting moan after moan after moan.

This…was heavenly. His strokes were caressing your walls, hitting all those pleasurable spots times and times again until you turned into an all but whining mess on the brink of orgasm.

“I can feel you tightening around me…” he purred, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Go ahead. Come. Come.”

His words were like a trigger. Unable to resist, you threw your head back, clenching your fists. Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, pulling you into a restless sea of bliss. You contracted around him, your sex begging him for his seed.

Your eyes widened when he groaned and with one final thrust, buried himself as deep inside you as he could and stilled. You were not on birth control… you could only pray that Gortash had planned ahead for this.

His breathing calmed again, and so did yours. Eventually, after a few moments of surprisingly comfortable silence, he withdrew, sending a wet noise through the dimly lit room. He tucked his cock away as if none of this had just happened. When you looked up, you noticed the satisfied smirk in his eyes.

“Please don’t…put eggs in me again, please… I’ll do anything!” And you meant it. Perhaps it was your mushy brain malfunctioning as a result of being edged for so long. And now that Gortash himself had taken pleasure from you…he might feel something like empathy for you?

“Anything?” He smirked. But the tyrant ignored your pathetic request. “Do you feel better now, my dear?”

You nodded, unable to lie even if you had wanted to.

He chuckled and turned to leave. “Good. I’ll have someone sent down to get you out of these bonds.”

He’d let you go. It was over. You’d done it… Against all reason, you smiled, relief flushing your entire body.

Gortash’s Private Memoirs, No. 50

I spoke too harshly, perhaps. The tadpoles, just like I predicted, are doing fine, of course. They are stronger than ever and developed much quicker than even I anticipated. I will soon have some Black Gauntlets sent out to fetch some more subjects.

But this very first test subject…I found myself quite surprised I enjoyed holding her pleasure in my hands. After the insertion of the eggs, she turned into a helpless mess, completely defenceless. She practically begged me to fuck her. And I must admit, the sight of her slick sex did stir a fire in my loins. So I obliged. For I, Lord Enver Gortash, too have needs, do I not?

The girl did her job well. She was…as obedient as can be in her predicament. Such behaviour should be rewarded. Needless to say, she begged me to let her go after I had my fill of her. But I think I have a better idea. I have long been toying with the idea of getting myself a concubine to keep my bed warm at night. And after what I have put her through, she is way too terrified to cause me any trouble or pry into my business.

The plan will be as follows: Send the Banites in the Lower City and Rivington on a quest to find as many hosts as possible. Anyone with a uterus will do. They will focus on the poor and the few refugees that made it into the city, of course. These disappearances have to remain inconspicuous, after all.

Next, I will have the underground facility in the Upper City near the brain expanded and hire more servants (or slaves, whichever is at my disposal when the time comes) to take care of their well-being while they breed the eggs. As for the girl…she will be mine alone.

[crystaivf]

Poor Egg Quality: Symptoms, Causes, And Treatment

Poor egg quality refers to eggs that have abnormalities or deficiencies that make them less likely to be fertilized or result in a healthy pregnancy. This can be caused by various factors such as age, medical conditions, lifestyle factors, and genetics.

Click here to know about the Poor Egg Quality symptoms, causes and its treatment.

[alicechess]

Art x reader part 2

Note: This hasn't been proof read, so my bad if it's not the greatest I smashed this out in like 4 hours. So not the highest quality chapter. I might fix this up at one point, heavy maybe.

@ch1hvro

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You felt ill after the shift, it could be explained, it absolutely could be, right? Just a coincidence, a man dressing up to be a dick, then point at the plastic ring on your hand because he thought it was amusing, and joked that it was him who gave it. Yeah, just a joke, coincidence. You settled on it being a coincidence. 

As soon as you got home, you took the ring of and but it on your bedside table, you didn't want to wear it, you were meant to Halloween night, but it completely slipped your mind. 

However, that night, you heard on the news he somehow escaped the morgue today, in the morning. The news reporters stated the injuries, and allegedly a few people who work in the medical field said how unlikely it would've been for him to survive. They then stated that the poor mortician was brutally murdered too from him, because of course he had to do it. Does that mean it is possible he came to your work today? If that was him, why? He didn't have any blood, or any visible injuries at least. He moved perfectly fine. 

