#Premium coffee mugs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

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

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

818 notes · View notes

octuscle · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there. I guess I need help with my chronivac. In my neighborhood there are more and more Arabic and Turkish men. It doesn't bother me that they are Arabic or Turkish or whatever. But they all look so extremely good - nice hair, nice beard, nice tan, nice bulges, extremely self confident... and I'm starting to get a little jealous, cause I'm a chubby, shy, white German (Alman).

Now the real Problem - the chronivac basic settings can't help me and the chronivac pro settings are way too complicated for me. So I hope you can help and change me to become less jealous in my neighborhood.

Okay, let's see how chronivac pro premium support can help you.

On your way to the subway in the morning, you usually grab a coffee to go at the kiosk in your ecologically sustainable reusable mug and buy a Süddeutsche Zeitung. But this morning you forgot your mug. So you order a Turkish mocha, which you drink directly at one of the bar tables. You also get a sesame seed curl and the BILD newspaper. For the first time, you talk to the owner of the kiosk. You've been a customer here for years. You take a second mocha and buy a pack of cigarettes. Fuck, then you're in the office half an hour later. Who cares?

You don't give a shit that smoking is not allowed on the platform. You blow your smoke onto the platform out of the subway and just throw the cigarette out onto the floor, while the doors are closing. And you snot right after it.

The work in the office pisses you off today. Boring chatter, unproductive meetings. During the lunch break, your colleagues are talking about Turkey's role in the Ukraine conflict. When you say that Erdogan is a great leader and that you would like to see more statesmen like him, everyone stares at you in disbelief. Fuck, that's right. Most heads of state are effeminate losers! We need more men who can thump their fists on the table. Like Erdogan and Putin.

You're glad when you can finally call it a day. You need a reward. Just normal people around you. You allow yourself a visit to the new barber store on your street. On the street in front of it a group of young men smoking. You have to wait only one cigarette length for a free appointment. You let one of the guys give you a light and smoke a cigarette with them. And then you sit down in the barber's chair. Can is an artist. You love the way he shapes your beard, makes your skull look more angular with the undercut, and trims your sprawling eyebrows. And he makes a damn good mocha.

When Can takes away the hairstyling cape, you're more than satisfied. Yes, to your brothers here, you're just an infidel. But you fit in quite well visually. Sure, most bros are better worked out than you. But you don't have to hide. It's just that you are so pale that annoys you. That's why you go directly before training on the tanning bed in the gym after the haircut . And so that the sweating is really worth it, after pumping up to the sauna. Hammam would be better, but there is no such thing in your discount gym.

It doesn't show that you are not a Turk or an Arab. And since you speak fluent Turkish, Arabic and Albanian, no one in the sauna would suspect that you have a German passport. Infidel! No matter what they think of you. The main thing is that nothing can separate you and your brothers!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #race change #sweat soaked

240 notes · View notes

monsterfloofs · 16 days ago

Text

Thomas (Male Vampire) x Anonymous Reader (sfw)

A cozy writing for @ladyofparchments , thank you so much for being so supportive and sweet, I hope you like it! ;0; )

There is something that is so comforting about a snug coffee shop tucked away inside of a bookstore. Bookstores already have an air of a different kind of patronage to begin with. Many give their visitors more time to dally within the shop. Supplying comfy chairs to sit in, small alcoves to read in. Pages to Doors was a shop that clearly built itself to be a place where it wanted its customers to settle. From the large fireplace beside the cafe, to the big circular table where different clubs would gather. Truely, it was a very smart tactical move on the bookshops' part. Instead of a peruser leaving and possibly cutting their shopping time short to get food, one can simply step inside the little cafe. Get something to eat and drink, and once again wander back into the labyrinth of aisles after their break. The shop can make potentially twice as much money.

I, however, come for a slightly different reason. I come to sit in the presence of books, and the writers that have come before me. I buy something to eat at the cafe, so that I can freely perch at a table and chair. I ask for a cup of hot water so that I can fix my own drink. Not to say that the drinks at the shop aren’t tantalizingly, mouthwateringly, tempting. That kind of premium drink comes with a premium price tag, and I need to cut corners where I can. If I buy the whole tasty package every time I settle in, that money would add up quickly. I settle at a secluded table at the cafe, relieved to set down my juggling act of plate, mug and laptop. It’s the weirdest feeling, but one that has held true for myself for a while now. The more I look around the shelves, instead of being excited to read, the more it makes me want to write. Being in the presence of all these books inspires me to continue to strive ahead. These were all made by writers who had gotten their works published. So many have made it through the process, and all that hard work finally made it onto a shelf for others to read. Perhaps, just perhaps, I can follow in their footsteps.

Fingers flying over keys with a rhythmic clatter, a steady flow of words from mind to page, with pauses to sit, reread, correct and begin again. I hunch further over the keypad, eyebrows knitting together as I mouth the words silently to myself. Looking for that lyrical quality, words that roll off the tongue just as well as they do within the mind. Revise, rewrite, rework, reread.

“Hey,”

A voice causes me to jump, eyes round as I readjust to my surroundings. Eyelids flutter, pressing a hand to my heart.

”Oh stars above, it’s just you.”

