I leaned against the wall outside the emergency ward, arms crossed, helmet dangling from one hand, trying to keep the grin off my face.
The MILF (exactly my type: early forties, hourglass curves poured into a tight black dress, wedding ring glinting on her finger) was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. The doctor had already walked off, probably to tell the nurses the story so they could all lose their shit in the break room.
I replayed the conversation in my head for the fifth time:
Doctor, deadpan:
"Your son decided he wanted to be ridden cowgirl by an experienced woman. She warned him his equipment couldn't handle the torque. He insisted. She obliged. His penis is now in two distinct pieces. We're attempting reattachment. Please wait here."
The woman had gone pale as milk, then red as a stoplight, then just… collapsed into the chair like her soul had left her body to go file a complaint with management.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
On the outside: perfect ice-cold Frostborn poker face.
On the inside: I was dying. Full-on corpse, rolling on the floor, wheezing, tears-streaming laughter.
I took a slow sip from the takeaway coffee I'd grabbed on my way out of the café (still hot, still delicious). Life was suddenly hilarious again.
Part of me felt bad for the kid.
The rest of me was taking mental notes:
1. Never, ever demand cowgirl from a woman who knows what she's doing if you're not built like a bridge girder.
2. Always listen to warnings.
3. Mom's about to have the most awkward conversation in human history when junior wakes up missing half his dick.
I glanced at the MILF again. She was staring blankly at the floor now, lips moving like she was praying or cursing (probably both).
Tempting to walk over, slide into the chair beside her, and whisper, "Need a shoulder? Or someone who can actually handle being on the bottom?" But nah. Too cruel. Today was my day off; I wasn't here to collect broken families.
Still.
I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick (discreet) photo of the scene for Kai (he was going to lose his shit when I sent it), then pushed off the wall.
Time to let the poor woman suffer in peace.
I strode back through the sliding doors, helmet under my arm, laughter finally escaping in a low, satisfied chuckle once I hit the parking lot.
Bike roared to life.
Some days the universe just hands you comedy gold.
Today was one of those days. I woke up to warm sunlight filtering through the base's artificial windows and the faint scent of sex and brimstone. The violet-skinned succubus from last night was still sprawled beside me, thighs parted, my cum still dripping slow and thick from her swollen pink pussy onto the sheets. She stretched like a cat, tail curling, and gave me a lazy, hungry smile.
"Round four, handsome?" she purred, licking her lips with a forked tongue.
I just shook my head, already rolling out of bed. "Pass. I've got places to be."
She pouted (actually pouted) then shrugged, snapped her fingers to clean herself up, and sauntered out with a sway of her hips and a disappointed flick of her tail.
Shower. Black jeans, gray hoodie, boots. Hair still damp when I stepped into the corridor.
Stopped by Kai's door. It was cracked open. Of course it was.
Inside, Kai had the crimson succubus folded damn near in half, pounding her missionary style so hard the headboard was carving grooves into the wall. Wet slaps, her moans echoing off the ceiling, his balls smacking her ass in perfect rhythm.
"Bro," I called from the doorway, "wanna hit the surface? Fresh air, real coffee?"
Kai didn't even slow down. "Nah, man. I'm good right here." He punctuated it with a particularly deep thrust that made the succubus squeal.
I rolled my eyes. "Suit yourself. Just don't get your dick fractured."
He froze mid-stroke. "The fuck you just say?"
The succubus propped herself up on her elbows, golden eyes wide. "Fractured? Explain."
I leaned against the doorframe, grinning. "Riven sent me a clip. Some cocky seventeen-year-old told a veteran MILF he wanted cowgirl or nothing. She warned him. He insisted. She obliged. Snap. Currently in surgery having his junk reattached."
The room exploded.
Kai threw his head back and howled with laughter, hips still buried deep. The succubus cackled so hard her wings flared, then grabbed Kai's face and kissed him filthy and deep, legs locking around his waist like she was rewarding him for not being that idiot.
I left them to it, shaking my head, and wandered down the hall humming an off-key victory tune.