You shook your head, there was no point in thinking about it. If you saw him again, then it absolutely wasn't a coincidence, as there would be no way to justify it. You then turned the TV off, then went to bed. The thoughts of him stuck in your mind as you laid there, the whole day repeating over in your head. How his attention was stuck on you, why that specific Cafe, and although again, the ring may just be him being a dick and not knowing. It still bothered you, all of that happening within the span of an hour. Eventually you fell asleep, your dreams, of course, had him there too. 

The next morning you awoke in a cold sweat, your heart racing rapidly. Once you glanced around and noticed you were in your room, you felt relief.

Just a dream

Maybe you needed to ignore the news, take a break from social media for a few days or even a week. You had no doubt some people would be talking about stuff, but you just had to hope you wouldn't overhear anything. Maybe it'd be good to take a day off, though you knew your boss would be pissed and so as your co-workers. You've barely taken days off the whole year, maybe 3 at most. 

You decided to send a message to your boss, explaining that you have some family stuff going on, and if you could take the day off tomorrow. 

Hopefully he'd be fine with it.

You started getting ready, after showering

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You walked into the door of the Café, the ringing bell irritated your ears. You walked into the back, you had to do a bunch of dishes from last night since one of the other workers had to leave early. Your co-worker spotted then greeted you, "Hey, you look like shit."

You rolled your eyes, "Wow, what a nice way to say good morning Charlie." 

They gave you a cocky smile, "I know I know, I'm wonderful aren't I?"

That damn smile was contagious, "Aww, and I've got you smiling too."

A small chuckle left you, "Yeah yeah, anyway, how longs your shift today? Anyone else in?"

"Uhh, till about 4. I have another job on the side to earn extra. And no, Laurie left about 10 minute ago, she had to leave early as she had an appointment."

"Ew, that's gotta be painful, and god damn it, it would've been nice having a third for today.

"It's painful, but moneys money, world can't go on without it." They sighed, "And I'm trying to save for a new car, the shitbox out there ain't gonna last much longer." They said, taking the eggs out the frypan. "Anyway, can we talk more during our break? Can't have customers complaining."

"Yeah sure, that'd be great actually." They then walked out with the plate of food. 

Your morning was a lot easier to deal with after that interaction, although you hated to admit it, they were annoying at times but you loved them. They were a great friend, and made working a lot easier to tolerate.

You filled the sink and placed the dishes in there, cleaning the least dirty to the most. More and more dishes came, but you tried your best to stay ahead. The dishwasher was going to take forever and only could do a small amount at a time, so this is unfortunately a job that had to be done.

After about an hour, you were close to being finished, and so was the dishwasher. After, you put the dishes away, then went up to your Charlie to check if they needed help with anything.

"To be honest, not really, business is slower than normal, which is a fucking relief." They whispered, so none of the customers could hear. 

"Nice, is Chloe gonna be here soon? It would be nice if she could cover the register, and we can chill in the back."

They shrugged, "Not sure, she's meant to be here at some point today but that's all I know."

You groaned, "Alright, since business is slow should I just sweep and mop now?" 

You heard that cursed bell ring, and you heard a honk. You instantly turned around, wondering what that noise was. 

"What the fuck..." Charlie muttered under their breath.

Your eyes widened, bile rose up in your throat. You stood still for a few moments as you locked eyes with that fucker, then you sprinted towards the staff toilet. You leaned over, the breakfast you ate not longer ago instantly came up. Your throat burned as acid tore at your throat. You clenched the toilet bowl as it kept going. You body shook rapidly from fear and shock.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

Why is he here, it was meant to be a fucking coincidence. Do I have a murderer stalking me?

You weren't sure what to do, but after about a minute you heard your Charlie running over.

"Hey, hey!" They said crouching down, rubbing your back. "What the hell was that? Are you okay?"

You nodded, "Yeah...." You croakily mumbled, your legs wobbling as you slowly stood up.

"Stay there if you need to, I can handle the front for a bit." 

You shook your head, "I'll be fine, it's fine. Just give me a minute and I'll clean up."

