#i don't know what it is about this particular line

[nanamiscocksleeve]

A Tight Spot

Warnings: MDNI, pegging, piv sex, voyeurism, slightly subby Sylus A/n: I know in my rules I said I don't write butt stuff, but (no pun intended) I'm coming around to the idea of prostate massage for men.

Sylus was not in the habit of hiding things from you. However, he had his own secrets, things that he felt made him vulnerable, or he wasn’t sure you’d understand.

One of those things was his ultimate, private kink; pegging. He’d tried it once by himself after reading about prostate massage but the unbelievable pleasure it had brought him blew his mind. The intensity, the absolute delight of getting an orgasm from a prostate massage had opened up new realms for him. Of course, Sylus was kinky and he loved having sex with you, but this particular bit of information embarrassed him, and he’d never dared bring it up for fear that you might judge him. 

Which is why he only indulges in this pleasure when he is alone. The mansion was empty, having sent all his henchmen home for the day, and you were heading back to Linkon City. Sylus lays on his bed, naked, remembering the way your body felt against his, the flushed heat and soft sway of your tits as you rode him, the sound of your sweet moans in his ear. His back still carried the lines scratched by your nails as you’d held onto him in the throes of ecstasy. He missed having you in his bed. Sylus firmly grips his cock, pumping his hard flesh, gritting his teeth, little growls leaving his throat as he pleasured himself.

He imagines you kneeling in between his legs, your face looking so innocent before you opened that wicked mouth and slurped him in, your tongue dipping right into his slit, making him pathetically dribble copious amounts of precum that you licked off with enthusiasm. The memory of your small hand as you squeezed his base, followed by the wet noises of his skin being suctioned by your lips was enough to almost drive him to the edge.

Sylus stops, panting, his eyes wild, blood rushing through his veins as he tries to regain control of his breathing. He knew what would take this fantasy from amazing to out-of-this-world. His tip was weeping, and he thumbs at the milky beads forming on the tip before going on all fours. His hand creeps behind his balls and he knuckles down on his perineum, feeling the faint vestiges of pressure on the little gland hidden away under his skin. He lets out a moan, flexing his buttocks, clenching and unclenching his asshole.  He feels his body starting to tingle with need, the kind that builds up when you’ve been teasing yourself for too long. 

He reaches into his nightstand, digging through the various toys that had been used over this weekend, and finds a slim, black, silicone dildo, the one he’d personally tested amongst many for his backdoor pleasure. A similar one but in red rested in the drawer as well; he was careful to never mix these two up. The red one was yours, and he’d never risk your health by selfishly using the dildo meant for your pussy for himself. He trickles a generous amount of lube on his dildo, before sticking the suction cup base to his headboard and gently backing onto it. He breathes in and out slowly, allowing the muscles to relax, then teases his tight, puckered hole with the tip, groaning as it passes through his tight ring of muscles, filling him up so deliciously. 

Sylus wonders if this is how your pussy feels during penetrative sex and the thought has him clenching, drawing the soft silicone deeper inside of him. He hopes it felt as good for you as this was for him. His cock stands proudly erect, the sensitive head brushing against the sheets as he continues backing onto the toy until he feels it press against a sensitive patch of elastic muscle and he lets out a pathetic moan. His hips arch, angling the tip of the toy until he’s able to glide comfortably, feeling the slick dildo massaging his inner walls, stimulating him beyond belief. 

His eyes close as he sets up his rhythm, each exquisite push against his prostate bringing pops of color behind his closed lids. Sweat slickens his skin as he builds up the pleasurable tension, grounding his hands and knees into the soft mattress to keep up his speed and arousal. Taking a deep breath, he pushes back further and feels like his eyes might roll into the back of his head as the toy bottoms out inside his hole, sitting right against the pulsing gland that threatened to shoot his load out. It never failed to amaze him how quickly his orgasm could form with this particular act, and the tantalizing dance of keeping himself on the edge was an intoxicating rush.

A low, gravelly, purr leaves his throat as he thrusts shallowly, letting himself be massaged so intimately at that sweet spot that he’d been oblivious to for so many years. He wondered how long he’d last this time; he had a reasonable period to himself now that no one was home, and he intended to tease himself into a mess, just to test how much his willpower could be stretched.

 He rides the dildo slowly, his hips rolling smoothly, feeling his back muscles coordinate and his ass grip the dildo in sweet ecstasy. As Sylus’s pace picks up, lewd squelching noises fill the room as he gives in to his urges. He can feel the tension building in his balls, in his belly, his hard abs quivering as the heat starts to gather in his gut. Sweat forms on his forehead, his cock twitching as he humps leaking precum all over the sheets. He can see the stains and bites his lip, feeling the way the sensation grows and ripples through him.

The next second is a blur of motion. As he’s in the blissful throes of his own passion, he hears his bedroom door opening and his name being called. His eyes fly open and he splutters in shock as you enter, losing his rhythm and almost slamming the dildo in haste. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight before you. Your big, intimidating, boyfriend, bared on all fours, with a dildo in his ass was not something you were expecting to see. Sylus scrambles off the toy, his breathing heavy and unsteady, his face burning red as he tries to cover himself.

