#also...the sam/ness thing???

[fappellmoan]

real life drama moment eye roll sams apparently struggling bc he wants to move out and is touring this building hes been eyeing but his roommates dont want him to but also apparently theres beef and he just 'doesnt want to be friends with those people anymore' and he was really vague about what that was all abt and his friend group and who he wanted to even still talk to. and well. not my circus not my monkeys....... but im gonna go ahead and keep my feet in two lanes here does that make me a shady bitch. girl i literally dk any details and thats fine but like. idk whatever..

[wlwgang]

Guys wait I had shiver on my nook from ages ago I’m rereading… watch this space

[soullessjack]

no I’m using it in a general sense ur safe ^_^

People rag on Dean for pointing guns at his loved ones but forget that Sam's the only one who's ever pulled the trigger on family with the intent to kill.

[dipperscavern]

THE BET - JON SNOW

pairing: jon snow x gn!reader, 4.2k words

synopsis: you’ve made a bet with jon snow — now begs the question, who will come out on top?

authors note: i heard the call for jon snow content, and this idea came to me in the middle of the night wearing dobby the elfs tea cozy. enjoy! <3 [ @eldrith ]

jon snow never considered himself a betting man.

he never considered himself a blushing one, either — or a swooning one. until he met you.

you bring out the best in him, it’s true. but you also (somehow) bring to light his playful side, the one he thought he left behind in winterfell; along with the games he, robb, and theon used to play, the peace of the godswood, the smell of the kitchens wafting through the corridors (stick them with the pointy end).

he had left it all at winterfell on purpose. he needed to shed jon, shed the princely stark-ness he’d grown up with (though he’d never consider himself a real one), and replace it with the black he adorned on his shoulders. ever since he knelt before the weirwood, swearing vows in the sight of the old gods, he was no longer boy — but man. and with that, he left the boyish attributes, replacing them by those of men. warriors. or, at least, he’d like to believe.

partaking in bets was one of the most boyish things he could do, but truly, he could not chide himself for it if he tried. it involves you — it involves making you smile. and that, he will never register as a thing needing scolding, even if it’s only internally.

it was painfully obvious to you and jon the way samwell tarly looked at gilly, daughter of the devil. you would know, it’s how you and jon spend your time looking at one another. sam is head over heels for gilly, always helping her to the best of his abilities, advocating for her, looking at her as if she hung the stars and the moon… yes, samwell tarly was smitten.

you and jon both knew gilly was taken with sam. gilly knew she was taken with sam. the only one who didn’t know gilly was taken with sam, was sam himself.

you and jon are rather protective over sam and gilly both, so while you’d kill and die for them, you’ve left their feelings to be sorted out themselves. of course, you give advice when asked, and perhaps give one a nudge in the right direction on occasion, but is it really meddling if it’s for a good cause?

the true reason sam had kept his feelings to himself so far, was an extremely sweet one. he didn’t want gilly to think he was just using her, or didn’t genuinely care for her. he didn’t want her to be able to look at him and see her father. well, that, and he was shy — but that was one of the things you and jon liked about sam. it somehow made him sweeter.

either way, even with his profound saint-like mindset, you could tell sam was getting closer to telling gilly how he really felt. you saw the way he would open his mouth to say something, how gilly would give him her full attention, then how he’d shrink back down, letting his nerves get the best of him.

sam only grew more frustrated as time went on (never with gilly, only himself). when asked, sam would stumble out something like-

“Gilly — oh, right, she’s um — she’s great...” with a defeated look in his eye, leaving before you could ask further.

staring at her (more than usual), never being able to fully concentrate when she was near. he’d always start to approach her, then let his nerves steer him in the other direction. gilly was now all sam could think about, it being the only topic of conversation jon could coax out of him. sure, it began to drive jon fairly mad, but it was better than the grumbling silence you’d endured at the start of his romantic-turmoil. samwell tarly was nearing the edge of insanity, and you & jon could both tell it wouldn’t be long yet. so, naturally, you’d made a bet.

“You know, I think Sam’s really gonna do it.”

your voice cut through the silence as you and jon cleaned up the mess hall. right now, you were looking out a window, watching sam and gilly have a conversation. sam was fidgeting, the way he always does when he’s nervous.

“You must not know him very well, then.” jon says. you turn to give jon an exasperated look, barely concealing the roll of your eyes. he looks up at you, and you see the upward quirk of his lips that tells you he finds this — the joint disagreeing — truly enjoying.

“I mean it,” you say, touching your tongue to the roof of your mouth, turning back to resume observing them. as gilly and sam share a smile, a noise akin to one you’d make seeing a small puppy rises from the back of your throat, voice softening. “Awh— Jon, look at them.”

this does the trick of grabbing jon’s attention, and he stops his table-scrubbing to come join you at the window. he shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. “It’ll never happen,” he says.

“Gods, Snow,” the use of his surname in place of your usual (honey-dripping) ‘jon’ has his head snapping to you. “I didn’t take you for faithless.”

the chuckle jon lets slip has shivers crawling up your spine. you choose to ignore it. “I only mean,” he says, re-wetting his scrub brush. “that Sam is one to take it slow.” you turn to give him a look that has him backtracking.

“Slower than he has been,” he clarifies. he looks to you, and takes your lack of response as acceptance, moving to resume his table-scrubbing. you resume as well, and a few seconds pass before you stop, looking at jon with newfound defiance.

“No— your absence of faith does not deter me,” you say, pointing an accusing finger at jon. he bites back his smile at how cute you look in your retaliation. “Sam’s going to do it, I know this.”

jon takes the bait, setting down his scrub brush, leaning both hands against the table. “Alright, and I know he won’t.”

you scoff at his stubbornness. “He’ll approach her by the next moon’s turn.” you don’t give sam much time, the next moons turn being only a week away. you don’t give it any thought.

jon raises his brows. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then you win.” you say, lightly shrugging. “Aye, I would. What would I get in return?” he asks, unrelenting. you search for something worthy to offer, but come up short. he fills in the gaps for you.

“Whatever I want?”

you nod. you usually wouldn’t put such a promise in a man of the nights watches hands, most being criminals & rapists, but it’s not just anyone you’re trusting. it’s jon. he’s safe.

“You’re on, Snow.” you say, returning to your table-scrubbing without further word than that. jon ignores the butterflies in his stomach, and attempts to scrub them away on the hard wood of the worn-out oak table.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

over the next week, you’re starting to become faithless; it seems the gods have abandoned you.

you thought his frustration would boil over, giving him the confidence he needed to confess, but yet again, samwell tarly has exceeded expectations in the department of pining.

jon silently relishes in his oncoming victory, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so — prone to smiling. whenever he sees you, he bites the inside of his cheek (or his tongue), in every effort to conceal the massive grin that threatens to erupt on his face. this only makes you grumble, and edds told you if you don’t stop rolling your eyes so much they’ll get stuck like that.

sam has peeled away from everything entirely, it seems. keeping his head down, only speaking when spoken to, always looking like he has something on his mind. he’s like this with everyone, jon, gilly, and you included. the nights watch is feeling the absence of their usual beam of light, and edds proclaimed if you, jon, and gilly aren’t being spoken to, then they all should keep an eye out for wildlings flying over the wall until further notice.

now, when you and jon see each other, it’s more silent than ever. you know if he opens his mouth it’ll be boasting proclamations of onset victory, and you can’t say if that happens you won’t put your hands on him. he seems to know this too, smart enough to keep to himself and not press your buttons. somehow this only frustrates you more. maybe if jon was more insufferable, you’d have a harder time loving him.

even with your own romantic dilemma, the main thing on your mind is sam, and the stupid bet you shouldn’t have made in the first place. you’ve tried leaving sam alone, forgetting about it entirely, praying, and even giving him a nudge in the right direction. making sure jon wasn’t near, then asking about his day, and after, about gilly — but iif you ask about gilly, you get the same record on repeat.

“What? Oh, Gilly, yeah… yeah she’s great. Working with Maester Aemon ‘nd… she’s great, really.” he’d say, fiddling with his hands, gaze trapped on the floor (or, if gilly was in the vicinity, on her).

your gaze would soften, but even you aren’t enough this time. “Sam, look, maybe you should—“

“Oh— I’ve got to go, I’m late for my meeting with Jon. Bye.. bye then!” he’d call, walking quickly in the other direction (not toward jon’s chambers), and as he walks away, you could almost see victory leaving with him.

by the end of the week, you and sam are in the same boat emotionally. jon thinks if you scrub the tables any harder you’ll break the wood, and this time, he doesn’t refrain from mentioning it.

“Careful.”

he means it in (half) good faith, but you glare at him all the same. and you see the shift in his tongue that means he’s biting down on it to stop his smile from appearing. you roll your eyes, and the image of edds face appears in your head as you do so.

you scrub angrily for the next few minutes, until you can’t bear it anymore.

“I can’t believe it. I actually can’t believe it, Jon.”

he glances up at you, a raise of his brows appearing as he speaks. “Who’s faithless now?”

“Don’t. You and I both know he was near to burst a week ago.” you say, crossing your arms and looking out the same window you did the night a bet was made.

jon makes a noise of disagreement, but (intelligently) doesn’t press any further.

“I just don’t get it. How can — how can you be so,” you look for the right wording, emotion punctuating your sentences. “so in love with someone without telling them?”

jon momentarily stops scrubbing, entire body pausing at your words. luckily for him, you’re too caught up with sam to notice. jon gets it.

“He doesn’t want to ruin what they have.” he says, and if you weren’t so frustrated, you’d pick up on the tone that says he isn’t just talking about sam and gilly. you come to sit at the bench of the table hes working on, and jon notices the color of your eyes bathed in the light exuding from the window.

“Right, but—“ you sigh, trying to string your thoughts together. “but they could have more. Isn’t it worth the risk, than to spend your time only being that? Always dancing on the edge of more?”

the sincerity jon can see in your eyes only makes his heart race, but it also makes him reflect on your relationship. jon’s in love with you, that much is easy to pinpoint, but do you love him? would you allow his tainted hands to sully you, if given the opportunity? jon’s gaze flickers to your lips, and returns back to your eyes.

though quick, in the silence, you notice it. you take pity, leaning back to allow jon his personal space (that you hadn’t even registered invading) back. he only wishes you’d return, even closer this time.

but he doesn’t say that. among all the things unspoken…

“Sam doesn’t think it worth the risk.” he decides, and he can see the gears turning in your head. he returns to light scrubbing to give you time to string your thoughts together. you don’t like speaking without correlation (the first thing jon learned about you).

a few seconds pass before you speak, and your voice is quieter than its usual volume. “Do you think it worth the risk?”

jon’s silence only prompts you to make the question clearer. “If you had the opportunity, would you risk it?”

would he? would he speak your name, of the devotion he harbors for you? he could take the risk, but what’s the rush? jon’s never considered his time with you limited. he shrugs.