"Look Chloe should be here soon, when she gets here I'll explain you were sick so you had to leave. Got it?"

You rolled your eyes, "I'll be okay, I just got nauseous.-"

"No, you're heading home when she gets here."

You wanted to argue, but you knew it was probably a good idea. You didn't want to see... it again. 

"Fine, can I help just till she gets here?"

"Yeah sure, just don't overwork yourself and let me know if you feel ill again."

You nodded, moving towards the sink to splash water on your face. "Alright, I'm gonna head back, don't rush yourself I can handle it." They patted your back again, then walked off.

You looked down at your shirt, and thankfully there was no vomit. So, you went back to helping Charlie. As soon as you were in the doorway you spotted him, sitting down. "Hey, is it okay if you could pass this to the customer in the clown suit real quick? I just need to prepare another order."

You nodded, trying to not show your fear to them. "Yeah, of course!"

While you walked over, you noticed his eyes were on you. You looked at the floor, knowing it was rude but you were so afraid. You put the pancakes down in front of the clown. "Here's your order... sir." You mumbled, giving a forced smile. As you starting walking away, he beeped the horn. 

"Did you need something?" 

He nodded, gesturing you to come closer.

He looked at your hand, a frown forming on his face. But not a second later is was replaced with that eerie smile. He stared at you as he purposely knocked the plate down onto the floor. It shattered onto the ground. He covered his mouth, giving an exaggerated 'Oops' face. A few customers looked over giving a confused and concerned expression.

Your face turned into a thin line, what the fuck "I'm sorry sir, I'll be back." You quickly muttered, walking to Charlie, "Hey, look I can't do this right now, can you please talk to the clown? I'll do whatever you were doing before. I'm just really uncomfortable around him."

They nodded, noticing you were shaken up. "Yeah that's fine, but what's going on? You look horrified, did something happen?"

You shook your head, "It's nothing, just can you help him?"

"Okay, I'll do that now, you just need to make a strawberry milkshake for table 5 while I deal with the clown."

"Easy." You immediately started to work on it, you scooped the ice-cream, poured the milk and strawberry-flavoured syrup and then blended it. You occasionally heard words from your Charlie while they were trying to communicate with the clown. But of course it went nowhere. As you were pouring the milkshake into a plastic cup, they came up to you. "I have no idea what he wants, he's not responding at all to me. I clean up the mess, but I don't know what else to do. Was he at least responding to you?"

"Yeah, I guess, but I really, really don't want to talk to him. He's... scaring me." You glanced at the floor, feeling embarrassed. 

"It's okay, I'll figure something out. Other customers are starting to feel uncomfortable as well. Fuck, Chloe needs to get here soon."

"Yeah, hopefully, should I contact the boss?" 

They nodded, "Can you contact Chloe first? We need her here soon."

"I'll do that now, I'll try and make it quick." You hurried out to the back again, pulling out your phone. You dialled her number, but it immediately when to voice mail. "What the fuck..." You murmured, trying again. And again. You groaned, then decided to send her a quick message.

Y/n: Hey, are you still coming into work today? 

You hoped she'd read it soon, then you dialled your bosses number. Thankfully, you heard her voice on the other end. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, I heard from Charlie that Chloe would be coming in today at some point. What time would she be here? She isn't picking up any of my calls. "

You heard a sigh on the other end, "Give me a moment."

After 15 seconds of rustling sounds, she answered. "Alright, it says she'd be on around 2pm till 8pm. Is she not there?"

"No, she's not. It's 2:30."

You heard another sigh from your boss, "I'll try and contact her, that's all I can do. Is that all you needed?"

"No, I was wondering what to do about a customer. One of them is making me and Charlie uncomfortable. He keeps.... just doing stuff."

"If you want advice I need more details." 

You took a deep breath in, "For one he's in a clown outfit, which in itself isn't bad but it's just how he's acting doing it too. If that makes sense, and he purposely broke one of our plates, and acted like it was all funny. He then wouldn't talk to Charlie, only me. It's just such bizarre behaviour."

"Normally threatening them with the police will cause them to stop, but if he continues call the non-emergency line for the police. That's it."

"Alright, thank you."

"Bye." She said, the line ending.