Passed Lilith's private office. Door slightly ajar. I nudged it open with one knuckle (then immediately regretted it).
Chief was in her executive chair, skirt bunched around her waist, blouse wide open, one hand furiously rubbing her clit while the other pinched a nipple hard enough to bruise. Her head was thrown back, golden eyes rolled up, thighs trembling as she squirted in long, messy arcs across the polished floor. The screen behind her still playing our mission footage on loop (my cock down a throat, Kai's glamour-face buried between spread legs).
She was moaning my name and Kai's in rotation.
I quietly backed out, pulled the door shut without a sound, and kept walking like I'd seen nothing.
Whistling louder now.
Meanwhile, topside:
Riven leaned against a pillar in the hospital corridor, arms folded, visor pushed up on his forehead, watching the drama unfold like it was premium cable.
The MILF was crying into a tissue.
The doctor had just returned with an update: "Good news; microsurgery successful. He'll regain eighty-five percent function. Bad news; he'll never be able to handle cowgirl again without a reinforced pelvic brace."
The mother made a sound like a dying whale.
A nurse walked by biting her fist to keep from laughing.
Riven's lips didn't move an inch.
But inside his helmet, the man was screaming with silent, hysterical laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Best. Day off. Ever. I kept strolling down the residential corridor, hands in my pockets, still humming that stupid victory tune.
Passed the Succubus Therapy Wing. The door was cracked open just enough for sound to spill out.
Inside: a symphony of wet slaps, guttural moans, and the low, hypnotic crooning of succubi voices weaving spells directly into shattered minds.
"Shh… let it feel good… forget the pain… only pleasure now… you're safe… you're ours… you'll be strong again…"
Two male voices (the billionaire and his son) reduced to broken whimpers that slowly turned into desperate, grateful groans as tails coiled around thighs and slick demonic cunts swallowed them whole.
I paused, listened for a second, and shook my head with a low whistle.
Succubus therapy is brutal, efficient, and one hundred percent effective. Two, maybe three days of nonstop orgasmic reprogramming and those two will come out loyal, sane (mostly), and packing fresh hellfire with a smile. Then straight into active duty.
No joke.
I left them to it and kept walking.
Meanwhile, in Lilith's private quarters:
She was still sprawled in her chair, thighs trembling from the aftershocks of her last orgasm, fingers shiny and dripping, when her encrypted phone buzzed on the desk.
The caller ID read: "♥ My Beautiful Boy ♥"
She answered with a lazy, husky purr. "Hello, darling."
On the other end, her biological son (twenty-two, built like a god, currently balls-deep in a giggling lavender-skinned succubus) grinned into the camera.
"Hey, Mom. Work going okay?"
"Perfectly," Lilith sighed, licking her fingers clean without breaking eye contact. "Just reviewing some… performance footage."
"Cool, cool. Listen, when you come home next weekend, bring those double-chocolate cookies I like. And pizza. The usual place. Oh, and the new iPhone (the big one)."
Lilith rolled her eyes fondly. "Anything else, my spoiled little prince?"
"That's it. Love you."
"Love you more, baby. Be good."
They hung up.
The second the call ended, her son tossed the phone aside, grabbed the succubus by the hips, and started fucking her in long, deep, medium-rhythm strokes that made her wings flare and her eyes roll back.
"Ahh—fuck—your pussy feels so good," he growled, leaning down to kiss her filthy and slow, tongues sliding.
"Mm—your cock keeps kissing my cervix, baby—don't stop—"
Wet slaps echoed through his private suite, bodies moving in perfect sync.
A few minutes later they crashed over the edge together (her walls milking him, his cum flooding her in thick pulses, both of them moaning into each other's mouths like the world was ending).
He collapsed on top of her, laughing breathlessly.
"Mom's gonna spoil me rotten again," he murmured against her neck.
The succubus just stroked his hair and smiled.
Down in the base, Ace kept walking, still humming, completely oblivious to the fact that the most dangerous woman in the Organization was already planning a care package for the one man she'd burn the world down to protect.
Just another perfectly normal day at Supernatural HQ.