“It depends,” he says. “On the person.. how long I have. Some are content where they stand.”

you nod, but he can tell that’s not the answer you were looking for. “I think so,” he adds as an afterthought. you seem content with it, and brush his knuckles in passing as you return to your own table. it makes his heart jump.

jon would think it accidental if he didn’t know you so well.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

you think you could smell jon’s amusement from anywhere you stand in castle black.

the moon turns tonight, and sam seems no closer now than he was a week ago. the jest is on you for putting faith in the confidence of cowards.

you’re perfectly content to avoid jon for the entirety of the day, and even worse, he seems content to let you. you meet each others eyes in passing, and while your gaze is defeated, his is only cloaked with half-amused sympathy (accompanied by that smile he adorns only when he’s with you). if you looked closer, you don’t doubt you could find some arrogance in there, but you’re too busy being a sore loser to try. it doesn’t occur to you that jon hates not seeing you achieve, even if it’s only a bet. one that’s in his favor.

the nights watch had decided to celebrate the moons turning with drinks after supper tonight. usually, the moon isn’t any topic worthy of celebration, but things have been unusually quiet in castle black lately. as far as white walkers and wildlings go, that is. why not have a little fun?

the mess hall is warm, bustling with the combined voices of black brothers. bellies are full, and the ale in everyone’s cup allows for a lighthearted atmosphere. you’ve decided to put the bet on a back burner, a simmering problem to deal with tomorrow. you’re warm & fuzzy, looser with your tongue than usual; although you can’t help wincing whenever someone drops food or creates a new stain on the tables.

you forego avoiding jon, and not just because you naturally gravitate toward him when drinking ale. he’s more than eager to keep you by his side, not fully trusting anyone in the room with you incapacitated (maybe edd on blood moons).

much to your dismay, there’s been no sign of samwell tarly. he had vacated the premises after everyone was done supping, and before the ale had been poured. everyone noticed; of course they did. sam was alike to the glue that held much together. sure, he was cowardly, and occasionally frustrating, but sam was the voice of reason. and everyone was starting to feel the weight of his absence.

bet or not, you think after tonight you might have to seriously intervene in your friends love life. you hate to see him like this, dejected and hopeless…. maybe you have a better chance of guiding gilly than sam. in the midst of your thoughts, you glance out the window noticing the sun setting. and with it, goes any hope you had at victory.

jon’s gaze follows yours, and recognizes your defeat with you. but still, ever the gentleman, he doesn’t mention it; only allowing a small upward tug to play on his lips. you return it, momentarily leaning into jon in a silent acknowledgment, before getting roped into grenns white-walker conspiracy theory.

the hours pass easily, greatly enjoying the boisterous atmosphere, the ale making you warm & floaty. you find it harder to keep your eyes off jon as the night goes on, and you almost internally chide yourself for it; until you recognize that every time you’ve stolen a glance at jon, he’s already been looking at you.

eventually, it gets late, and you want to turn in. the only reason jon’s been here so long is you anyways, so when he says his goodbyes along with you, silently following you out, you don’t pay it any mind. your tipsy brain clouds your judgement, and you wrap a hand around his bicep, the muscle underneath making you feel fuzzy.

jon only glances down to where you meet, afraid if he looks too long, you’ll get shy and pull away. and he really, really doesn’t want you to pull away.

you walk in silence until a thought occurs to you. you decide to push aside your pride and propriety, letting instead curiosity steer your tongue.

“So, Snow,” you begin, and he hums, propping you to go on. “Since you’ve won, what’ll it be?”

it seems that the ale isn’t just affecting you, because the question makes jon smile almost too easily. you want to see more of it, so you continue.

“A handshake… the clothes off my back… my soul…” you remark, and it gets you just want you wanted — jon shakes his head, smile not leaving his face.

“Not here,” he says, and he steers you both in the direction of the wall. what jon could possibly want that would need the privacy of the wall, you’re unsure (no you aren’t).

the walk there is quiet, the only sound being the wind flapping your coats. it only makes you more aware of the warmth emanating from jon, and you both pretend you don’t lean into each other. you only remove your hand from him as you approach the box, and he puts a hand on the small of your back to usher you in front of him. if jon would do so without the added ale is a thing that you question for only a moment, as the creaking of the box signals it’s begun ascent.

now you really are curious as to what jon could want. he’s an honorable man… does he need a secret kept? a new cloak? or does he just wish for a conversation in the solaced privacy of the wall?

the ride up feels shorter than usual, but you’re not sure what to blame it on. it’s a strange feeling, your nerves on fire, yet the ale douses it to a low buzz. you partially blame jon, always forgetting yourself when he’s present. how you ever hope to confront your feelings is beyond you.

when you step out, jon offers his arm this time, and you gladly accept it. perhaps you’re not the only one who finds comfort in the action.

you begin your walk, and based on the route, you think he’s taking you both to your favorite place. a quiet indent in the wall, close enough to not be a far walk, but long enough to get away from prying eyes and listening ears. it has a small wall of ice that acts as a (sort of) guard-rail, coming to the waist — but the rest is left open, the expanse of woods beyond the wall available to be gazed upon.

the quiet is comfortable, as it always is with jon. you have much on the tip of your tongue, but give him the courtesy of speaking first.

it’s not long before you’re approaching your little sanctuary; scattered black brothers are guarding the expanse of the wall behind you, and in front of you, but none linger around this area. the thought remains in the back of your mind as you make the turn, walking into the indent, the view beyond it making your breath hitch.

you remove your hand from jon’s arm, instead splaying it across the waist-high-iced-guard-rail. it’s freezing, even under your gloved hand, yet it’s a welcome respite from the way jon sets your nerves alight, turning your skin to fire. patience is hard, yet you wait for him to speak.

“What you said,” he begins. “about taking the risk,”

you turn to look at him, but this time, he doesn’t meet your eyes. his tongue darts out to wet his lip, the way it does when he’s nervous. what could jon have to be nervous about?

“It made me think…”

whatever jon was going to say, you’re not sure you’ll ever know, because rapidly approaching footsteps have the words dying on his tongue — looking behind you both. who is running down the wall at this hour? and why?

a figure appears, out of breath and panting. sam.

“I looked for you! In the— in the mess hall, but— Grenn and Edd said you weren’t there, said you’d left,” you and jon must look as confused as you are, since when did sam run?

a grin erupts on sam’s face as he gets past his introduction. “I did it! I really did it!”

“Did what?” jon prompts, but you think he already knows.

“Gilly!” sam says, and you can feel your brows instantly un-crease themselves. “Well, I— you know, I was nervous. Didn’t want to ruin what we had or, or what she thought of me but.. I just sort of— went up to her and did it! I can’t believe she said yes…” he says, wistfully looking to the sky with a smile on his face, like he can’t believe the gods allowed it to happen, either. you wore one of your own, bathing in jon’s defeat.

sam looks at you both for a minute, then at jon, and the smile he’s wearing dies down as he realizes he’s interrupted. “Oh— oh, sorry… I’ll go now, I just—“ reality seems to hit him again, as another smile erupts on his face.

“I did it!” he says, then spins on his heel, leaving you both atop the wall.

a few moments pass, before you turn to look at jon. you both have a look of disbelief, yours mixed with a smile — and strangely enough, even in defeat, so is his.

“I’m thinking your rations for a month, the cloak you’re wearing...” you say, and jon huffs out a laugh (they come easier around you)

“What Sam did, is called blindsiding—“

“Hm,” you say, interrupting the end of his sentence. “It looks like defeat, instead. What were you going to demand, again?”

you’re only teasing, but you accidentally hit a soft spot. you see the way his smile falters, seriousness beginning its return to his face. it makes your own smile disappear.

“I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to…” you say, but once you see the expression on his face, something clicks. “What were you going to ask for, Jon?”

it seems like you’ve asked him to throw himself off the wall. he shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter.”

“To me it does.”

he begins to turn away from you, but your hand flies to his arm, halting him. he sighs in frustration. you try to catch his gaze, but he makes effort not to look at you.

“I won, and that’s what I ask.” you say, “For you to tell me what you wanted.”

you can see his internal turmoil, but that only makes you want to shrink away. what plagues jon so badly he dares not to speak it aloud? not speak of it to you?

you can tell he doesn’t want to say it, but a bet is a bet.

“You.”

your brows scrunch involuntarily. “Me?”

“I wanted to kiss you.” he says, his gaze flickering momentarily to your lips. “Want.”

your lips part in shock. not that he wants to kiss you (you’ve known. you want to kiss him) but that you’ve been able to coax him to say as much.

your gaze flicks to his lips once, twice, and you step closer — body almost flush with his. at the same time you reach up, jon leans down, and you connect your lips with his. they’re soft, warm; everything you thought they’d be when your thoughts would drift to him.

the kiss is sweet, tentative. exploring unknown territory, but also wanting — needing. you feel jon’s hand come to your waist, pulling you even closer (if possible), your body now flush against his.

eventually, the need to breathe takes over, and you both (reluctantly) pull apart. his cheeks are flushed, and you have an idea that it’s not from the cold this time. his pupils are blown, want pooling in them; but, also, something else swims in the midst. confusion.

“But— I lost,” he says, looking to you for an answer. you pretend to take mild offense, a playful roll of your eyes accompanying your words.

“You know, Jon, when someone gets kissed, they usually don’t consider it a loss.”

it seems to be the right answer, a smile tugging its way back up his lips. his response is him leaning down to kiss you again.

[fox-guardian]

i hesitate to put sam in the category of "wet cat" kinda guy because he simply doesn't have that sort of vibe. i feel like scrunkly wet cat-ness requires a certain level of. idk defiance?? a lack of dignity?? that he doesn't really have. idk. like yes he's a little guy who hurt himself kicking a filing cabinet but like. he said "ow" out loud afterwards all sad like. he pouts and audibly gives people big sad puppy eyes like all the time. there's no loss of dignity if his whole thing is being a noodle-armed little baby foal guy and he knows it. he's not a wet cat he's like. a dry but cold puppy shivering sitting outside your door looking up at you all sad like. he know he's pitiful but he Also knows he's cute (at least a little bit)

[gothcsz]

Need To Know | Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~8.6k wc | Part 3 of the Fantasize series | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: The aftermath of Javier knowing who his gatita is.

Tags: stalking, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, sex in front of a mirror, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), spanking, creampie, pwp, some physical descriptions but overall it's pretty vague, no use of Y/N, reader is a photojournalist, reader speaks spanish, we're altering canon timeline just a bit, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: i had every intention of making this a three part series but i'm just... in love with these two so expect maybe one or two more works with them 🖤 this one's for all my s3 javi truthers out there. i see you, i recognize you, we stand together 🙂‍↕️ mwah, disfruten 💋

DIVIDERS CREDIT: saradika

“Stoddard, my office. Now.”

The younger agent just about craps his pants at his boss’s authoritative tone, getting looks from both Feistl and Van Ness.

“Someone’s in trouble.”

There’s a few hushed laughs as the door to Javier’s office closes. He goes to sit at his desk, pulling out your press lanyard, which is right next to the envelope that holds your naughty polaroids, from the top drawer and he hands it across to him.

“Have you seen this woman before?”

The second Stoddard recognizes your face, he blinks rapidly and swallows thickly before attempting to disguise his reaction with an unconvincing shake of his head.

“No boss.”

Javier laughs humorlessly, scratching at his jaw.

“Alright let’s try that again, except this time you’re going to tell me the truth.”

And just like that, Stoddard folds. He tells his superior everything; from the run ins at the market to the almost weekly debriefs you two shared in various coffee shops around the city.

So that’s how you’ve been getting information. Using that grit of yours that’s driven him crazy since the first night you showed up. Enlisting in the help of a more… timid agent.

But he’s sure that any man you approached would have crumbled like Stoddard, abandoning anything to fulfill whatever you asked of him.

After all, you’ve got Javier, the boss, wrapped around your finger— completely at your mercy. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it.

The silence that settles is thick until Javier asks, “Did you sleep with her?”

Stoddard’s reaction is almost cartoonish. His eyes widen, and this time, he gives a more frantic, convincing head shake. “N-no sir absolutely not!”

He just had to make sure, despite you telling him that it’s only been him. Though that could have easily been a heat of the moment thing.

Once upon a time, he was the one sleeping around for information, so it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think that you were doing the same.

Kind of hypocritical of him to be worked up over the prospect of you indulging in similar antics.

Anything to get a good story— so why not fuck with the DEA’s head?

He’s not usually this possessive over his partners, but you’re unlike any of the others and it’s aggravating how you’ve got him wound up so tight.

“Next time you want to feed information to the press, you tell me first. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Go.”

He dismisses the younger agent and Stoddard eagerly departs. Javier’s never seen him move that fast.

His initial reaction to knowing your identity was to track you down and immediately confront you. But after many contemplative drinks and cigs; he decided against it.

It was too impulsive, and he wasn’t sure what he would do once he was face to face with your unmasked countenance.

The downfall of Cali had also put a pin in his plans, with him so wrapped up in finding then reprimanding the right people— all the while watching his back from the assholes on Uncle Sam’s side. 

Now, after doing all that he could in his fucking job, he’s able to return to this, to you, with much less on his shoulders. For the time being.

He asked his secretary about you next, and that’s where he figured out where he remembered you from.

“She called and asked for a meeting weeks ago, but as per your request; I told her no can do.”

Then you proceeded to wait outside for him, despite the pouring rain, and he had regrettably blown you off.

To his defense, he was dealing with a lot of bullshit that day (as he always is) and didn’t have the time to stop and chat with a pretty reporter.

He then asked the security guard that was working the night you visited his office if he recognized you, to which the older man immediately said, “Si, su prometida.”

He found himself smirking at that, amusement curling at the edges of his mouth.

“¿Tiene vídeo de seguridad de esa noche?”

And with that, he was able to see how you conned your way up to his floor and into his office. There was no audio, just the visual of you leaning over the desk and using your body to distract this poor old man, your hand raising to show off the ring, then you excitingly striding over to the elevator that was off screen.

He supposes he should be alarmed, wary of you, but he isn’t.