You walked back to the register to talk to your Charlie. "Chloe was meant to be here at 2. What the fuck do we do? She isn't picking up my calls, she's not answering my messages and the boss just told us to threaten the clown with the police but fuck that I'm not comfortable with it I don't know him and he's scaring-"

"Calm down, you're gonna be okay. This isn't a big deal you'll be fine we can figure this out. I'll talk to him."

You glanced over your shoulder to look at the clown. He was sitting there, his chin resting on his hands, giving you a wink. 

"God fucking damn it." Your muttered under your breath, he waved at you, then gesturing for him to come over again. "He wants me to go over again, what do I do? What the fuck do I do?"

Charlie bit their bottom lip, "I can go over if you like and try again, but I doubt he'll listen."

"Fuck, fine, I'll fucking doing it." You whisper-yelled, immediately going over towards the clown. You noticed most of the customers had left. How had no one called the police yet? Maybe they thought it was someone trying to be funny? 

"Hello sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

The clown told you to stop, raising his pointer-finger. He then went through the garbage bag next to him. You heard the sounds of metal hitting metal, making you feeling almost as sick as before. He pulled out an envelope. You stared at it for a moment, noticing brown splotches over it. It looked like dried blood. You also noticed how there was a bump inside. You were about to place it down, but he gestured for you to open it.

You stared with widened eyes, really not wanting to. "I'm sorry sir... I-"

The clown gestured one more time, a deep frown on his face. You were afraid, so begrudgingly, you open it. And inside was a chunk of blonde hair, with a small amount of dyed-blue strands. You pulled it out and saw a piece of someone's scalp was attached. The blonde hair looked identical to Chloe's. You placed it back down onto the table, stepping back. 

"Why.... what did she do to you?"

You knew what he did. It was obvious. But all you wanted to know is why. Yeah she could be bitchy at times, but she never had bad intentions. Not anything worthy of her fucking dying.

The Clown silently giggled, slapping his knee like it was the funniest joke in the world. He pointed at you, mimicking a horrified look and then continued laughing. 

"Oh fuck this." You muttered, Charlie looked over and saw the terrified look on your face. "Charlie we need to get the fuck out now!" You yelled, grabbing their arm, dragging them into the kitchen. To get out through the front, you would've had to walk past him again, and that was not something that you wanted. 

You shoved them inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. "Grab a knife Charlie." They didn't ask questions, just grabbing it off the bench. The clown was walking over towards the counter, where you'd pass food through to the person at the register. He stood there smiling. 

"Nope, don't look just fucking get out." You urgently said to Charlie, grabbing their arm and leading them to the back door. You unlocked it ran out with them. You rummaged through your pockets and grabbed your keys, your hands shaking as you tried to open the car door. 

"Y/n your tires have been fucking slashed!" 

"Oh for fuck sake!" You yelled, this time they dragged you. You dropped your keys while they pulled you, "My keys!"

"It doesn't matter Y/n! There's a fucking psycho chasing us." 

You followed them, running to the nearest store. You looked behind, noticing the clown was behind, with that fucking garbage bag thrown on it's shoulder. 

As Charlie ran into the store, they yelled to call the police. They didn't care about scaring the workers, they just needed to make sure the both of you were safe. The woman at the register looked confused. They ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind the both of you. They fumbled with their phone, dialling the emergency number. 

"What's your emergency?"

"There's a fucking psycho chasing after us! He's trying to fucking kill us!" They yelled, sounding hysterical. 

"Okay, calm down. Are you safe right now?"

"I think so, we've locked ourselves in a random stores bathroom. We don't know where he is right now."

"Okay, what did he look like?"

"He-he was wearing a black and white clown outfit, like the one from the news!"

"Alright...." The operator said, sounding like they thought it was a prank call, but they still continued.

"What store are you in right now?" 

Charlie turned to you, "Do you know where we ran to?"

You shook your head, "I-I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry!"

"It's fine." Charlie murmured, "We don't know, but can you guys track the phone?"

The woman sighed, "Yes we can, but if this is a prank call you will be in serious trouble."

"We aren't fucking lying, my fucking car tires were slashed and this fucker gave me an envelope with co-workers scalp in it! Get the damn police here right now or we could get brutally murdered!" You screamed at the operator.