Thomas was an acquaintance that I met during my writing sessions at Pages. He worked at the cafe, he had a build on the softer side that lent to giving wonderful hugs. A round heart shaped face, with a slightly hooked nose, and dark eyes that often held a spark of mirth. Some joke that was all of his own to revel in. We became friends quickly, a few days from when we first met. He was easy to talk to, and it was almost mind blowing how many things we had in common when comparing interests.

”Just me?” He teased, “What? You’re not happy to see me then?”

”You know what I mean Thomas,” I huffed with feigned indignation. “I am happy to see you, you just ruined my groove.”

He snorts in amusement. “You’re groove.” Repeating the words before his head titled curiously to the side, “So… what are you working on?”

I shuffle my computer nervously, pulling it closer to myself, “Oh nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow, “It looked very intense for a bit of nothing.”

”Yeahhh, when I am working, I tend to get tunnel vision.” I scratch my head embarrassedly, casting my gaze around in hopes to change the subject. I spotted the apron tucked under his arm.

”Are you heading off to work?”

He grinned, “Actually, I just ended my shift at the cafe, and wouldn’t you know it, I saw this cute person sitting alone. I just had to come over and bother them.”

I gesture cheerfully to the chair at the other side of the table, “Come sit down then! I didn’t see you, otherwise I would have said hi!”

Thomas pulled out the second chair and settled into the seat with an appreciative sigh, “Eh, that’s alright, I was working in the back today.” He glanced at my cup, “Bring in anything good? Have any more tasty teas to recommend?”

"It’s just dirt coffee."

"I– I beg your pardon?"

I blink, realizing I had called it by a personal name of endearment instead of the drink's actual name.

"Oh! Just this dandelion coffee substitute tea stuff!" I watched his blank expression before adding, "what?"

"Well I certainly wasn't expecting that mouthful of words," He laughs, "It's not just tea, or coffee?"

"I mean," I smiled, "It's kind of like a horrible amalgamation of both, by horrible I really awesome, because honestly this is the only way my stomach allows me to drink a coffee like beverage."

He was looking at me with a smile that made his eyes seem to twinkle in the light. He also had learned forward. I watched how his fingers steepled neatly in front of him, patiently waiting for the explanation.

Oh no, oh no, I could feel those too many words at the back of my throat clawing to get out. Those overexplaining, long winded stories, that only got longer the more nervous I was. It was like my brain believed wholeheartedly that if I could just explain myself well enough, I could skirt disaster.

"And?" He asked, it must have been a little too obvious that I suddenly clammed up.

"And?" I replied innocently,

"You are going to deprive me of my knowledge of this, 'dirt coffee' ?" he teased, I bit my lip and took a sip for courage.

"Okay, so back when my nose used to work, I claimed this stuff smelled like dirt and tasted like coffee. So from then on I have always called it 'Dirt Coffee'. Chicory was used as a coffee substitute a long time ago when folks weren't able to get their hands on coffee beans. Apparently this one also uses dandelion in its blend. Wanna sniff?"

To break the tension I cheerfully extended the hand holding my cup forward.

"Ah. No." He politely pushed the cup with the tips or their fingers. "I can smell its concerning aroma from here, thank you very much."

I tossed my head back and grinned shamelessly, as if those worlds held some kind of physical kick back.

"Concerning~" I said in a sing-song voice, "Con-cer-ning?~ Why would it be concerning?"

"I think you just like to say that word," He leaned in closer, I mimicked him, scooting in my chair.

I gasped, "Is that con. cer. ning?" I whispered, and he laughed,

"You're adorable,"

It was such an outspoken phrase, it just hung in the air for a moment.

“…Uh, nah, I'm a clown!" I tried to recover myself, “I warned you of that from the very first time we met! I am simply living up to my archetype.”

”Sure you are,” He rolls his eyes grinning, seeing those curiously sharp of his flash. “Of course, my mistake.”

”You are forgibben,” I joked back, I hesitated before closing the lid of my laptop.

”You know, I would be happy to grab you a drink from the back,” He offered, dark eyes flickering from the cup to my face.

”And deprive me of my lovely dirt?” I asked, before realizing he had started to get up, “Oh— No, no, no seriously it’s okay! If anything this is a push for me to get better at making drinks and stuff.”

”You like barista work?”

“To be honest, I have worked in a coffee shop before. It was not my cup of tea. I liked learning how to make new drinks, but the customers could be feral.”

He winces, sucking air through his teeth. “Sss, yeah. We get our fair share of caffeine deprived coffee addicts, they can be a handful.”

”Just a handful? Gee, I wish I could‘ve seen it like that.”

”I mean the bright side is, now you get to have all the drinks you make right?”

”That’s true!” I beamed.

“So I was wondering,”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,”

We both paused as our words crashed into a jumble.

“Yeah?” I said,

”You go first,”

I clasped my hands together underneath the table. My thumb rubs soothing circles on top of my other hand. “Well uh, we keep meeting like this, so I was thinking…”

”Would you like to meet like this sometime, actually on purpose?” He finished, a subtle hopefulness in his tone.

I pressed my lips together and peered at him.

He glanced away, shrugging one shoulder, ”I mean, sounds fun right?”

I smile, “That’s what I was going to ask, yeah.”

He sighs in relief, “Oh good, same actually.”