He’s dealt with the media and journalists countless of times, he knows how relentless they can get. It’s no surprise that you share the same characteristic.

It’s all piecing together. Catalyst, motive, execution. Though he does wonder why exactly you’re doing this.

Was it to get ahead of any story pertaining to Cali? Maybe something else that’s unraveling beneath Javier’s nose that he hasn’t sniffed out yet?

Your motive is lost on him, which is why he needs to launch a small, personal investigation of his own to figure out what exactly you’re after.

He stakes out your job for a day but you never come in and it makes him antsy. He could pull some strings, do some flirting around the embassy to get information on an American journalist working in the capitol.

But he won’t. Instead, he takes a page from your book— even though he has no idea that you’ve been the one watching him all this time.

Then it happens. You show up, instantly capturing his attention.

The sun bathes everything in a golden light, but it seems to focus especially on you, making you glow as you bound up the steps of the building.

You’re wearing a pretty dress that momentarily short-circuits his brain, gaze lingering on how well it fits your figure.

Vivid images of your body writhing beneath his, shaking the desk while he fucked you senseless, cloud his mind and his jaw tenses.

He’s torn, flitting through the outcomes of how a confrontation would go if he were to do it now, when you reemerge from the building, heading back down the street you came.

Javier decides to follow you.

He watches as you stop to have lunch, chatting with the waitress that tends to you as you sit outside, notebooks spread out on the table with your head bowed over them in concentration.

He wonders what you’re working on.

He watches as you run your errands; stopping by the dry cleaners to pick up your pressed blouses and pencil skirts.

After, you wander through an outdoor market, carefully selecting fresh fruit. That’s where he learns you have a particular fondness for mangos and plums.

Then lastly, a video store that you spend way too much time in before coming out, and he’s upset that he can’t tell what tapes you’ve rented out for the evening. 

This is no different than any of the previous stakeouts he’s done, that’s how he rationalizes watching you for the rest of the week.

When he isn’t drowning in work at the office, he’s trailing you through the city, piecing together the details of your daily life.

He notices the subtle nuances that define you— the little habits and preferences that make you who you are.

Yet, despite all this observation, he still wonders how the fuck he’s going to confront you about it all.

Javier finally reaches his breaking point after a fruitless day of searching Bogotá for you.

Now, he’s back at his usual spot, parked outside your workplace, chewing his gum with a vengeance while his leg bounces restlessly in the cramped space of his car.

Fuck this.

He’s done with the cat-and-mouse game.

It doesn’t take much persuasion to get your boss to lead him to your cubicle. The man even boasts about the view, claiming it’s the best in the city, before leaving Javier alone.

He studies the photos of you and friends from back home on your desk, postcards that you’ve been meaning to send, a kaleidoscope of colorful post-it notes with a variety of reminders and to-do’s scattered about.

Everything about you is vastly different from the gatita he knows.

His gaze settles on your address book, tucked discreetly between binders and folders. After a quick glance around to ensure no one is watching, he slides it out, flips it open, and quickly scribbles down your apartment and phone number before carefully placing it back in its original spot.

Looking out of the window, he notices the panoramic view of the city; with the embassy building in perfect line of sight. That can’t be a coincidence.

He leaves after that, resolute on making his way to your apartment, when his mobile phone begins to ring.

Muttering a quick fuck, he answers.

“Peña.”

“Es Carolina. I’m ready to meet.”

The President of Colombia’s campaign was partially funded by the cartel in return for amnesty deal.

Cartel members are now being extradited to the United States.

It’s all big. fucking. news. You’re rushing to la Casa de Nariño just like every other reporter is, all eager to get the best seat at the impromptu press conference that’s being held.

With your camera, recording device and determination in hand, you’re racing up the marbled steps to join the crowd when you’re stopped by an officer.

“Sólo personal y la prensa pueden pasar por este punto.”

“Yo soy reportera.” You hiss, narrowing your gaze.

“Pruébalo. Identificación, por favor.”

He gives you a look that makes you want to knock his teeth out but you refrain from doing so, grumbling out some expletives and reaching for the familiar lanyard around your neck… only to find it gone.

Your confusion is written all over your face and the officer flashes you a shit-eating grin.

“Sin identificación no hay entrada.”

You were so eager to get here that you hadn’t thought twice about it since you always have it on you.

Pissed off that you’re being denied access because of your own oversight, you turn on your heel and quite literally stomp all the way back to your car.

You can feel that smug asshole staring you down.

You search between the seats of your car, finding nothing but crumpled receipts and loose change— even that tube of lipgloss you’d lost forever ago, but no lanyard.

It has to be at your apartment. After everything that happened with Javier, you took some much-needed time off work to clear your head and regain your focus. You haven’t set foot in the office for a few days now, and even the last time you were there, it was just a quick visit—no reason for you to have brought it along.

Fuck, you hope you’re able to make it back in time to catch some semblance of the story. If not that, then at least to snap some good photos of the aftermath.

What a rookie-fucking-move. And today of all days.

Your heels and pencil skirt make the four-flight sprint to your floor a challenge, but you’d rather tackle the stairs than endure the agonizingly slow elevator that creeps up the building like a dying snail.

With hurried hands, you unlock the door and dash inside, immediately diving into the piles of magazines on your coffee table. When you find nothing, you frantically search every corner of the room, but your efforts come up empty.

A groan of frustration escapes your lips, and you mutter a string of curses under your breath as you head toward your bedroom.

This morning, you distinctly remember closing the door behind you. Now, it stands wide open, but in your haste, the irregularity doesn’t register.

As you step inside, your heart plummets to your stomach, the sensation akin to that gut-wrenching drop on a terrifying amusement park ride.

There, dressed in a navy suit with his hands on his hips is Javier Peña, studying the shrine you’ve made of him on the wall.

How the fuck did he get in?

Your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, the room spinning. Despite knowing that you’re standing right there; his focus remains ahead.

“You’re very detailed.”

You’re trembling now, the weight of your secret being exposed dragging you down as if cinderblocks have been chained to your ankles and you’re being thrown into a bottomless pit.

What do you say? What is there to say? 

Oh hey Javier! Yeah don’t mind that. It’s not like I’ve been stalking you for weeks. That’s absurd!

“Why— how—” Your voice sounds so small, the words failing to form on your tongue and this has him finally turning to face you.

The urgency you felt before is now long gone and replaced with crippling anxiety and embarrassment. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as you stare into those captivating brown eyes of his.

“Figured I’d be a good person and return this to its owner.” 

He pulls the goddamn press lanyard from inside of his jacket pocket, and your eyes widen in shock.

That night in his office. Surely you must’ve left it there unknowingly. Idiot!

He tosses it carelessly onto your dresser, his gaze never breaking yours, as he slowly begins to close the distance.

Your pulse quickens with each step he takes, the space between you shrinking until you can taste the tension in the air.

“Javi—”

“Shh,” he hushes, beginning to circle you, moving with the deliberate grace of a predator closing in on its prey.

The tables have turned. It’s his turn to wield the power. 

You obey, instinctively biting your lower lip as his eyes rake over you, drinking in the sight of your work attire.

They linger on the curve of your ass, then slide up to the way your blouse clings to your chest, tracing every contour.

A slow burn ignites within you, heat pooling at your core from the intensity of his presence.

“Wasn’t very hard to get your address and it was even easier convincing your landlord to let me in. The fiancé bit is genius, no wonder you used it down at the embassy.”

Shit, he knows about that too. You wonder just how much he’s figured out.

“You’ve been watching me for a while now, haven’t you gatita?” 

You whimper, hearing the name out in broad daylight and without your mask on feeling taboo for some reason.

He finally positions himself behind you, his warm breath grazing your ear as he brushes your hair aside, exposing the vulnerable skin of your neck.

“Breaking into my apartment. My office.”

Before you can respond, his strong hands seize your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasp, feeling the undeniable pressure of his erection pressing against your ass as he grinds into you.

“Snooping around my employees.”

One of his hands slides up, fingers digging into your breast with a rough possessiveness that makes you moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder in surrender.

You gaze up at him, your breath hitching as his eyes slowly roam over your face, lingering on the curve of your cupid’s bow, the elegant arch of your brow, the softness of your cheeks—his admiration leaving you breathless, yearning for more.

“Getting everything you need for your stories then fucking with me on the side. Think you’re so clever, huh?”

The hand on your hip begins its descent, trailing down until his fingers are toying with the hem of your skirt. He lets them linger, teasingly brushing against the bare skin of your thigh just above the edge of your skin-toned stockings.

“I shouldn’t even be here giving you what you want. But you’ve got me wrapped around that beautiful little finger of yours. I couldn’t stay away even if I tried.”

A desperate sound escapes your lips as his fingers slowly glide to the inside of your thigh. His knee nudges your legs wider apart, allowing him to lightly graze over your slit, the barrier of your cotton panties doing little to dull the feeling.

What? You hadn’t expected to get laid today. Well… if all had panned out how you hoped— you actually would’ve been making another house call tonight after the press conference.

But he’s bested you. Beat you at your own game. 

“Dime. ¿Que quieres?”

“You, Javi, I want you.”

“Is that why you’ve been following me around everywhere? Getting classified information on my operations?”

His thick fingers press firmly against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear, and your hips instinctively buck, seeking more of that delicious friction.

“Yes,” you moan softly, biting down on your lower lip as his thumb circles over your stiffened nipple, which strains against the fabric of your bra and silk blouse. “I was assigned to cover you and your involvement with Cali. After everything with Escobar, everyone was betting that you’d follow the same formula to bring the others down.”

Javier’s chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours and teeth gritting at the subtle mention of his tactics when it came to bringing down Escobar.

“But the more I got to know about you, the more interested I became.”  You confess, the words spilling from you with unguarded honesty. There’s no reason to keep the cards so close to your chest anymore. 

You’ll tell him everything, and if he decides to let you go after having his way with you one final time, then so be it.

You’ll just make sure to make it extra memorable for him if that’s the case.

“So handsome. So capable. Fucking brilliant and tough. I fell in love with you, Agente Peña.”

He grunts in response, leaning in so that his aquiline nose grazes the smooth skin of your cheek, his lips hovering just shy of yours.

“Is that right? La gatita fell in love?”

You nod timidly, wanting nothing more than to press your lips against his and kiss him.

His fingers continue their torment, now nudging your underwear aside to press directly against the slick, swollen flesh of your cunt.

Your eyes flutter closed, your body trembling in his arms as you feel the pressure building within you.

“So what happens if I don’t feel the same, hm? What if this is nothing but a good fuck to me? What then, clever girl?”

He teases your clit in slow, tight circles, his words cutting into your heart, but the pleasure he’s giving you drowns out the sting.

His touch is intoxicating, making it impossible to think clearly.

“Then I’ll get over it and move on,” you manage to whisper, grinding your hips in sync with his movements, your juices coating his fingers as he parts them into a V, massaging your sensitive labia.

A whiny moan slips out of you, and his hand moves from your breast to your throat, wrapping around it with a gentle squeeze.

“Mírame.”

His commanding tone snaps your eyes open, locking onto his. Their usual warm toned color now drowned in darkness to match his lust.

“Move on? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have?”

Without warning, he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you, and your back arches against him, a breathy sigh of his name slipping from your lips.

“Wouldn’t even try to convince me otherwise, gatita?”

“What do I look like convincing a man to love me?”

Javier’s grip on your throat tightens, his jaw clenching at your words as his fingers thrust in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. “You know I’m just bullshitting. I’m never letting you go.”

He curls his fingers, expertly brushing against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you that dots your vision, and you gasp, your nails digging into his forearm as a surge of ecstasy ripples through you.

You can’t tell if the words he’s saying are born from genuine emotion or just fueled by the ferocity of his horniness.

But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. You push the logical part of your mind aside and surrender to the sensation, allowing yourself to be consumed by his touch, his words, his passion— everything that drives you wild about him.

Javier finally claims your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth with an urgency that leaves you lovestruck.

You moan softly, sucking on his tongue before playfully nipping at his lower lip.

He grunts in response, the sound vibrating against your mouth as he shifts the rhythm of his fingers inside you, coaxing out every moan and whimper of bliss.

He swallows each sound greedily, deepening the kiss, making it clear that in this moment, he’s completely lost in you.

“That’s right, baby, come all over my fingers. I can feel you clenching around them.” He scissors his digits inside you, each movement drawing you closer to the edge.

Your wetness has smeared everywhere, squelching sounds of his fingers fucking you only helping him in his quest to make you come.