"Please calm down, the police are on their way." The operator said, "Please stay on the line, are you hearing anything outside of the bathroom?"

Charlie spoke up, "No, it's oddly quiet out there, I... I don't know where he is. I don't know if he followed us in or not. We didn't look around."

The only thing you could hear was cars driving by, it was otherwise painfully silent.

"Fuck what happened to Chloe, oh god I hope she's okay. Please Chloe be okay." You whimpered, dropping to the ground. "Fuck I'm sorry Chloe, I'm so sorry." Tears welled up in your eyes, then started streaming down your face.

Charlie knelt down, placing their phone on the tiled floor, "Hey, it's okay, Chloe might still be out there. Probably not in the best condition but still maybe out there." They gently hugged you.

You sniffled, "What if that psycho grabbed my keys, I'm not even going to be safe in my own fucking home." You sobbed, "I didn't even do anything to him!" 

"I know, some people are just messed up, but you'll be okay, I'll make sure of it. No ones going to hurt you." 

Eventually, you heard the police sirens and them shouting. After a few moments they knocked on the bathroom door. You immediately unlocked it, running out. "Did you find him?" You asked, your eyes showing the hope in this being simple, like maybe he was waiting outside or something stupid. But of course, reality didn't work that way. 

"The only people we found were the workers here, I'm sorry." One of the officers said, "Do you have any injuries?"

You and Charlie shook your head.

"Alright, we're going to need to take you in for questioning."

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[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

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

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

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor. 

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile. 

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.   

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time). 

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.   

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea. 

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up. 

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.” 

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable. 

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth. 

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful. 

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out. 

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed. 

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense. 

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.  

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him. 

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[tidalpunk]

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Post by Rewilding Britain:

Rewilding Britain 49,391 followers 7h What rivers are supposed to look like ✨ Many of us love our local rivers. We walk alongside them, sharing our space with the creatures that call them home and sometimes even swim in them. Sadly, many of them now swing from drought-scorched channels to overflowing floodwater. They're ecological dead zones thanks to relentless sewage releases and agricultural runoff. Our waterways deserve better. There is hope, and rewilding is leading the way. These Google Earth images, first highlighted by the BBC, show the dramatic transformation of Swindale Beck by Wild Haweswater in the Lake District. Long ago forced into a steep-sided channel, the stream was prone to flooding, had poor water quality and had lost the gravel on which many fish depend to lay their eggs. Now it’s been allowed to re-wiggle, meandering over the valley floor. But it’s not just the river that needs help: to create healthier rivers, the area surrounding a river system must also be restored. This can include adding wide ‘buffer strips’ around a river, or a focus on landscape-scale restoration to put back wetlands and woodlands – in other words, rewilding. The evidence is clear to see: salmon are spawning again. Dippers feed on the insects. Otters hunt in the river. Wildflowers are burgeoning. Life is returning. #rewilding #WorldRiversDay

[francesderwent]

it seems to me that our task—as Christians but also just as people who care about this country and don’t want to see it like this—is to step outside the us-versus-them, black and white thinking which elections love to encourage, and begin imagining our neighbors more generously and compassionately.

our politicians have spent the whole election cycle appealing to the very lowest common denominator—but that does not mean that when we picture our political rivals we must imagine the lowest common denominator. it does not mean that that lowest common denominator defines everyone who voted one way or another. the people who voted for the worst possible reasons do exist—people who feel genuine hate for those different from them, the crass and the vitriolic and the cruel, the power-hungry and the callous. these people are all real, and our politics has undoubtedly given them a voice. but again: I think we must challenge ourselves to hold in our minds a version of the “other” who is more human and more complicated than that. our principle should be built off of “innocent until proven guilty”—we should consider people as being politically thoughtful and well-meaning and conflicted, until we are beyond a doubt proven wrong.