We laughed together, a musical blend of relief and nerves.

“Waooow we actually made it through this conversation?” I joked, trying to diffuse and uneasy butterflies that were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

”Gold star for us.” He waggled his eyebrows making me laugh.

Unable to hold back the large grin on my face I looked away, watching the people milling about. It took me a moment before I admitted, ”I would really like that. That sounds lovely, what time are you free?” I kept my eyes elsewhere, feeling my heart beat pick up. The fingers of my hands laced together and squeezed tightly.

”Ah- here.” He pauses to fish a pen and pad of paper out of his back pocket, tearing out a page and scribbling. “This is my number, text me whenever so we can work out the details.”

He slides the paper over to me and I pick up the paper, gingerly folding it in half.

”Okay! That sounds good! I’ll uh, see you later then.”

He nods and stands, pushing his chair in. “I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t until I was sure he was gone before I let myself take a huge breath and blow it out in a rush.

Oh. Well. Okay.

I expected to do a little writing, have a snack, maybe peruse the shelves. All those thoughts are sidelined now. I scurried to pack up, then dawdled around the door for a while pretending to look at books. If we met up again in the parking lot that would make me look too eager right? Right?? I wobbled out the door, and into the chilly weather outside. Snow was falling gently, in the deep sapphire sky. My breath coming out in visible smokey plumes. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, fumbling with the closing bottoms on the front as I trotted to my car.

I carefully set my laptop into the passenger side, then dumped myself into the driver’s seat. I put the key into the ignition and turned. The metal monster sputters to life, before settling into a content purr. With the car on, and slowly warming up I grabbed my phone. Hitting the numbers on the dial pad multiple times because of my cold fingers.

”Hey sis,”

”Heya, what’s up?”

I started bouncing up and down in my seat. “You know that guy-“

”That cute coffee guy?” She interrupted, “Did he ask you out yet?”

I freeze, pulling my hand back looking at my phone incredulously before slowly putting it back to my ear. “How did you know… that…”

”Oh finally!

“I didn’t even know he liked me?”

”Really?” My sister’s voice flat in dry amusement, “All those times he gives you that look and laughs at your jokes?”

”Wha- My jokes are funny!” I look around, hoping no one bears witness to this. “What do you mean, that look?”

”The l o o k,” The voice on the phone emphasises. “The love struck puppy look, that look.��

I scrunch up my face. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him do that.”

”I have! The one time we went to Pages together. We ordered lunch and you had to run off to use the bathroom. I watched his face fall. He had such a forlorn look on his face, the kinda face one makes when you just dropped a premium cup of coffee.” a pause, “So when’s the date?”

“Um, um, I-I don’t know yet, he gave me his phone number to talk about it.” I said, fidgeting with my snow coat.

”He gave his phone number to you? Did he ask for yours in return?”

I made another face. “… No?”

”Good, good. He’s letting you pick when you feel comfortable enough to text him back, that gets him extra points in my book.”

”Wha… What does that mean?”

”Don’t worry about it.” I can practically hear her voice dripping with glee.

“Okay… I… guess?”

”Good job sissy! Good luck on your date! I’ll chat with you later ta-ta~”

”Sure, okay,” I stare at my phone in utter bewilderment as the call ends.

I know I haven’t had much romantic experience, but that conversation was the icing on the cake. I let my head fall and rest against the steering wheel. Just how far out of my depth was I? Oh boy… this will be interesting.

I put off texting Thomas until tomorrow morning, another cup of dirt coffee in hand. I wrote something, then exuberantly hammered my thumb against the delete key. That sounded too… I dunno. Too something, retry. I started typing again, and looked at what I was saying, “And that’s too wordy, nope.” I popped the last syllable of nope and hammered away at the delete key again. I grumbled, I was treating this one message like I did my writing, I didn’t remember texting ever being this involved. I reread it through and my thumb hovered over the send key. “Oh for goodness sake, just send the darn thing already!” With a harrumph I pressed send and set my phone face down on the table.

It was dark, pitch dark, when a little square of light flickered on with a ding. One new incoming text message, it was like a beckon in the dark. A hand patted around to grab the phone, fingers curling over the bright screen. Thomas squinted at the bright retina blasting light. Half blind but determined to lower the brightness to be able to read the text.

“Hey Thomas, what does your weekend schedule look like? I was thinking we could meet up sometime around eight at Pages to Doors? It could be a good launching point since the plaza has some other places there as well?”

“Yes!” There was a loud rattling thud that came from small dark space, as Thomas moved a little too far forward, hitting his head against the top of something hard and solid.

“Ouch! Dammit!” With one hand rubbing his throbbing forehead, he types back one handedly, “Sounds perfect! I’ll meet you at eight.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back, his phone resting on his stomach. “I just have to wait… twelve hours. I can do that.” Easier said than done, for once he was awake, it was very hard to go back to sleep.

Enjoy what I write? I have a tip jar! I also take writing and art commissions on kofi! ヽ(*ᵔ▿ᵔ)ﾉ

#monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #vampire x reader #vampire x human

21 notes · View notes

otosykarim · 21 days ago

Text

#shortficMonday (sorry, I’m one day late)

Hermione stood in the middle of the kitchen at Malfoy Manor, glaring at the coffee pot as if it had personally offended her.