His cock grinds against your ass, hard and insistent, and the urge to reach down and palm him through his work slacks is overwhelming.

But the way he has you positioned, and the dizzying gratification he’s giving you, makes it impossible to do anything but take it.

“Javi,” you sigh, your voice trembling with need, “I’m so close. Dame un beso.”

He smirks, adding his thumb to the mix as he presses it firmly against your throbbing clit.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy, heated kiss just as your thighs begin to tense, and your orgasm crashes over you with breathtaking intensity.

You ride out the waves of aftershock, your lips parting from his as you struggle to catch your breath.

Javier’s mouth moves to your ear, whispering sweet words that make you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine, completely wrapped in the afterglow of him.

He slowly withdraws his fingers from you, and they’re coated in your release, glistening in the sunlight that pours in from your bedroom windows.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean and that makes you whimper, the familiar heat of arousal already rekindling deep in your core.

“Open that pretty mouth, gatita.”

Obediently, you part your lips, and he leans in close, letting a thick drop of his spit fall from his mouth into yours.

“Swallow.”

The command is electrifying, leaving you feeling all charged with a tension only Javier can elicit.

You swallow, the faint taste of yourself mixed with his saliva lingering on your tongue, and it’s the hottest, most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced.

He swiftly spins you around in his arms, and you instinctively wrap yours around his neck as your lips crash together in a passionate kiss.

The potency of it makes your head spin, and his hands are everywhere—exploring your curves, tracing the length of your body until they find the zipper of your skirt.

With a swift tug, he pulls it down and pushes it over your hips, letting it fall to the floor in a soft rustle of fabric. You step out of it, slipping off your heels in the process, all while your lips remain locked with his.

Your fingers eagerly push his suit jacket off his shoulders, and you waste no time unbuttoning his shirt, your hands shaking with anticipation.

“How much do you like this blouse?” he murmurs against your lips, his large hands moving up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric.

“I don’t really—”

Before you can finish, he’s ripping the blouse apart, buttons flying as he tears it open to reveal your bra-clad chest.

The sheer force of it catches you off guard, and you gasp, the sound muffled by his mouth on yours. The unrestrained eagerness in his action only serves to turn you on further, making your heart race even faster.

When you’re both stripped down just to your underwear, you begin to lead him to your bed but he stops you, once again pulling you back until you’re flush against his warm, solid chest.

“We’ve got plenty of other opportunities to fuck in bed. I want to take you right over here.”

His words have anticipation dancing up your spine as he gently steers you toward the large, full-length mirror in the corner of your room. When you’re standing in front of it, your eyes lock with his in the reflection.

“Look at how gorgeous you are, nena. Why would you hide such a pretty face behind a mask?”

Javier’s strokes your cheek affectionately, truly in awe with how beautiful you are. Then, his touch moves to your arms, and he drags one of your bra straps down your shoulder.

His lips follow the path of exposed skin with open-mouthed kisses, each one igniting a fire on your skin.

You let out a shaky breath. “You blew me off once. I didn’t want it to happen again. Thought keeping my identity a mystery would make me more enticing.”

His touch is deliberate, savoring every inch of your skin as he teases you. The sight of his sinewy hands on you, combined with his heated gaze in the mirror, makes your heart race and your core ache with need.

His nose glides up the curve of your shoulder until he’s kissing your neck. His tongue flicks out to trace a path up to your ear, biting down on the lobe gently.

“Don’t take it so personally, gatita,” he murmurs in a seductive purr. “I had a lot going on that day.” His fingers deftly undo the clasp of your bra, letting it fall and revealing your bare breasts.

A low groan escapes him as he takes in the sight. His hands move to cup your tits, relishing in their warmth and weight in his palms.

You shift restlessly, your thighs rubbing together as your breaths come in quick, ragged gasps. His fingers play with your nipples, pinching and tugging until they’re tender and stiff.

Desperate for more, you reach back between the two of you and grasp his hard cock. A pleased hum escapes you as you feel the damp spot of precum seeping through the cotton.

“Want you in my mouth, baby,” you coo, regaining your confidence as he smiles against your neck, planting a soft kiss on your pulse before stepping back to let you spin around and sink to your knees.

He swiftly pulls down his boxers, and you don’t waste a second. You envelop his fat tip between your lips, skipping the usual teasing.

Javier’s voice, deep and gravelly, drawls your name in a way that sends jolts of excitement straight to your clit. You move your head rhythmically, your tongue tracing along his underside as you blow him with eagerness, losing yourself in the act.

He grips the back of your neck, guiding you as he begins to thrust into your mouth, making you gag and drool over his cock.

“Shit, just like that,” he groans, his eyes shifting from looking down at you to the mirror, where he watches, absolutely satisfied, as you expertly suck him off.

Your mouth travels down to his balls, your tongue teasing the fleshy sack, saliva pooling in your mouth before spitting on them, then you suck one into your mouth.

He tenses, cursing fervently in Spanish as you move to the other, giving it the same attentive care while your hand wraps around his throbbing dick, stroking him.

“Such a fucking sight, gatita,” he growls. “Swallowing my cock like a good little slut. I’m tempted to paint that pretty face of yours with my cum.”

The thought of it has lustful excitement buzzing through you, a muffled moan vibrating against his cock that prompts him to pull you off roughly.

He grips the base of his shaft and smacks it a few times against your mascara, tear-streaked cheeks— it’s evidence of your eager submission. His cock, wet and heavy, leaves a trail of slickness on your skin.

He traces his plush head over the curve of your lips that are glimmering from the messy blowjob. You pucker up, pressing a fat, wet kiss to his flushed tip.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

You flash him a playful, cutesy smile, and he tenderly caresses your cheek again, making your heart skip a beat.

With a gentle touch, he kneels on the carpet alongside you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before guiding you into position.

On all fours, facing the mirror, his broad, handsome frame looming behind you. Javier’s dark eyes meet yours through the reflection, intense and full of promise.

He’s going to give it to you good.

His hands trace the curves of your body, caressing and kneading with an adoring touch, cherishing the feel of every part of you.

It’s a contrast to the frantic pace of previous hook ups— much more like the sweet aftercare he gave you that night in his office.

Javier pulls down your panties, a lopsided smile playing on his lips as he takes in the sight.

You’re completely exposed in front of him.

“Tan hermosa, gatita.”  he murmurs, his voice a husky caress. “You don’t understand how good it feels seeing all of you now. Fantasized about this so many nights.”

He bends over, his lips brushing tender kisses along the back of your shoulder, then trailing down the curve of your spine. You arch your back, instinctively responding to his touch.

The way you both connect so seamlessly speaks of the depth of your intimacy and how quickly it evolved.

“I tried to bury myself in other women,” he confesses. “It didn’t fucking work. No pussy is as good as yours.”

His name escapes you in a sweet whimper, “Javi,” and his hands grip the lush curves of your hips

You feel a twinge of jealousy bloom at your chest at hearing that he’s been with other women, while you have not even thought about another man since laying eyes on him.

“Accusing me of spreading my legs for the entire city, meanwhile it’s been you all along. I shouldn’t even let you fuck me, you whore.”

A sharp, stinging crack echoes through the room as his hand lands on your ass, the sudden impact making you jolt forward.

“Ah!” you yelp, the sting of the spank sending a rush of heat through you.

“No empieces con esas babosadas, gatita. I’ll make you eat your fucking heart out.”

“Sounds delicious,” you quip, your tone teasing and sultry.

Another spank lands, and you don’t bother hiding how much you enjoy it. Your reflection in the mirror smirks back at him, and you catch the sly, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

“Traviesita,” he tuts in a reprimand. His length slides teasingly along your folds, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your clit.

The feeling is electrifying, causing your confident smirk to fade into a biting, anxious grip on your lower lip.

Your wetness mingles with his precum and your saliva from before, creating a slick, intoxicating lubricant that allows him to glide effortlessly into your tight, hot cunt.

Your face, heated with desire and utterly exposed, meets his gaze in the mirror as his cock slowly disappears into your pussy. 

It feels profoundly intimate.

The weight of his thick cock filling you, coupled with that fucking look that he has on his face, deepens the connection and amplifies the feeling that you have for him, making the experience even more consuming.

It’s going to be so hard to move on if he decides you’re not what he wants.

Once he bottoms out, your head drops forward between your shoulders, a quivering exhale escaping your mouth and your arms lightly shaking.

The overwhelming fullness of him stretching you makes your entire being blaze with vehemence. Each inch of his cock that he feeds into your pussy ignites a cascade of euphoric delight, leaving you panting and needing more.

“Eyes on me, nena,” he commands softly yet firmly, a blend of authority and tenderness.

The demand to keep your gaze locked with his only heightens your senses. His gun calloused hands grip your waist with a steadying force, guiding you as he moves inside you.

It’s a downright delicious feeling, your folds gripping onto his shaft and spreading with each shallow thrust he delivers. 

You admire how sexy he looks as he begins to fuck you. His brows furrowed in concentration, his jaw clenched tight, occasionally flexing with each thrust. Your cunt continues to swallow him back in, begging him not to go. 

His pretty pink lips, so kissable and enticing, make you wish you weren’t bent over like this so you could taste them. But then he delivers a particularly forceful snap of his hips, making you cry out.

You instinctively move your ass back against him, your mind cleared of all thoughts that aren’t his girthy cock.

“Mira que bella te vez taking this cock. Fuck yourself on it, don’t be shy baby.”

You can’t help the flutter in your heart as he calls you beautiful, the compliment urges you to do as you’re told.

You slide your knees apart slightly, adjusting your position to get better leverage as he stills, cock pressed so deep inside of you, you can practically taste it coming up your throat.

You begin to move your hips slowly, sensually, setting a rhythm that lets him slip in and out of you with a deliberate, tantalizing pace.

It’s electrifying, your thighs slapping against his with each thrust. The ripple of flesh on your ass is captivating, drawing his attention completely.

Javier is torn between the sight of you splitting yourself open on his cock and the blissful, fucked-out expression that adorns your face. Both are equally mesmerizing, and he can’t decide which is more arousing.

“So fucking pretty,” he voices with a deep growl of approval, overwhelmed by the visual feast.

He lavishes you with praise in both English and Spanish, his words stoking the fire of your arousal. The way you move back against him grows more urgent, and his hands find their way to your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to get a better view of the connection between your bodies.

Groaning deeply, Javier starts to match your rhythm, his thrusts synchronized with your movements. The pace you both settle into causes your core to tighten, the build-up of your second orgasm sneaking up on you with a mounting vigor.

Your knees ache from the friction against the carpet, but the discomfort blends with your fervor, pushing you closer to the edge of your climax.

As your eyes lock with his again, you convey that you’re on the brink wordlessly. He tilts his head with a patronizing smirk, his brown eyes dancing with a mischievous sparkle.

“Already, gatita?” he chuckles smugly, his voice laced with playful arrogance. “S’okay, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

His words are the final catalyst, and it’s both exhilarating and a bit embarrassing how quickly he makes you finish.

He’s the first man to ever make you come from just penetration, and you can’t help but let him revel in this achievement.

As you come, your pussy quivers and your walls pulse around him, your creamy release coating his cock while you scream out his name.

The eye contact makes it hotter, despite the struggle to keep yours open.

Javier continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even as you go limp, your arms giving out. Your chest falls onto the carpet, your cheek pressing against the textured fabric, completely surrendering to the blissful exhaustion that overtakes you.

He pulls out with a soft groan, his cock swollen and pulsating, glistening with your mixed juices. It rests between your ass cheeks as he bends over you, his lips trailing gentle, reverent kisses across your heated skin. He moves from your lower back up to your ear.

“¿Todo bien, corazón?”

The new term of endearment makes you moan softly, your head nodding in response, eyes closed as you struggle to catch your breath.

His mouth continues its tender assault, soothing you with its gentle touch, yet you can’t ignore the subtle way his hips grind against you, his shaft brushing against the soft skin of your ass and teasing your puckered hole.

“You didn’t finish.”

“I’m more focused on trying to get you out of the clouds than getting mine right now,” he replies, his sincerity cutting through the haze of your arousal.

You smile, his sweet statement pulling you back into the familiar, heady trance he always manages to put you in.

It reignites your lust, bringing you to the throbbing need he so effortlessly inspires.

You push yourself upright onto your knees, pressing firmly against him as his hands explore every part of you they can reach.

“On your back, agente,” you purr in a sultry and commanding tone.

His eyes narrow, curiosity and challenge evident, but he obeys, shifting away from you and laying flat on his back, positioning himself horizontally from the mirror.