the objection, at this point, would be the objection I’ve seen all over the internet: “okay, maybe people had better reasons in mind, but voting for a rapist wasn’t a dealbreaker for them.” and that’s a powerful bit of rhetoric. but, first of all, both sides were using the same arguments leading up to the election to dissuade people from voting third party or sitting the election out: “you’re not supposed to vote for somebody perfect, you’re supposed to vote for the lesser of two evils/the policies you most agree with/the party you think will most support your interests and the common good.” so it’s hypocritical to then turn around and accuse your political opponents of voting for someone who’s personally (understatement of the year) not perfect. and second of all, the notion of “maybe they didn’t like such-and-such policy or quality, but it wasn’t a dealbreaker” is actually exactly my point.

every voter has to weigh for him or herself which issues are going to be regarded as most important. as long as I’ve been alive, people have been pearl-clutchingly scandalized that others have weighed the issues differently than themselves, so the moral panic certainly is not new. but despite that, this is literally what our country is founded upon: there is no set-in-stone hierarchy of values. we all get to decide for ourselves what good is worth pursuing. note: I’m not saying this is a good thing; I think what we’re seeing now is precisely the problem with that system. but the point remains that you cannot insist on the importance of a democratic election and then be horrified that democracy will sometimes vote in favor of a good that you think is subordinate, to the exclusion of a good you think is foundational—that’s democracy for you! that’s the system! you might view it as despicably selfish and shallow to vote based on the price of eggs—but for someone who is very poor, that reasoning might appear far more serious than it does to you. what would be a dealbreaker for you might not be a dealbreaker for someone else.

everyone has to determine for himself or herself what the greatest possible good is which can be achieved by the federal government, and what the greatest evil is we should avoid. at the end of this determination, everyone ends up with his or her own little hierarchy of values. the horror of two-party politics is that unless your hierarchy lines up point by point with the platform of one of the main parties—and it almost certainly doesn’t!!—your vote will either not align with the hierarchy you believe to be right and just, or it will not have the power to put that hierarchy into practice in the real world. this is where imagining people generously and compassionately comes into play: perhaps someone’s first priority in casting a vote for the republicans was the price of eggs. now, instead of jumping to the conclusion that their second priority was expelling hated foreigners from the country or making it so gay couples lose visitation rights at the hospital, imagine that their second priority was something you agree with, something compassionately-motivated and understandable, maybe even something that wasn’t a part of the republican platform. now imagine what priorities they might have that weren’t presented as an option by either of the main parties—priorities they might share with you.

”but my morality is right!” you might say. “their priorities are misaligned and their hierarchy of values is wrong!” that may very well be true. but American democracy cannot recognize it, cannot give any more weight to the true worldview, because that would be taking sides. if you want a democratic system you have to accept the possibility that the correct and the popular might not line up. you might also say, “but they’re wrong about which policies are actually going to help them! the price of eggs won’t go down!” that might also be true. in that case, it’s sort of on the people with the good policies for failing to convince the voters.

you might feel aghast that other people weighed the things you disagree with them about as more important than the things you agree with them about. it’s an understandable feeling. but the crucial thing is twofold: one, unless you acknowledge their right to disagree with you—both in essential matters of morality and in matters of the relative importance of specific moral issues—you don’t actually believe in American democracy. and two, if we are to move forward we have to start acting as if the things on which we agree are more important to our humanity than the things on which we disagree. even if we voted based on the things we disagree on! when we interact with each other we have to focus on the things we agree on.

we have to believe that people are trying their best. we have to, when we engage in political discourse, engage with a hypothetical opponent who is not the easiest possible punching bag. and when we’re confronted with our genuine enemies—those who hate us and hate everything good—instead of dehumanizing them, we have to love them. I don’t end there as a little glittery good-feeling flourish to smooth over the difficulties, because that is the most difficult part. there is no version of this story where all the hurt and fear and division are erased simply by the “right people” winning elections. there is also no version of this story where all the hatred and sin and despair is solved by good people contentedly praying rosaries in little self-satisfied prayer groups. Our Lord reconciled the world to Himself not by the worldly power of conquest, and also not by kindliness and miracles and convincing people one by one to change their lives, but by His suffering and death. the reconciliation of our world will require our suffering, and our death to self. there is no other way out than through the radical love of the Cross—that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He asks us to follow in His footsteps. imagining our neighbor as lovable is a good first step. loving him when he is not lovable is the next one, and the necessary one.