“Draco!” she shouted, making a house-elf flinch.

Draco appeared, looking smug as ever, sipping from a pristine white mug. "Granger, always a pleasure. To what do I owe this delightful screeching?"

"You drank the last of the coffee!" She pointed at him.

He raised an eyebrow, taking another exaggerated sip. "And it was delicious. You should try it sometime."

She groaned. "That was my emergency stash! How am I supposed to survive the day?"

"Have you considered being less insufferable before noon?" He pinched his nose. “No, you didn’t.”

She stormed over and snatched the mug from his hand. "You are impossible, Draco.”

"And yet," he drawled, "irresistibly charming."

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a sip from the mug before wrinkling her nose. "This tastes terrible."

Draco feigned offence. "You wound me, Granger. That’s premium made by the hands of a superior man"

"Premium rubbish." She shoved the mug back into his hands.

Draco smirked, watching her stomp off. "Admit it, Mrs Malfoy,” he called after her, "you only yell because you'd miss your husband otherwise."

"Keep dreaming, ferret," she shot back, slamming the door behind her.

#hermione granger #draco malfoy #harry potter #dramione #short Dramione

18 notes · View notes

aditivermablog · 7 months ago

Text

Explore Unique Coffee Mugs Online for Your Perfect Bre

Looking for unique coffee mugs online? Discover a world of creativity and style at your fingertips. From colorful and whimsical designs to personalized and handcrafted options, there is a coffee mug for every taste. With Ceramic She Wrote offering a range of Indian artisan creations, you can sip your morning brew in a truly unique and eye-catching mug that reflects your individuality. Start your search today and bring a touch of originality to your coffee routine. Shop our mugs today: https://ceramicshewrote.in/collections/coffee-mugs

#coffee mugs #online coffee mugs #coffee cup #ceramic coffee mugs #ceramic mugs #tea mugs #handmade coffee mugs #coffee #teapot #tea mugs online #premium coffee mugs #coffee mugs online in india #coffee mug #unique coffee mugs

0 notes

amybizarre · 19 hours ago

Text

🎄✨𝓐𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓝𝓻. 𝓣𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂 𝓕𝓸𝓾𝓻✨🎄

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽: Secret Santa

𝓐𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓮: All

𝓣𝔂𝓹𝓮: Short Story (No warnings)

𝓞𝓹𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓸𝓭𝓪𝔂'𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓸𝓻!

The greatest part of Christmas has never been the presents or the food, no. It was being with your loved ones and seeing the joy and light in their eyes. To know you have spent valuable time with them and created lasting memories.

More memories were about to be made, as everyone gathered around the tree after a great dinner, to exchange gifts. You and the Wallies had agreed to play Secret Santa this year, to ensure that everyone got at least one present.

RF was first to recieve his gift. It was from Hunter, who gave it to him with a shit-eating grin. Oh boi-

RF raised a suspicious eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He quietly opened his present and made a noise, that was half snort and half groan. Then he revealed a pair of cat ears, that could be clipped into his hair. They were fittingly blue, too...

The room erupted into quiet giggles.

"Really, Hunter?", RF asked, a teensy bit annoyed.

Hunter just shrugged. "Couldn't help myself there, dude-"

(Luckily you also had a present for him: A brand new coffee mug, with a pretty rainbow glaze and a bag of his favorite coffee.)

Next was Hunter, who recieved his gift from Mob.

It was... A gun.

Mob gifted him a gun.

"Every good hunter needs a good gun~" Mob slyly remarked upon the surprised silence in the room.

Hunter just smiled awkwardly and quickly stored the weapon away safely.

Mob got a gift from Original. A cute drawing of Mob and him next to a Christmas tree, surrounded by presents.

"I hope you like it...", OG said shyly, which caused Mob to ruffle his hair.

"Don't worry, I like it. It's adorable. Let's put it on the fridge later, hm?"

Opposite was the one responsible for OG's gift. Surprisingly, he actually smiled, when he gave OG a box. Your confusion was quickly lifted however, when you figured out the box was empty, as OG peeked inside it. Poor little dood was confused as all heck, but he remained polite anway.

"Oh, a new storage box for art supplies! Thank you, Opposite.", he said with a genuine smile.

(Thankfully you had actual art supplies for him to store in the empty box. A present he found much easier to appreciate.)

Opposite got his gift from Reboot. It was a book titled "How To Smile :)"

Opposite imediately threw the book at Reboot, who caught it with ease. To tease his grumpy buddy, he opened the book and started to read the first chapter to him aloud.

It took some gentle nudging from Jazzie to stop Reboot from reading and opening his own present: A new DS game! Reboot smiled happily and hugged Jazzie. Then he retrieved his DS from his room and got straight to gaming.

Now was Jazzie's turn to open his present. It was crudely wrapped in butcher's paper and someone wrote on it with sharpie.

"For: Jazzie From: Butch :P"

Jazzy forced a tight lipped smile and looked at the butcher, who was watching him with an excited grin.

"Butchy, what's in there?"

"Premium sausages! I promise it's pork!", Butcher exclaimed enthusiastically, no real malice in his voice.

Jazzie's smile tightened more, as he carefully set the gift aside, still unopened. "You do know I'm vegetarian, right?"