The reflection is, for lack of a better word, hot as hell. His beautiful figure sprawled out on the floor, messy dick just waiting for you to take a ride.

You crawl over him with sensual grace, echoing the way you broke into his apartment on that rainy night, your mouth working to milk his cock.

As you reach his groin, you pause, your gaze meeting his. He’s already watching you intently, making you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. You give him a playful wink, then stick out your tongue, licking his shaft clean of your cum.

Your name vibrates in his chest, followed by a litany of expletives and you hum contently at the reaction. With a satisfied smile, you straddle his hips, positioning yourself perfectly above him. 

“Think your back can handle this?” you tease, grinding your freshly fucked, sensitive cunt against his hard, naked cock. Leaning over him, you place your hands on either side of his head, your lips just inches from his.

His hands seize your ass with a rough grip, fingers digging into the flesh as he guides your hips to rock against his length. “Muñequita, don’t be such a tease. I’m letting you take whatever you want.”

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you breathe out, tightening your thighs around his hips, locking him in place.

He could easily overpower you, but he won’t. The sight of you on his lap, completely cock drunk with only his touch to satiate you—your breasts hanging enticingly close to his face, your pussy grinding along his length—is more than enough for him to relinquish control, something he rarely does.

But you’ve changed that for him, shifted his view on power dynamics in the bedroom.

Your hand wraps around his thick, veiny base, guiding him to your entrance.

Slowly, you sink down onto his cock, your head falling back as you take him in, inch by glorious inch.

The angle is perfect, sending waves of pleasure coursing throughout. Your mouth falls open, breath catching in your throat as you nestle him fully inside, your walls squeezing around him.

It drives Javier wild, dark eyes focusing on the different expressions that flit across your beautiful countenance, seeing your face completely bare like this only strengthens his feelings for you.

Your hands slide up to rest on his broad chest, stabilizing yourself as you begin to swivel your hips in slow, sensual circles. The delicious drag of his cock slipping in and out of you sends shivers down your spine, and the room fills with the symphony of your shared moans and grunts, the wiry hairs at his base tickling your clit with each movement.

You grind down on him, rolling your hips in that way that’s supposed to feel good only for you. But with every tense of your muscles, every tight squeeze of your walls around him, Javier is utterly consumed by you, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving together.

Now, it’s his turn to be drunk on you, completely overwhelmed by the way you command his pleasure.

The sight of the two of you in the mirror, bodies intertwined and moving together in perfect rhythm is like work of art— each motion a brushstroke on the canvas of desire.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Javier murmurs, one hand gripping your ass while the other moves up to roughly palm your tit, his fingers pinching your nipple.

“Mhm,” you hum, completely lost in the moment, focused entirely on the euphoria coursing through you. You feel his cock swell inside you, a clear sign that he’s on the precipice. 

With a wicked grin, you change your rhythm, shifting from grinding to bouncing, your hands finding purchase on his strong thighs as you lean back.

The new angle gives him an unobstructed view of your pussy eagerly taking his cock, and the sight drives him wild.

“You’re so fucking hot, gatita,” he groans, watching as your breasts bounce with each movement. You ride him like a pro, your entire being burning with exertion, knowing full well that the delicious ache spreading through your muscles will leave you sore and satisfied for days to come.

He slips his thumb between his lips, coating it with saliva before pressing it firmly against your swollen, raw clit.

The suddenness rips a loud exclamation from you, causing you to lose your rhythm as you lean forward, breathless and overwhelmed.

His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking with a fervor that sends sparks of pleasure shooting everywhere.

As he bends his knees, he begins to thrust into you with relentless force, driving deep with every stroke. The combined assault of his mouth, cock, and thumb is too much to bear, you’re vibrating with pleasure that borders on pain.

“J-Javi, I can’t,” you cry out, tears welling up in your eyes, the intensity threatening to break you.

But he pulls away from your chest just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with ardor, though his thrusts never falter.

“You can and you will. No llores, hermosa. You know I’m going to take care of you.”

With a desperate need to kiss him, you press your mouth to his.

It’s messy and hungry as he continues to move you on his cock like you’re his living, breathing flesh light. He grunts against your lips, driving into you forcefully.

After a few more thrusts, his hips begin to stutter, and he pulls away from your lips, his voice strained. “Fuck, gatita, where do you want it?”

You trail kisses up his neck, tasting the salt of his skin before nipping at his ear. “Inside, please. Need to feel you fill me up, Javi. Want to feel your cum drip out of my pussy.”

You know it’s a reckless decision—you’re not on birth control, and the logical part of your brain knows better. But the overwhelming need coursing through you drowns out any sense of caution.

You’ll just make him get you the morning-after pill once this fevered moment passes.

Javier growls, landing a sharp smack on your ass. “I’m right there, baby, need you to come with me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the wet sounds of his cock pounding into you, the pressure building until that final snap at your core. You practically scream in his ear as your orgasm rips through you.

He’s right behind you, his grip on your body tightening as he buries himself deep inside, flooding your cunt with his release while your name falls from his lips.

The sensation is overwhelming, the two of you melding together in a heated, panting embrace until you collapse, bodies spent, hearts pounding wildly in sync as you come down from the high.

The bliss of your shared climax begins to fade and the reality of the situation starts to settle in.

The air between you shifts, the once burning passion giving way to a different kind of tension.

You pull back slightly, your bodies still entangled but your mind racing with everything left unsaid.

Javier is the first to speak, his voice low and gravelly. “So now that we’re past that… What happens next?”

You swallow, feeling the weight of his question. You’d known this moment would come, but facing it is another matter entirely.

You take a deep breath, fingertips tracing mindlessly against his chest, gathering your thoughts before you meet his smoldering gaze.

“Javi, I—” The words stick in your throat, and you force yourself to continue. “I never thought it would go this far. I was supposed to just watch, get information… But the more I learned about you, the more I couldn’t stay away. It became more than just a job.”

He studies you, his expression unreadable, and it makes your heart race for a different reason now. “You were stalking me for weeks,” he finally says, not accusing but stating a fact.

You nod, feeling a mix of guilt and something else—relief, maybe. “I know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But… I couldn’t help it. You’re not the man I expected. You’re more.”

His eyes soften just a fraction, the tension between you loosening. “And now that Cali has gone down? Where does that leave us?”

Your heart stutters at the use of us.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t expect to feel this way about you, and now… Now I don’t know what to do.”

Javier sighs, caressing your back “You’ve got me in one hell of a position, you know that?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way… So don’t feel like you have to reciprocate anything.” Though it pains you to admit this.

He looks at you for a long moment, and then, unexpectedly, he reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, admiring your natural beauty. “I feel something for you, gatita. It confuses the shit out of me,” he mutters, “But… maybe we can figure all this out. Together.”

A wave of emotion washes over you, hope mixed with a little bit of fear. “You mean that?” It’s more than you could have asked for, really.

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not making any promises. But yeah, I’m willing to try. As long as you’re done with the secrecy.”

You nod, a small, relieved smile tugging at your lips. “No mas. I’m done with that.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Then we’ll see where this goes. One step at a time.”

As he pulls you into a gentle, lingering kiss, you feel a sense of tentative hope. How the fuck did you manage to walk out of this with such an extraordinary man?

“Wait—” you pull away from him, and Javier looks at you, confused, as you struggle to regain your thoughts. “Cali’s gone down. Fuck, the press conference.” You move off his lap, wincing as his softened cock slips out of you, followed by the warm trickle of his cum slipping down your inner thighs.

Your legs are wobbly as you head toward the restroom to clean up and get dressed.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he protests, rising to follow you. You hear him grunt as he stands, his joints popping in protest.

Javier catches up to you quickly, his hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you back to him and stopping you in your tracks.

“As much as I’d love to spend the rest of the day wrapped up in you, I have a job to do.”

“Nena,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, teasing drawl, “we both know that press conference is long over. Besides…” His hand slips between your thighs, making you twitch as he gathers some of the release that has seeped out of you onto his fingers. 

Bringing his digits up to your lips, he offers them to you, and you narrow your gaze at him, playfully annoyed that he’s able to flip your horny switch just like that.

Slowly, you stick out your tongue, licking his fingers clean as he watches you with a smirk.

“I can give you a better story,” he whispers, his fingers lingering at your lips.

“Better than the president being bribed by narcos?”

“In the same vain, but yes, anything you want. On the record,” he replies, his voice steady, revealing a seriousness that catches you off guard. “I resigned before coming here. Got a lot of stories saved away for a rainy day.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You resigned? Why?”

“Tired of dealing with the bullshit,” he admits, his tone laced with a weariness you clocked the moment you met him.

Your mind races, a thousand questions bubbling to the surface. Each one competes for attention, your journalistic instincts kicking into overdrive. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something raw and real, that makes you pause.

“I can feel the gears turning in your head,” he murmurs, a small smile playing on his lips as he begins to gently guide you toward the bed. 

You let him lead, your body moving on autopilot as your mind continues to spin.

When you reach the mattress, you sink into the soft sheets. Javier crawls in beside you, his presence warm and reassuring as he pulls the covers over both of you, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon.

“Can’t help it,” you admit, your thoughts still racing but slowing down as his familiar scent and warmth envelop you.

“I know,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. His lips trail slowly down your skin, his touch grounding you as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

The questions that had been buzzing in your mind begin to fade as you sink into the comfort of the bed and the feel of him against you.

There’s just one question that can’t wait.

“So, you’re leaving Colombia?”

He grunts against your neck, his lips still caressing your skin. “Yes.”

A pout forms on your mouth, and he immediately notices, his hand pinching your hip in response. “How are we supposed to make this work if you’re not going to be here, Javier?”

The way you use his full name makes him pause. He doesn’t like it, the distance it implies.

He pulls back, his fingers firmly gripping your jaw, tilting your head so that your eyes meet his. “I was hoping you’d come with me. A little bird told me some of your work is being published stateside. What better time than now to go back?”

“A little bird, huh?” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Javier has been doing some digging of his own.

The thought of him taking such an interest in you makes your heart swell, and the smile that spreads across your face is wide and genuine.

It’s infectious, mirrored by the grin on his own handsome face.

You had only come to Bogotá to cover the Cali cartel, and with that chapter now closed thanks to him, the idea of following him back to the States seems more appealing by the second.

Navigating this intense, thrilling relationship in a new setting feels right, like the next step in whatever you two are building together.

“So, will you?” His voice is soft, feeling vulnerable for proposing such an idea this early on. “Will you come back with me, gatita?”

You gaze up at him, your heart brimming with love and desire, your decision already made. “Sí, Javi,” you whisper, your lips brushing tenderly against his. “I’ll go with you.”

[shallowseeker]

Dean is a lot of things, but super transparent and open isn't one of them. You're contributing to a trendy rewrite of Dean and influencing fandom in ways that just don't reflect what we see on screen.

I get where you’re coming from—Dean isn’t always the most emotionally transparent guy on the surface, and his wariness is definitely a big part of his character. That said, I personally think Dean’s performance of toughness/gruffness pulls the wool over some viewers’ eyes. Dean’s time in Hell, in particular, made him more protective of his vulnerabilities, adding to the tougher exterior he develops over time. It’s not that I don’t think Dean isn't guarded; he absolutely is. But I think he’s far more open than some parts of fandom paint him, and even more open than he sometimes portrays himself. Dean chooses to be selective about who he shows his vulnerabilities to, which is a consistent part of his character.

It's also important to acknowledge those times he’s been open only to get shut down (ahem, especially in Season 7, by Sam, Bobby, and Eliot Ness). I think his close family members are terrified that his grief will lead to his death during a hunt, so they balk at it, encouraging him to lock his emotions down tight.

///

Of note, I think Mary struggles with a similar issue. She says, “I know I can be cold,” yet she’s often incredibly honest about her actual emotions. In fact, Mary is one of the first characters to answer honestly when people ask if she’s okay: “No.” (Dean will in fact mirror her example in 13x06). I even think her “I love you” during her would-be death scene with Billie in 12x09 inspires moments like Cas’s “I love you—I love all of you” during the fight with Ramiel in 12x12.

Like Dean, Mary downplays her own emotional intelligence and her own keenness to both read and reach out to others. All in all, I think these two are far more emotionally generous and intuitive than they give themselves credit for, even if they struggle to acknowledge or articulate it when they get too overwhelmed.

As for what we see on screen... For the record, I like to think that I do a decent job of referencing specific moments in the script or episode when I talk about Dean's emotions or openness. Even if you don't interpret things as I do, I hope you can see my perspective.