Butch's face dropped and turned sheepish. "Oh-"

(You jumped in to save the day and gave Jazzie some organically sourced, herabl teas to try. Which he really liked!)

Butcher recieved a gift from Royal, who gave it to him presonally, proud as ever. It was kinda big...

"This has been salvaged from the finest furs my hunters aquired this season.", Royal explained to Butcher.

Butcher then unrolled a mighty fine looking fur cloak. A clothing article, you yourself probably would have worn as well.

Aaaaand Butch mistook it for a blanket- Eh, close enough Butch. At least he'll use it to keep warm either way-

Royal's gift came in the shape of a small envelope. It contained a small Christmas card made by Gray. Gray seemed to be a little ashamed about it.

"I'm sorry it's all grey, Royal...", he mumbled meekly.

"Nonsense, young one!" Royal quickly butted in, crouching down and pulling him closer in a gentle maner. "Never be sorry for pouring time, effort and love into a gift for another, no matter the shape or color it has."

While he continued to give Gray a heartwarming peptalk, Lovesick shuffled over to them to give Gray his gift. It was scarf Lovesick actually knitted himself, while he learned it together with you!

He put it around Gray and gave him a short hug to help cheer him up.

Now it was Lovesick's turn to recieve his presents. And oh, he was the happiest, most lucky puppet alive, when it was revealed, that you were the one giving him his gift! The most fashionable of all beanies! Selfmade! He imedately put it on and didn't take it off for the rest of the evening.

You smiled fondly at his antics. Your smile didn't fade, when Killer approached you and gave you your own gift: A... Note?

Curiously you unfloded the small piece of paper. Only to discover...

It was death threat. Killer gifted you a death threat. How lovely...!

You chuckled nervously and distracted him with an apple, like you usually did. For extra safety, you'd later force RF to have a sleepover with you and keep you safe-

Aaanywhow! Priest was the one responsible for Killer's gift. Solemnly he gave it to Killer, with the reminder to take good care of it.

Killer only grimaced as he unpacked the Holy Book from Priest's religion.

Priest got a gift from Watcher. He must've been the chosen one to speedrun depression this year, cause all he got was socks-

(You gave him a bottle of wine, to which he replied: "Thank you, I'll cherish this.")

Watcher recieved a gift from Swan: Some new classical music to enjoy, while he chatted with his viewers. Watcher seemed to really like this present. Dang, you never knew he was a classical music type of guy-

Actor made a bit of a scene out of giving his present to Swan, potraying himself as overly generous and well-meaning. Turns out he gifted Swan a new pair of ballet shoes from some well known brand, that were kinda expensive.

Thankfully Swan was ecstatic to break them in and try them out.

The circle of gift giving closed itself, when RF finally stood up to give his gift to Actor. Actor thanked him curtly and opened the box. His eyes widened when he pulled out three pairs of cute bows out of the box. All the same kind of bow he wore every day. Except two of the three came in obnoxious neon colors and the third one was a sickly green-

Actor glared at RF, who apparently was immune against that and just shrugged.

"You said you wanted to become more experimental with your fashion choices next year, so I thought I help you out with these.", he calmly explained.

"That's not what I-! Ugh, nevermind! Thanks, I guess." Actor tried his hardest to keep his cool.

He'd find a creative solution for these bows, surely. As long as it doesn't involve putting them on himself.

Lastly, more gifts and cards were exchanged between those, who were closer friends, but didn't end up being each others secret santa.

Funnily enough, you've recieved a lot more presents that day.

Nevertheless, you reminded yourself, that it was never the presents, that were the greatest thing about Christmas, but the time and joy you shared with your loved ones.

🎄✨🎄✨🎄✨🎄✨🎄✨🎄

Aaaaand that was it folks! This was the last installment of our lovely Advent Series. I'm almost a little emotional, now that it's over. :,) Especially because this is the first event I actually managed to see through until the end and not stop after ten-ish days. Whoops!

I just wanted to say, that I had tons of fun writing all of this and appreciated every bit of love and support you guys have shown for this silly little series! To be honest, it was the greatest present of them all. ^^

Hopefully reading this has brought you just as much joy each day!

Thank you all for sticking around and I wish each and everyone of you a very merry holiday season and a lovely time with your friends and family. Make sure to appreciate the presence of the ones you love and create lovely memories with them. ;3

Again, thank you very much for reading and see y'all again soon!

10 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

Text

The Cam Girl: Nero Padilla x Reader

Tagging: @oureternalbond @lexondeck @baybaybear1 @littleone65 @redpoodlern @mortal--soul @valiantwinneralmondrebel-blog @buddinglinguist @withmyteeth @yourwinchesterbros @kishie8 @librarian1002 @a-winter-tale @genius2050 @megan-munson

Nero knows you as the Cam Girl, the one that’s been sending Cara Cara’s web traffic through the roof. He doesn’t know what you get up to during your sessions, he’s never seen your work. He likes the feel of a real woman as opposed to porn, even if it’s fleeting there’s an intimacy during sex, a connection between two people. You can’t get that through a screen.

You’re one of the girls that don’t come over to Diosa when it’s offered up as a side-line to Cara Cara. Most of the other women do, but you, you stick with the cam. That intrigues him, he wonders what it is about cam work you prefer to the more lucrative stuff. When he asks around, he discovers you don’t get involved with the actual porn side of things, there’s no videos of you being fucked or fucking anyone else, there’s just that live stream going out 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. He thinks the exclusivity of that may be the key to your success, if anyone wants to see you undress, they have to pay a premium.

When you step into Diosa he almost doesn’t recognise you because whenever he’s seen you in Cara Cara, it’s been in a silk robe, with a full face of makeup. Cosmetics that he knows you don’t need because you’re stunning without it. Your entire look is completely understated, you’re wearing jeans with a black t shirt and a cobalt blue blazer that hugs you in all the right places. There’s a few sprinkles of silver jewel, studs in your ear, a couple of stacker rings but nothing overt. It’s a refreshing change from what he usually sees from the women who work and play here.

“Business or pleasure.” He asks when you walk in, his lips gracing both of your cheeks. You smile at him, and he swears to God he feels his heart stutter as you say.

“Why can’t it be both?”

It’s on the couch in his office that you describe the situation. You want to switch things up a little, attract more affluent clients, ones that are willing to spend a little more for specialised content. To do that you need a higher class of premises, all of the streaming still goes through Cara Cara’s servers, so they get the traffic, you just need a room. You think a change of routine would be good for your current subscribers and good for you.

It's that phrase his brain sticks on ‘change of routine’. It sounds odd coming from your mouth; he’s heard it before a thousand times, and it all leads back to one thing.

“Do I need to worry about you?” He asks you quietly as you sip from a cup of the finest brewed Havana beans that you’ve ever tasted. You shake your head before setting the mug back down upon the table.

“It won’t effect your business.” You reassure him with a firm tone. “And I come with my own equipment.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He says, before gesturing between the two of you. “This thing it only works if there’s trust and I know there’s something that you’re not telling me.”

It’s subtle, the tightening of your jaw but Nero sees it. He’s a savant at body language, picking up the smallest cues, he knows when someone’s hiding shit.

“One of my ‘fans’…” You use your fingers for the bunny ears. “… has been leaving gifts for me at Cara Cara.”

His eyebrows furrow into a frown as he puzzles over this information. It’s an intrusion, he knows the lines blur sometimes when it comes to selling sex. They’ve had it a few times with regulars here at Diosa, a guy that gets a little too attached or falls headlong into the girlfriend experience. It doesn’t take much to get them to back off.

“When you say gifts…” he ventures.

You stare down into the depths of your coffee cup and he sees your cheeks colour just a little.

“It started with roses being delivered to the studio and then it got more intimate.” You tell him, your thumb tapping against the ceramic. “He jerked off onto a pair of panties and left them in my car.”

In your fucking car…

Nero can’t comprehend that. He blows a breath out though his mouth and settles back into his seat. To do something like that, to find out where you were, which car was yours, to break in and leave ‘a gift’ like that, it shows a level of dedication that’s steers into obsession.

“How do you know it’s the same guy?” He asks you, placing both his hands on the back of his head as he considers this situation.

“He leaves a note.” You inform him before rolling your eyes. “Always signs off with ‘Casanova’.”

“How fucking original.” Nero remarks. “And you have no idea who he is?”

“I booted anyone I thought it was out of the chat, he shouldn’t have had access to me.” You tell him, running your hands through your hair, he reads it for what it is, a sign of agitation. Despite the fact you don’t say it, he thinks this shit must be scaring the hell out of you. “The thing is I’m careful. I don’t discuss the details of my personal life; I never name places I’ve been or anything like that. It’s not like I get recognised either. It’s not even a factor for the police, due to the nature of my profession hence why I’m here. Cara Cara have oked the move if you’re happy with the arrangement.”

“Alright.” He says, his fingertips stroking over his beard. “I’ll give you a tour of the place and if there’s a room that you think suits your needs then you can have it but there are conditions...”

“Name them.” You say leaning towards him.

“You have someone walk you to your car every night, it doesn’t matter if it’s me, one of the other girls, or a Son. Someone makes sure you get in that car safely.” He states before continuing. “And if anything happens, and I mean anything, you bring it to me. I need you to promise me on that.”

A small smile graces your features, and he wonders if you know that somehow you light up a room.

“Anybody would think you’re worried about me.” You tease him. The left side of his mouth hitches up into a smile, before his hand comes to rest on yours. It’s comforting, his thumb soothes over the hollow of your wrist and you feel the tension beginning to ebb out of your shoulders the longer you linger in his presence.

“Protecting an asset.” He says with an lilt of humour. “And you still didn’t make that promise.”

“Ok.” You say clasping his hand tightly. “I promise.”

Love Nero? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#nero padilla x reader #nero padilla fanfiction #nero padilla fanfic #nero padilla

91 notes · View notes

chirp-a-chirp · 1 year ago

Text

Court of Darkness: Starbucks Orders

What Starbucks drinks would the Court of Darkness consorts and main characters order? Find out below! ☕️

…

Guy and Jasper

Guy always gets black coffee, no sugar, no cream. Consumes only premium coffee blends. Grumbles loudly that Jasper’s Avari red coffee is clearly superior.

Baristas ask Jasper for tips and tricks on brewing coffee. Upon hearing this, Lance begrudgingly informs the baristas to be wary of letting him make drinks unsupervised, unless they want additional potions added to them.