/// Just as a point of contrast, I don’t think Sam is as emotionally intuitive as he’s often credited to be, and I think sometimes even Dean gives Sam too much credit. We see this particularly in Don’t You Forget About Me, where Dean instinctively builds rapport with Jody, empathizing with her and even pitching in to help with the dishes as they commiserate over their girls’ behavioral problems. Interestingly, this rears its head again in Ladies Drink Free, with Sam's intellectualizing of emotions being a point of contention.

Dean’s ability to both read people and connect emotionally often goes underappreciated, even by himself.

///

Bonus: I actually think Cas is also far more emotionally intuitive than he gives himself credit for, even with the billions of years of suppress-or-die under his belt. Cas often deploys a distinctly reciprocal style of communication, revealing a personal failing or emotion to encourage others to open up about their own failings. We see it with the original "I'm not a hammer / I have doubts" scene with Dean, we see it in a big way with Jack in Tombstone, and interestingly, we even see it with the news anchor here.

[savagewildnerness]

I’m so curious…

What’s the one thing you non-negotiably need to be present from the book The Vampire Lestat? (You’re only allowed ONE choice here! So pick wisely! Obviously there are many things we all want to see, so pick The most important one to you (where there is some chance it might not be used too.))

{For me, it is The Witches’ Place! It doesn’t have to be present exactly as it is in every conversation & situation in the books. But I need The Witches’ Place to be present literally, metaphorically & existentially & for it to be echoing backwards to Lestat’s childhood right through to Nicolas’ end (& what would have been his end 100 years earlier; or in any era, tolling like The Bell of Fate), through Lestat’s immortal eternity. And I think, with the TV show being set right at the height of The French Revolution, there is opportunity for even MORE super poignant parallels & FEELING & meaning with The Witches’ Place on TV which I hope they utilise to its full.}

And are there any things you are happy to lose? You can have as much as you like for this one. Because hopefully there aren’t *that* many!!?!

{For me, I’d initially imagined Lestat & Gabrielle might travel longer (it’s just a decade in the book even though Lestat refers to it as YEARS (as he feels eternity so keenly for the first time)), but now I think it might be shorter on tv?! Because we’ve seen more dramatic vampiric findings in travelling with Louis & Claudia & that doesn’t need to be repeated, but lesser… & the poignancy in that era is that Lestat’s family all die, Nicki dies (as Lestat knew would come to pass, so is hanging over him the whole time) & Gabrielle leaves him… it’s not about The travels so much. I think the feeling of being in Egypt matters. But I don’t mind if we lose the rest of The Places. I think now that maybe Nicki will die & Lestat will go into The Earth soon after 1796, when Gabrielle leaves him. And maybe that’s why Rolin didn’t want to show physically damaged Lestat in S2 - as Lestat may be in The Earth longer before Marius saves him & maybe Rolin wanted to save the horror of what he is for that moment? Although it affects the feeling if Marius waits years before rescuing Lestat (but, though a change. I think, an interesting one potentially…?)

But yeah, I’m happy to lose some of that travelling (though need to keep Gabrielle’s Akasha-esque philosophising & the sinking feeling of grief & hopelessness & the truth of the sorrow & the fear of feeling-less-ness etc!)

I’m also happy to lose some of Armand & Marius’ back stories in the vision/retelling way. It’s long to be *in a story* with them (especially Marius!) & we have some of Armand’s story already, so I think his can be condensed to the biggest feelings… then we can later get Armand’s story more fully from Armand himself, I hope!

And surely Marius’ story isn’t going to be *that* long? I think much of that can be told alongside Maharet & Mekare, later, perhaps? Though obviously we need some of it so TWMBK make sense.

Hmm…..?}

Anyway, all I know is I’m tying myself to a tree if The Witches’ Place isn’t present! But I imagine Sam would too, so surely we’re fine on that count!!?! 😁

How about you?

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Tronco

Chapter Thirty Two

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Both bands, staff, and Gibson

Word Count: ~2475

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, rockstars, Emma is a Red Herring don't worry there, uncle-ness and a big decision

Series Masterlist

“SAN DIEGO! You’ve been amazing!” Dean professed into the mic, breathing heavily and sweating from effort. “We’re gonna do a couple more for y’all tonight— since you’ve gone and made us feel so welcome. We gotta show that love right back to ya--- Sound good?”

The crowd erupted.

Dean grinned. God, it was so easy up there, so freeing. He looked around to see the pride and amusement shining back at him in his team’s eyes. His family. His band. 

Sam smirked and rode a note down his A string. 

“Sammy’s ready!” Dean teased, playing to the crowd. “Kev-o?!”

Kevin started on the high notes, tinkling them like fairy bells then crashed down into the basement, thundering into a paralleling rattle. 

“Oh, I’d say he’s ready. PAMMY! Let’s hear it, girl!” Dean bellowed, barely remembering to use the mic.

She kicked the bass drum, setting the beat, pulsing as she pushed it faster, the heartbeat of the night. 

Lee answered with a wail.

Dean wagged a finger at him comically and gestured back to the kit, as if to say ‘it’s the lady’s turn.’

Lee shrugged and held up his hands.

The crowd ate it all up.

Then the cymbals crashed and Pam arrived, bass still pumping in everyone’s ears, high hat and snare collided and her sticks ricocheted across the set like an avalanche. It was times like this that Dean could have sworn she had more than two arms. Her instincts always bordered on precognition, but when she was left to her own devices, she soared.

“PAMELA! FUCKING! BARNES!” Dean bellowed.

And the audience lost whatever ounce of voice they had left. It was sheer pandemonium.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh, the amount of joyous energy had to go somewhere. She just kept going. “GOD, WOMAN, OKAY! We hear YOU!” 

Lee cackled and shook his head at Dean, it was his funeral.

It didn’t matter, up there, they were all invincible.

“Well, I guess she’s ready, Lee? Buddy? Should we join her?”

Lee didn’t say a word, instead he tied a fresh bandana around his head and waited for Dean to start the opening riff for ‘The Sword’ from their second album, then flew above him on an ominous chord.

Pamela dropped the beat, silence rang out for a single moment. On cue they all jumped in place and crashed back into the fan favorite song. 

The crowd sang along and Dean couldn’t hear himself a single bit, but he also couldn’t care less. This was it. 

This was rock’n’roll.

And he was a fucking star.

They all were.

The hotel in San Diego was fantastic, but staying in one place for too long was dangerous. Fans started clocking them and it wasn’t too far of a drive for Paps to be on the prowl. They kept the tour buses at the venue and got cars back to the hotel after the trip down, it just wasn’t practical to drive around town in those gas guzzlers.

But they had a full week to kill before they were due to take on Vegas.

So they improvised. Sam called ahead and rented a restaurant on the older edge of town, somewhere that wouldn’t draw attention. Someplace normal people went on payday or special occasions, not a random Thursday in March.

Their hostess guided them to a small banquet room with its own private bar, clearly confused on who they were and why they were suddenly closed for a private party. The staff hadn’t gotten much warning, but Dean knew Sam made sure everyone scheduled would be making more in tips than they had averaged since probably the holidays. 

That’s the way they did things, they took care of the people who took care of them.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Uh, we’ve still got a dozen or so more people showing up and we’ll need one kids’ menu if you’d be so kind,” Dean explained as he took in the room and the simple layout of round tables of eight.

“Of course, anything else you need right now?” She seemed like a good kid, probably a college student, with bright eyes and long, light brown hair.

“Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know—?”

“Emma.” She smiled, moved the extra menus she was holding, and held out her hand for him to shake.

“Emma, of course. Thanks. I’m Dean. I’m the brother of the idiot paying for this whole thing.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back when the others arrive.”

Dean grinned and turned back to the first carful of folks, which had also held Sam, Donna, Nancy, Bobby and Annie. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, everybody trickled in. Dean tried not to flinch when Victor and you came in together, but Jody and Kevin were so tight on your heels that Dean could tell you were all in a shared conversation. You hadn’t been alone with him on purpose, probably.

Gibson rushed in, hair slicked back and new bracelets from the merch stand proudly thrust out for Dean to comment on.

“Alright buddy! Bad ass! Here, you’re next to me for dinner.”

Dean fist bumped him and pulled out his chair, where the four-pack of crayons and outlined placemat-style menu waited.

“You get any sleep last night?” Dean asked after seeing Pamela drop like a brick into the seat on the other side of Gibson.

“A little,” Gibson said offhandedly as he ripped into his art supplies.

Pamela shook her head. “He had to tell me all about the show— in detail— the entire ride back to the hotel. Then he was hungry.”

“Well, you’ll sleep in tomorrow. Me too, if I’m lucky. Then again I’ve got nothing planned until we head out for Vegas. You guys?”

“Probably get to an aquarium at some point, if nothing else catches his eye,” Pamela said. “No solid plans, except I’m taking a day for myself tomorrow. So if you want to hang with your awesome nephew, call Lee.”

Dean chuckled and went to ruffle Gibson’s hair, but caught himself once he remembered all the product and care put into the ‘do. “I can do that.”

Everyone slowly got situated, taking up three of the tables closest to the bar. Each table had two servers at their disposal, adding to the seamlessness of the process. The food was amazing, Dean couldn’t remember when he last had a steak so well cooked outside of Bobby’s backyard.

Gibson picked at his food, carefully wiping off his hands between each bite so as not to sully his masterpiece.

Dean’s family talked around them, Donna and Benny seemed to be hitting it off across the table, discussing their favorite places to visit in New Orleans. Benny promised to show her where to get the real gumbo and she made him pinky promise not to forget. Bobby, Cesar and Kevin were laughing at the table on Dean’s right, while Annie and Trouble were sneaking pictures of the trio. Probably for blackmail later, Bobby did look a little tipsy after all.

Patience stood behind Lee massaging his scalp, it was unclear if this was a relaxation technique, a haircare discussion, or a potential mindmeld. With the two of them, nothing would surprise Dean anymore. The servers were bringing out a dessert cart and Dean leaned down to whisper to Gibson that he better finish his broccoli pronto.

Which the kid actually did without complaint, though sugar was always a good motivator.

The group grew more casual, standing and playing musical chairs when someone got up to grab drinks, or find the restroom. It was an easy night out with just the bands and their support staff, nights like that would grow further apart the longer the tour went on. After living in each other’s pockets for the next few months, they’d get sick of everyone else’s faces soon enough. But it was still early days and they were all still getting to know one another. 

Nancy plopped down on the seat Pamela had vacated without so much as introducing herself to Gibson.

“Hey! Can I color too?”

Gibson didn’t even look up, he only nodded and said, “you gotta find your own paper, though.”

Dean smirked. “Trouble’s probably got a legal pad or something, if you want. Or I’m sure the hostess could grab you a menu too.”

He liked Nancy, there was something innocent about her that made him instantly equal parts protective and endeared. Kinda like when he first met Charlie, though he learned quickly that the redhead was far from innocent, just earnestly nerdy. Speaking of Charlie, Dean quickly glanced around the room, he hadn’t clocked where she was during dinner, he was too involved with his plate.

Nancy didn’t get up, she just pulled a little notepad out of her bag and commandeered the blue crayon that Gibson had set down.

Dean leaned back and continued to take in the room and all the good energy while he looked for his best friend to harass. Eventually he spotted her, chatting up the bartender and decided he was too comfortable to go and mess with her just yet. A swaying blob in the corner caught his eye, and all too late Dean realized the instrumental music playing in the background. It was Pam and Lee getting cozy in their own little world, their song playing over all the comfortable chaos.

Something inside Dean ached.

He didn’t want to come off judgemental, both Lee and Pamela had gotten their share of rants about their relationship from Dean over the years. But he also couldn’t look away. Here were two people so in love, that they found their way back together time and time again. He swallowed when he realized he was tearing up and cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Dean muttered as he left Gibson with Nancy and beelined to the restaurant proper, empty as it was.

He rubbed his face and tried to clear his thoughts. Something had been building inside of him this past week, and even though you still hadn’t given him a finish line, a reasonable hurdle to clear before calling this thing with Bela off, Dean knew he had to end it. It wasn’t helping anymore, in fact, it only seemed to stack more worry onto his plate.

Besides, at the end of the day, he didn’t want to be posting selfies with all the right hashtags with her. He wanted to be having a drink and a laugh with you, or doing literally anything else with you.

He pulled out his phone and dialed before he could guilt himself out of it.

She answered on the third ring.