Toa and Knight

When drinking in public, Toa orders a black coffee, no cream 5 sugars. If Toa gets the drink delivered to him and he drinks in the privacy of his quarters—Caramel ribbon frappe crunch, extra caramel, extra crunchy toppings, extra whip cream.

Toa frequently orders one cat-shaped cake-pop for Knight. Knight complains each time, lamenting he’s not a child. Toa ignores the complaints, since Knight says them while polishing off the cake-pop.

Lynt and Tino

If ordering alone, Lynt gets a bottle of natural spring mineral water. If Lynt is ordering with Tino…Lynt still reaches for a bottle of water, but after hearing Tino lament over the prince’s lack of desire to consume anything, he’ll grab an iced green tea. Lynt drinks three sips of tea before giving it to Tino.

Regardless of the weather, Tino gets the classic hot chocolate and pours the beverage in a mug passed down from his grandmother.

Fenn and Violet

Fenn has tried EVERY drink at least once. Flirts with baristas shamelessly to get extra shots of vanilla or espresso in his drinks. Is personally responsible for half of the secret drink menu items such as the purple drink, the raspberry cheesecake Frappuccino, the sour patch kids drink, and the apple martini refresher.

Regardless of which drink he orders, Fenn always orders a second drink—a mango dragonfruit refresher. This drink is given to Violet, who often combines the drink with Luxuran blue wine before going out on a date.

Roy, Sherry, and Grayson

Roy has tried every tea drink on the menu, including those on the secret drink menu. He always adds a few Invidian tea leaves to his tea. When Roy doesn’t have tea, he usually orders the pink drink with extra strawberries.

When he goes out with Sherry, Roy smiles indulgently and gets two unicorn Frappuccinos, with extra whip cream and raspberry syrup.

Grayson refuses to imbibe in the unicorn drink, despite Sherry’s pleas. Grayson on a sugar high is nearly as eventful as Grayson imbibing alcohol.

Rio and Thoma

On more than one occasion, Rio has paid for the drink order of the person behind him. Will happily drink anything and often asks the barista for their favorite drink and choose that.

When it’s Fall though, Rio orders only pumpkin spice lattes or Frappuccinos. All hail Rio, the prince of pumpkin spice. Thoma, conversely, DESPISES pumpkin spice, with a passion of a thousand fiery suns. Thoma LOVES Apple crisp Frappuccinos.

Lance

Refuses to contribute money to the soulless corporate machine known as Starbucks. Nope.

Dia, Jay, and Lou

Dia never picks up his orders in person. Jay picks up a very berry hibiscus lemonade on behalf of his young charge and then gets an Earl Grey tea for himself. The pair then split an order of kale and mushroom egg bites. Dia’s mood sours greatly if the egg bites are not available.

The other half of the secret drink menu not made by Fenn was created by Lou. Often, Lou will simply point to random ingredients near the barista and ask if they can be combined.

No Lou, don’t combine espresso and lemonade. Just don’t.

#court of darkness #guy avari #toa qelsum #lynt akedia #fenn luxure #roy invidia #rio voleri #lance ira #starbucks #headmaster lou

46 notes · View notes

dervampireprince · 1 year ago

Text

Mine and other ASMR creators work is being stolen and put on Spotify as 'podcasts' without our consent!

There is a 'podcast' (actually, 'podcasts' plural but we'll get there) on Spotify called "Boyfriend audios and more!! by a user called Imagine. They admit the content they are posting is not made by them, but that does not matter. Reposting is not okay, even if you credit the creator, unless you have creator's consent. It's still stealing even though they gave credit to the creators, we did not give permission for our work to be put on Spotify. But this person did not ask anyone for permission before doing this. And as it's on Spotify it's likely it is monetized (I'm not sure if it's possible to have un-monetized content on Spotify) meaning this person is possibly making money off reposting our work. Even if they are not making money this is still not okay and it's still stealing our work. There are so many creators who's work has been stolen from larger accounts with hundreds of thousands of subscribers to accounts that have a couple hundred subscribers. The 'podcast' started posting on April 7th 2023 and updated as recently as yesterday (October 24th 2023). Plenty of creators offer downloads of their work on Patreon, or you could get Youtube Premium if you want to listen to them offline, you don't need to go to unauthorised Spotify reposts. And plenty of audio creators upload their work to Spotify themselves anyway! I've seen people's work reposted on Spotify that already uploaded the work to Spotify themselves anyway. The 'podcast' currently has 378 ratings (people who have decided to rate it out of 5 stars) so people know it's there and are listening to it.

[ID: My uploads of my 'visiting king' royalty roleplay series of audios on Youtube that I created, improvised, voice acted, recorded, and posted to my own Youtube channel dervampireprince.]

[ID: Reposts of my audios on Spotify that I did not give permission to be put on Spotify.]

I want to credit and thank Vincent VNNZ Vogel for finding this playlist and making me aware of it. Please go and share his tweet, and any other creator's quote-retweets of this situation. Please tag or make other creators you know or follow aware of this situation so we can hopefully either all report this or at least make people aware that this isn't okay. I found a report form on Spotify but I'm scared to fill it out as it talks about consulting with an attorney.