“Dean, hi! Let me guess, she told you to tell me to shove it?” Bela said breezily.

Confused by the greeting, Dean fumbled. “Uh— no? I’m calling for me.”

“Are you now? And Y/N didn’t tell you I’ve been a bitch and that you shouldn’t play with me anymore.”

“No. But, actually, that is kind of why I’m calling. How do you feel about having an amicable break up?”

Bela hummed. “Are you sure you aren’t just trying to get her out of taking my calls?”

“What?! No. Look, you guys can work out your own shit. I have no idea why she’s ignoring you or if you were actually being a bitch or anything. I just need out. For me.”

There was a menacing patch of silence. “I see.”

“Oh don’t be like that, we’ve had a good run. You’ve even gotten more flashy names on the guest lists for any foreseeable fundraiser between all the suits you charmed and their significant others.”

“That is a good point. But, Dean, this was all about your image. What happens to that if you break my heart?”

“You’ll survive.”

Bela laughed. “Thrive, you mean. I know. But what is worth all the runaround this is gonna cause? Especially while on tour?”

Dean hadn’t thought she’d need a reason. They weren’t invested in one another emotionally. His brain spun its tires trying to come up with something other than the truth.

“Is there somebody else?”

Dean huffed. “Technically, you’d be the somebody else.”

Bela decided it was best to start toying with him. “Now I know it can’t be the drummer and the redhead’s like a sister to you— so that means—”

Dean groaned. “Shut up, like you didn’t already have some sort of idea.”

“Oh, no, Dean, you wear your heart on your sleeve quite nicely. But Y/N on the other hand is much harder to read.”

Dean felt his steak threaten to make a comeback. 

“She hasn’t said anything about me?”

“Oh, she’s said plenty. But nothing that tells me anything you want to hear at the moment.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re certainly welcome. See the truth comes out eventually and I think this little nugget of information could settle whatever it is that has Y/N firmly in the avoidance zone.”

Dean felt the icy chill of panic drag down his back. “You can’t tell her— I should be the one— I need to see her face when she hears it— from me.”

Bela tisked. “Dean, I’m not gonna ruin the surprise. I mean the break up. I want to tell her. Hell, I’ll even take the blame if you’d like. But all the sentiments and grand gestures are in your hands. I promise.”

Dean exhaled. “That sounds fair. What am I missing here? Why does this feel too easy?”

Bela hummed with mirth. “Because what we’re doing is easy. But in practice—”

“We’re just giving Trouble more work to do! FUCK!” Dean kicked himself for the late realization. “You sure you’re good to pile this on her, too? Especially while she’s all catty with you?”

“Dean— we’ve been friends since college. We lived together for like two and a half years. Y/N and I have come back from far worse than me calling you a manchild who used her as an errand girl.”

“Ouch!”

“There was the time she ruined my Louboutins on spring break.”

“Not exactly the same thing here.”

“Probably not, but still, we’ll be okay. Just gotta let each other breathe a bit. Plus, we are missing like twenty brunches while you whisk her away all summer.”

“I’m not doing shit— it’s the job.”

“Well, maybe, you should think about the whisking and the wooing, then?”

Dean sighed and turned back toward the banquet hall. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see if this puts me in the doghouse first.”

“I’ll save you some room on the rug if it comes to that.”

“Thanks, Bela. For everything.”

“You too, Dean. Never contact me again.”

Dean laughed at that. “Deal. Be good.”

He could still hear the smirk in her voice. “Ta-ta!”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

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@spxideyver

Chapter 33: Stronello

[starry-bi-sky]

I am of the DPxDC belief/headcanon that any variation of Danny who grew up poor in Gotham during his formative years before moving to Amity Park would not be friends with Sam without friction at first. It makes things more interesting and imo allows for more exploration of different themes plus character growth for Sam that she doesn't really go through in canon.

(this doesn't only apply to a DPDC au where Danny grew up in Gotham poor, but it was the first thing that I thought of where this might happen considering my Childhood Friends au.)

Now Sam's a compassionate girl, it's one of her defining character traits, but so is her hypocrisy and judgy-ness. She's the Not Like Other Girls' girl. This is in part of the show's narrative framing that makes her out like this, unfortunately though its still showing how she is as a character since its consistent enough to be part of her character description. There are also times where the show's depiction of her activism makes it look like she's performative about it. All of this makes her dynamic with a Danny who grew up poor in Gotham very interesting.

Anyways, Sam is aware of her privilege to an extent, but still has her blindspots - glaring ones, in some cases. Her self-righteous attitude would not go over well with a crime alley kid Danny. He'd like her, at first, but then she'd do something to make him mad - personally I think her judging people for not being vegan would annoy him the most, or at least would be the breaking point for him, because it was only recently that his family started actually being able to consistently put food on the table at all, good food nonetheless. And being vegan is expensive.

Any other behavior he noticed from her he'd slowly stop tolerating - her judging conventionally attractive girls and automatically assuming they're vapid and shallow for being feminine. Her anti-capitalist beliefs start coming off as superficial at worst, and Danny would eventually figure out that Sam either came from a family that was well off, or that she wasn't aware if her family was experiencing financial struggle.

He would still be friends with Tucker, but since Tucker imo is still friends with Sam, they'd still run into each other often enough to butt heads. Sam's got a nasty habit of refusing to take responsibility when she's wrong, but when Danny is arguing with her, and counterpointing her with stuff she can't retort back at without compromising her own beliefs, then forces her to start reflecting on herself. Especially when Tucker eventually starts siding with Danny and agreeing with him.

Does sam genuinely care about her beliefs and philosophies? Survey says yes. However that doesn't mean she's not ignorant, and she definitely is at times throughout the show (like when she released the purpleback gorilla thinking it 'wanted out of its enclosure' despite the fact that it was endangered and in an urban area) and I think it'd be a real fascinating dynamic between Danny and Sam to explore.

This isn't Sam hate btw, nor am I trying to make her out like "the worst person ever" bc she's not, i wanna make that explicitly clear. Sam Manson has a lot of positive traits about her but she also has an equal amount of negative traits that I think should be explored, she is not immune to the character development.

[themaster72]

ALRIGHT WHAT IS PROMISED IS A DEBT, LOVEWEB HYPERFIXATIONS GO! in this episode: "details"

MANON WITH [circle with all but upper left quadrant black] EYES FOR GLOW IS CANON! (yeah, i definitively predicted it, and im definitively taking all credit for a casuality while looking like an idiot, spaking of, where is the punchline of this jok-)

now we have credits for the VAs of loveweb! i wanted to say thank you for making the peeps feel so alive! (i could really feel the... "non-bynary..ness? yeah thats a word now" on manon!)

"fake" miku and gondola are back! that was a nice callback to the other episodes! (my guess is that miku plays spy because of the suit n tie, and gondola plays soldier because it likes to fly around using the rocket launcher)

does he know? (and does he like sam and max?)

manon is a pyro main? not confirmed but i theorize it could be because of pyro-vision, i mean, come on, i cant be the only one who thinks that, right?

ok lets take a break its just... wow, that... got emotional for a moment... but i like this, cybermare had to take an "edgy older sister" moment in order to solve things out, which was cool to see, as based as she is, we all commit mistakes, and i understand having something so dear to you getting massacred and neglected by its creator (anyone remembers angry birds? wait im derailing here-) also the part where she didnt want manon to take things personaly but the misunderstanding happened... yeah that my whole life, and it sucks, so im at least glad that had a little bit of cover on that, alongside being able to talk things out peacefully and understanding the viewpoint of the other person, i feel like thats something that is slowly being lost as internet goes further into its existence and in real life too! seriouslly its not so hard explaining why you think like you think in a non-agressive way folks!

and to finish... "oh! I know you don't like being touched so this is how i show affection!" i swear this freaking cat is autistic in some way WHY AM I PROYECTING OVER THIS

so yeah i really liked this new episode! it has a bit of everything and covers tf2 from all angles like it promised! i learned some stuff! (and i might aswell try team fortress 2 classic and open fortress, they seem fun! i really need to practice my aim...) so yeah, thank you for everything shadok!

[littlejazzy]

Do you have good recommendations for AgeRe stories? Something really cute and fluffy? (I'm a lonely regressor and I love reading stories about really sweet caregivers.)

I do!! I adore reading agere fics, so here are some recs! I hope you enjoy!!! 💖

Gen:

Decontamination by SailorChibi - Marvel - Baby!Tony and CG!Steve - After a battle, Steve takes care of his baby - (This one is a Classification!AU/Littles are Known!AU... like, one of the very first ones. Very good and fluffy. If you ever read thorough their fics, (tagged NSAP bc agere straight up did not exist as a community yet) you'll start spotting alot of things that other people were/are inspired from.)

Picnic by SailorChibi - Marvel - Baby!Tony, CG!Steve, Middle!Bucky, Toddler!Clint, CG!Coulson, Kiddo!Scott, CG!Sam W., Kiddo!Peter P., CG!Wade, Kid!Wanda, and CG!Vision - All the Avengers have a nice picnic - (classification!au, but a different verse than the previous fic jsyk. this one is suuuuper fluffy and cute and fun <3)

Less than Five by SailorChibi - Daniel Craig's James Bond - Little!Q and CG!Bond - Q regresses smaller than usual; his daddy makes sure he's taken care of - (classification!AU, first of a series. first two fics are pretty fluffy, but the third has some angst, which makes the fluff even sweeter, in my opinion)

coffee makers and bumblebees by orchidsncrake - Daredevil - Little!Matt and CG!Foggy - Matt becomes overstimulated and after an altercation with the office's coffee maker, Foggy is there to make everything better

Small surprises by undergroundrice - Daredevil - Little!Matt and CG!Foggy - Foggy stumbles onto Matt regressing, and together they figure it out

A Second Shot by mylittlestories - MCU - Little!Natasha, Little!Clint, and CG!Coulson - Natasha didn't have much of a childhood. When she sees that having a second one is possible, she wants; Coulson and Clint are happy to make her family :) - (This one is unfinished, but what's there is just so nice I have to include it!!)

Give your Dreams the Wings to Fly by Honey_Dewey - FNAF Movie - Little!Matt and CG!Ness - Mike gets sick at work, but his boyfriend is there to make everything okay

the road to hope and adventures into the unknown (target) by romansprince - Barbie (2023) - Little!Ken, then CG!Barbie and CG!Gloria - Ken has become human... except he's never had a childhood. Sometimes he feels Fuzzy, but that's something he thinks he can keep secret. As he turns out, he can't, but it works out anyway - (Two separate fics that take place in the same universe/series. The first one/set-up is a little angsty, but the second is more fluffy)

Movie Night by mcschnuggles - Heathers - Little!JD and CG!Veronica - JD unexpectedly drops into headspace during a movie night with the rest of the teenagers; Veronica helps him through it - (Modern!AU, Everyone Lives!AU, this one is kinda angsty, but like, it's canon appropriate, lol - also!!! make sure that you check out the author's other works!!!!! lots of agere fics for a large variety of fandoms!!)

Toffee Ticking Time Bomb by GayCheerios - Star Wars - Little!Anakin and CG!Obi-Wan - Obi-Wan has to find his padawan's stuffie before the inevitable temper tantrum ensues - (classification!AU, part of a very nice and good series that, if you enjoy this fic, you should also check out)

Baby's First Bath by CyberToddler - Beetlejuice: The Musical - Toddler!Beetlejuice and CG!Maitlands - The Maitlands give Beetlejuice his very first bath - ( 👉👈 I wrote this one 😖)

Evolution by Cgetbrmj - The Last of Us (TV) - Little!Ellie and CG!Joel - Series that follows each episode of the show, and explores how these characters stumble upon age regression as a coping mechanism and how much they both realize they enjoy it. - (Slowburn agere, as it explores how it develops naturally between both characters. This one DOES contain some angst as it relates to the show, but overall is as fluffy as its setting allows)

Reader-Inserts:

The Doctor's Office by agerefandom (tazia101) - Twilight - Little!Reader and CG!Carlisle - Reader goes to their first check-up in their new town and unexpectedly regresses; thankfully, their doctor is more than understanding - (I can not emphasize enough how much I love this one. Hits all the right buttons, I'm so happy/thankful I found it before I had to establish care w/ a new doctor, it's just- so good)

Sugary Sweet by agerefandom (tazia101) - Twilight - Baby!Reader and CG!Alice and Jasper - A comfy, happy morning with your vampire caregivers - (be sure to check out the writer for more fandoms!! lots of agere fics, including gen and reader!insert!)

little life at the mansion by myworldoffanfiction - X-Men - Little!Reader and CG!X-Men (the main gang lol) - First chapter is a busy yet comfy morning while living at Xavier's Mansion. Second chapter is a fun Summer evening - (this one is sooooo sweet 😭)

Play Pretend by Vinnies_Comfort_Corner - Scream (1996) - Kiddo!Reader, Flip!Stu, and CG!Billy - You and Stu play pretend while waiting for Billy to come home - (if you enjoy this one, make sure you check out their other regression fics!!! there's even one with a petreg puppy!reader!! and other horror media!!)

Red Stained Fingers by CyberToddler - Scream (1996) - Little!Reader, CG!Stu, and CG!Billy - Unorthodox sensory play with diy-ed fake blood, lol - (I also wrote this one 😅 it's sugary sweet, I promise, lol)

[dotthings]

“Your head’s not in it. When Cas died, you were wobbly, but now—“

Dean was WOBBLY. He sure was. I’m glad Sam just said that out loud.

And things just kept getting worse for Dean, it’s like nested trauma.

Lost Lisa and Ben. Lost Cas, lost his hope and ability to trust because angry grieving Cas, kills Amy Pond and lies to Sam about it, trauma from doing that perches on top of grieving for Cas, and Sam’s Lucifer hallucinations and Dean has nightmares about all of it.

Then Bobby tells him to suck it up and keep his head in the game or he’ll get killed. They lose Bobby, Dean gets even shakier, and Frank Devereux tells Dean he needs to suck it up and do his job with a smile. Then Eliot Ness tells Dean he should suck it up and be grateful for the hunting life.

Then Dean finds out he got an insta-daughter from a one night stand with an amazon, and she’s been ritually conditioned to murder him, and he loses all chance to try to get through to her because Sam kills her.

Sam snaps at Dean for being unhappy about it because of Amy Pond, “what happened to if it’s a monster we kill it.” I get that Sam’s scared for Dean and he’s well-intentioned, and is worried because Dean hesitated to shoot, but Sam’s also resenting what looks to him like a double standard from Dean.

Meanwhile, through Sam’s eyes, it’s all right for Sam to want to give Amy Pond another chance, because she saved Sam’s life, and they have a connection, and he believes she’s good, but if Dean hesitates to kill his own daughter, if Dean hopes Emma can be saved, Sam takes that as a massive red flag. Sam—who frequently projects, needing monsters to be good, because of his own demon-tainted blood. And he takes that as a red flag, when it would be far more alarming if Dean grew so hardened he became only about the hunt, the kill, no mercy ever. If he truly lost all hope.

Sam was upset when Dean killed Amy Pond, now he’s upset Dean couldn’t kill Emma, Sam really is all over the place. I was glad Dean acknowledged in their conversation that Sam’s not any more okay than he is, even though they didn’t unpack everything.

It’s true Dean’s shaky and “wobbly” and having trouble trusting. He still cares, he isn’t hardened, he hasn’t completely lost his ability to hope. Dean’s lost so much already. That’s his daughter, and he hoped she could be saved.

Sam doesn't seem to understand. He's seeing things through scared little brother eyes, as well as seemingly still feels resentment for Dean killing Amy Pond.

These are complicated characters, yo.

[jamiesfootball]

Anyways. Back before season three aired, my working theory for What Ted's Deal was - with his advice to Jamie, with the panic attacks that were layered Jamie and his son - that it would turn out that his late father had also been abusive, but that with his father's death Ted had never processed it.

Obviously the show didn't go that route, but in general these were the points that I was daisy-chaining together to build something of a narrative flow:

Ted preaches kindness and positivity but also struggles with his own repressed anger and inability to be direct in what he wants. He continually, pathologically, puts people before himself, to the point that it's becoming a breaking point in his marriage.

Ted repeatedly praises 'women' for being the more emotionally intelligent of the genders. He looks at toxic masculinity as not just a thing to be examined and overcome, but the root of why men struggle.

He himself is a product of the same toxic male behavior, and while he tries to lead by example as an individual, there's a part of that culture that he almost sees as... natural? Like a foregone conclusion. A lot of his methods for dealing with the team in season one happen within the same social boundaries he decries. If he can get Roy to step up, if he can get Roy and Jamie to stop fighting and call a truce, then everything else will fall in place, because men follow a hierarchical structure. This is How Locker Rooms Work, and-

I always go back to Jamie's first, open receptiveness to Ted's 'one in eleven' speech as the first sign that Ted doesn't know how to deal with things directly. This scene reads as Ted being very taken aback by Jamie's willingness to listen. It has shades of their later scene at the Crown & Anchor in it, with Ted being the one who pulls away from a conversation that has the ability of getting emotionally direct and real.

Ted's repressed anger. His shouting at Jamie in 1x06 over practice, but also his shouting at Nate when Nate tries to stuff the letter under his hotel room door.

Ted emotionally reaches for the bottle like. A noticeable amount of times. But especially when he's getting divorced.

Every Sunday afternoon Ted's father used to take him to a sports bar. From age of 10 til 16.

Ted's mom is completely incapable of being direct

Ted and his mom never processed or talked about his dad's death

Ted looks devastated when he sees Jamie with his father in the boot room, but ultimately walks away

Ted sends Jamie a token to show he's not alone (Ted soldier)

Next time Jamie tries to talk to Ted at the bar, Jamie opens with addressing the subject directly (the Ted soldier) and Ted deflects. Asks about City. Won't look him in the eye. Doesn't say anything to Jamie admitting he left City to piss off his dad. He just says that line about how sometimes having a tough dad is what makes you better.

He thought he knew what he was doing [about Jamie] but Sam 'went and unsettled it.' Some people aren't lucky enough to have good dads.

Ted welcomes Jamie back but keeps his distance (much more than in season 1).

Ted begins having panic attacks that feature Jamie and his son.

Ted admits panic attacks linked directly to his father's death.

So this takes us through season two, and at this point my working theory was what if it turned out that Ted most of Ted's Ted-ness had been an active effort on his own part to become something less like his own father? It would explain his disdain for male-coded behaviors while also explaining why he seems unable to truly break away from them. it would explain his people-pleasing habits (and meeting his mom and knowing she is also allergic to asking for things, I think this could still fit as a trauma response). It would explain his putting women on a pedestal, if he had a bad male role model to begin with. It would explain how his demeanor around Jamie changes so much when they have the 'tough dads' talk turning into something closed off when his body language with Jamie has always been open before (and there's a lovely parallel with how they're both sat at the bar in that shot too). Hell it would add additional weight to that talk if it turned out he was also speaking of himself. His panic attacks would make sense, seeing himself in Jamie but also his son and his own role as a dad.

That, plus Ted being a character we regularly see drinking something harder than wine or beer, usually when he's emotionally stressed. Plus Ted's dad bringing him to a sports bar every Sunday for years, and at a young age too. Plus Jamie's dad being an alcoholic. That's where I thought this was going- I thought it would turn out that the late Lasso had also been an alcoholic and a tough dad. It just seemed the obvious conclustion at the time, to make the Ted & Jamie parallel into a full parallel.

Then you add in the fact that Ted married his college sweetheart and then waited until they were in their thirties before having a kid (In the midwest. Where he definitely would've been pressured about it) and all of this to me added up to a troubled man who struggled with the idea of becoming a father long before he had a son. Someone who spent years creating a facade, pretending (like his mom) that things were okay. Someone who maybe never felt right blaming his dad for any of it, not when it became so clear at the end how much his dad was struggling.

Only to have that facade crumble the second someone else from similar circumstances showed up to challenge it.

His dad was a product of his time, the same way that Ted is a product of his dad, the same way men are just a product of toxic masculinity, and Ted doesn't know how to 'deal' with any of it but he'd thought he'd gotten to the point in life where he had some solutions. Only to find that those solutions didn't work when held up to a mirror.

So yeah. That was my theory. Then season three happened, and I realized that unfortunately my theory had a flaw. See, I was so busy looking for a Watsonian diagnosis that would make Ted's idiosyncrasies make sense, that I completely missed the fact that the problem was Doylist to begin with. The show writers never meant for us to read into all of that, because the show writers themselves didn't see anything contrary, worrisome, or tone-deaf about Ted's behavior. Not from a toxic masculinity standpoint, and certainly not from the standpoint of discussing abuse of a male character.

It's not Ted who dismisses Jamie's dad's abuse. It's the writers. Which unfortunately means, since Ted by extension is the show, that it is Ted. Which is why all of us are left watching scenes like the 'tough dads' scene or the Mom City scene and going-

What the hell, Ted?

[notcaycepollard]

took my adhd meds and spent two hours diligently doing the wrong thing (reading the comments in ao3 bookmarks of my fic) here are some of my favourites:

a worryingly domestic character study

five fics in a row bookmarked by the same user all with the comment BRO

well hello there new hyperfixation

Twink Bucky getting on

Seb like “well shit I never say no to playing a role of a sad gay twink, i guess”

the Narrative.

Multi organism steve [I’m sorry bookmarker I know you meant multi orgasm because that is in fact the fic but this is making me laugh so much]

yes its just porn but the characterization is, really really remarkably good

bro when will it be my chance to have what they have 💔💔💔

fucking and fisting him into oblivion but make it cute

low key heartbreaking

VERY RELATABLE.

CHEWING ROCKS !! EATING DRYWALL !!!!! i’m sittin here CHEESIN

sambucky is so good because I like enemies to lovers but also big beefy men being lovers [me too, bookmarker, me too]

the BALLS on this mf for his FIRST INSTINCT to be WAXPLAY

the repression was not repressing

steves genetically engineered super-soldier-ness vs Sam with a Gun. 0:2

good for them

Maybe the real Soviet sex drugs were the friend(s) we made along the way.

sam and bucky in their get along t-shirt, except the t-shirt is in fact a luxury wine cabin

"dude. you moved in. you met my family. we discussed getting a cat" "IDK MAN I THOUGHT IT WAS SOME KIND OF INTRICATE RITUALS BRO SHIT"

I have a type and that type is "looks like he'd like it if you slapped him in the face during sex"

NO REYLO [this fic] ONE REYLO

art museums art museums art museums!

Get printed. Get tattooed.

Ain’t queer if we don’t touch, Bucky says, moments before fisting him

this hurt me in ways i didn't know i could be hurt

This author is like a masterclass in how to write karmically-satisfying villain porn.

Yikes [the correct response to this fic]

do threesomes fix your toxic friendships this fic posits: maybe

love to read about a guy ruining everything in his life

When noncayce is "back on their bullshit" it is the very best bullshit

this fic literally changed me. I think my cells have mutated

guess ill die huh

guess ill die pt 2

Absolutely filthy but in a sweet way.

(I can’t post the simply-complimentary comments because I would die of embarrassment but what a nice two hours to accidentally spend)

[aliusfrater]

i've said it before and i'll say it again: personally i don't think sam is '''womancoded''' specifically but i do think that based on supernatural's genre and it's tropes, sam's character is set within the archetype of the narrative's nucleus Other in both the most 2005 and gothic horror/supernatural resurgence/metahorror way possible and as the show's allegorical patriarchal structure shifted and developed, the non-role that he eventually and, more often than not, falls into when it comes to episodic tropes are ones that can be seen as normatively feminine—damsel in distress, prudishness, beta bitch (to dean in context), bratty-ness (2.15), hysterical, and he becomes jack's Mother in terms of the roles he and dean eventually occupy when it comes to considering jack as their son.

and while it is valid and true to think that this idea—in regards to any kind of gender-related concept in regards to a canonically cisgender male character in supernatural—exists because of the existing misogynist tendencies within both fandom and the way the show itself handles its female characters, and that by thinking about a male character in this way, it's an excuse for not caring about these female characters but sam is also explicitly and purposefully written this way, both in terms of his original character archetypes and certain tropes that he's written into (singer has discussed sam's role as jack's mother); both ideas can and do exist.

anyway the point is that supernatural is just so heteronormative that it could not create a space outside of an idea of the show's own standard of masculinity within which sam could reside. and even then the Othering and liminality of sam's character, which originally exist in reference to his monstrosity, both set the foundation for and perpetuate this aspect of his patriarchal position. and honestly, he isn't the only character that this is explored in; a lot of cis-male demons are portrayed as being queer or doing emasculating things because of their monstrosity. sam's Othering can exist as an allegory for a lot of things—queerness, immigration, neurodivergency, etc.—but based on just how evident masculinity is in supernatural, feminine gender explorations are low-hanging fruit.