This is a list (as of today's date) of all the creators who's work has been stolen and put on this 'podcast'. Please go and support them on their own Youtube channels and do not listen to them on Spotify (or any other platform) unless they have uploaded the work there themselves: Sundew Audios, Joemama ASMR, sleepingzzz, A Warm Coffee Mug, cubby wubby, SunnyAudios, untitled whispers, Ubel Loss Ch, Redacted Audio, Girl in Dungarees, Mystric Mommy, Styxasmr, Eggsmr, Yuurivoice, Moonlight Haven, Nora ASMR, Ice cold audios, Goodboyaudios, Prince Kairo, Seth VA, LineChu ASMR, Icey ASMR, Wolf Audios, ShayBay, TeaDrop_Writes, Isagani VA, CardlinAudio, Phasmid ASMR, AzeruOfficial, JustBLASMR, SuruASMR, Asmodeus Audios, Man of Culture ASMR, TheSHyOne VA, Dream Boyfriend, OLIV3R ASMR, Akolmfi, YourgirlfriendASMR, ZSakuVA, DÆva Celestial, Moonlight Audio, Mallum Audio, Afterglow ASMR, Miss Cherri VA, izumi audio, Lilac ASMR, Mykie's voice, Vincent VNNZ Vogel, Jae ASMR, Poptart, HyperHedgehog, Sooshy VA, Ramble King ASMR, WhispurrAudio, Lamian Audio, Garr's Enclave, Dark and Twisted Whisper, GigixHunter, Cloudy Girl ASMR, Nept Audios, dervampireprince, adingGENESIS, Pie Crust Audios, Reality Dreams Audio, Green Leaf Audios ASMR. I haven't tagged them all here because I don't want to come across as spamming them, especially if they've already been tagged on Twitter, and it probably sounds stupid but most of them are bigger creators than me and I don't want to bother them. I also think Youtube might not like it if I tag a block of loads of different accounts all at once, I think that'll make Youtube think I'm a spam bot. But please do go and check out their channels by searching for them!

I feel sick. I'm shaking. I've had my art, as in artwork I draw and sell on Etsy, stolen any times and this year has been the worst. For those not following me elsewhere my Baldur's Gate 3 fanart got stolen and is being resold on t-shirts on Etsy, AliExpress, RedBubble and maybe more platforms. I taken one down and four more pop up. And that's far from the first time my drawings have been stolen. But I never expected my audios to get stolen like this. I have notices everywhere that I do not allow reposting, reuploading, or editing of my content. Though someone shouldn't need to have those things written down, it's common sense and basic human decency to not steal and repost other people's creations without their consent, whether you are monetising it or not.

I don't know what steps to take here. I hope Spotify takes this stuff down if enough of us report it. But the only people who can report it are the creators themselves. I don't have many connections or reach within the ASMR/VA community, but I hope other creators see this post, or other's posts about this situation, and are able to report and take down this content off Spotify.

As I'm writing this I decided to open the playlist up on the mobile app for Spotify where there is a 'more like this' tab. And sure enough. This is not the only person doing this. There are multiple 'podcasts' that are just full of stolen content. I'm sure this isn't all of them but these are the ones I have found. I have no idea how to tackle this. None of this is okay. There's more than just the ones in the screenshots here. There's one's that give no credit and just say 'I didn't make any of this' 'credit to creator' without naming the creator, straight up N-SFW content which is against Spotify's rules. And some of them in their about sections are complaining about getting copyright reports against them, thinking it's funny, saying their last podcast got taken down but they're just made this new one. All the content they are reposting is already online for people to listen too, some of it already on Spotify.

There's no excuse for reposting and not crediting someone (unless maybe they're doing it so the creator can't find and report them), and even with credit it's not okay. Message the creator first, ask them if they are okay with reposting. "But what if they say no?" then you don't do it. The same applies to any content whether it's ASMR or whether it's someone's fanart drawing. It hurts, it feels uncomfortable, it's crossing boundaries to take people's content that doesn't belong to you and repost, especially if you are monetizing and making money off it. I don't know how anyone can call themself a fan of a creator, how anyone can be a fan of a creator's work, and then do this. I'm scared to report for copyright. Multiple owners of these 'podcasts' have made it clear when they're reposts can taken down, they just reupload them again, that when their accounts get taken down they just make new ones and go straight back to reposting content. So reporting might not do anything. Even if anything is taken down, it will probably get reuploaded again and I don't want to be checking and reporting every day of my life. So then all I can do is raise awareness, tell people not to listen to these podcasts, make the creators of these podcasts know we are not comfortable with this and maybe that will make some of them stop doing this, maybe even make Spotify aware.

If you really like us or the content we make then be respectful of us and our boundaries.

This is Vincent's initial tweet about the situation, please help spread it and make other creators and viewers aware.

Please do not send any hate towards anyone who is making these playlist. I will not link to them on purpose. I do not want them being harassed or sent messages, and I do not want people going and listening to them.

I haven't proof read this so sorry if there are any mistakes. I am not well physical health wise at the moment and have been very stressed out this week due to a number of things that have happened and this is really the last thing I needed. I don't have the mental capacity to read back through this before I post it. I hope it's understandable.

#the vampire vents

42 notes · View notes