He’d never been caught in such a compromising situation, the feeling of being vulnerable alien to him, feeling shame burn through him. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. “What-what are you doing here?” He manages to ask after a long moment of silence. 

You don’t move from your position near the door and Sylus keeps his eyes downcast. After a gap, you start to speak. “Luke and Kieran almost got me to the border but there was a really bad sandstorm. It could have taken hours for it to die down. So they brought me back here.”

“Luke and Kieran?” Sylus’s head whips up in alarm, ruby eyes widening in panic and you quickly approach him on the bed.

“They dropped me off here and went back to their place. It’s ok. It’s just me.”

Relief floods his features only to be immediately drowned by embarrassment and he averts his gaze. You see the tension in his shoulders and how fidgety and nervous he is, making you feel strange. This wasn’t your boyfriend, the confident and ruthless leader of the N109 zone that you had gotten to know. Unsure how to proceed, you gently cup his cheek. His glances briefly at you and you realize he’s waiting for you to pass judgment. Your heart squeezes to see him like this.

“Sylus. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” Your voice is soft and you kneel on the bed so that you can thread your fingers through his hair. Your touch soothes his racing heart but he’s still anxious. His voice is low as he starts to admit his actions.

“I like being pegged.” His voice sounds ashamed. 

“Isn’t that a kink?” You haven’t moved, staying close to his quivering body. 

“It’s not one that I think most men would admit to having.” You gnaw at your lip, trying to remember something, anything, that would ease his tension. 

“But…isn’t pegging the only way to stimulate the prostate? That’s a thing right? Prostate massage?” You slowly draw him closer to you so that you can rest your head on his shoulder. Your hands dip down from his hair to stroke his back and you feel him shiver.

“Yeah. It is.”

“And…it feels good right?” You probe further, trying to get him to talk. 

Sylus takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. It does.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone and you like it, why are you so scared right now?” Sylus feels some of the discomfort in his chest release as your words wash over him. After a beat, you ask him a question.

“Why haven’t you shared this with me?” There’s no blame in your voice, just a general curiosity.

Sylus swallows, then rests his cheek on top of your hair, drawing comfort from you. “I don’t know. It’s not a norm. It’s frowned upon. Joked about. I just didn’t know how you’d react to it.”

You huff then grasp his chin and make him look at you. “Sylus, do you know how ironic it is that you made me share all the kinks that I’ve fantasized about and you’ve done them all only to hide this from me?” 

“So you-you don’t find this weird?”

“I think it’s hot when you’re being pleasured. Isn’t that that a good enough answer?” 

Sylus processes what’s been said to him and you take advantage of his distraction to push him down on the mattress, his large frame falling on it with a thump before you lay down next to him. You reassuringly cuddle his body, pressing into him and nuzzling his neck. 

“You looked like you were on the edge of a pretty good orgasm there. Before I came in that is.” 

Sylus clears his throat, traces of a blush lingering on his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, I was.” You trace your fingers down his chest.

“Would you be comfortable to do that again? With me in the room?” You ask the question carefully trying not to crowd him. Sylus finally looks at you in the face. His expression still looked guarded with a tinge of disbelief.

“You-you want to watch me?” Even as he says the words, he feels a surge of arousal. It was touching, almost intimate that you wanted to be a part of this. 

You bite your lip. “You looked really sexy there for a minute. All hot and moaning. I liked it.��

Sylus huffs, trying to regain his composure but your reaction to the whole situation was calming him down. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Your hands busy themselves on his thighs, squeezing and hard sinew, and you see his eyes softening as he realizes he can trust you with this. It pulls at you and you raise your head to kiss him, enjoying their warmth. 

His hands are working deftly to pull off your clothes, his cock hardening again at the prospect of what was to come. You, watching him, pleasuring himself, and it turned you on. There was no mistaking that little lip nibble you had done. The knowledge that he could share this vulnerability was filling him with a different kind of pleasure. 

Once he’s freed you from your clothes, he palms your breasts, groaning as your hands find his cock, pumping him enticingly. After his interrupted orgasm, the whole organ pulses, heat and sexual need filling him. He doesn’t hold back with his bites, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he touches you fervently.

Soft sighs leave your lips as you play with his cock, and you’re eager to see his demonstration on the dildo, needed to hear him make those noises of ecstasy again. “What do you need me to do?” You ask, still pumping his hard flesh. 

Sylus’s eyes are half closed, clearly enjoying your ministrations. He hesitates but asks, “Do you mind squeezing my cheeks?”

Understanding, your hands sensually leave his cock and instead, start to massage the soft rounded flesh of his rear, and he hums at your touch. You feel the muscles contracting and relaxing under your fingers and Sylus was syncing his breaths to the action. He glances over at his headboard, and you can see the dildo is still there, held in place by the broad suction cup base.

“Needs more lube,” he observes, and you squeeze his ass once more before reaching over to grab the bottle from the nightstand and hand it to him. You take note of how much he applies to the toy for future use and he begins to back himself up against it. He looks at you again, unsure. 

“What is it?” You lean up to cup his face, peppering kisses all over it. 

“I’ve…always fantasized about…someone holding me open as I…get penetrated.” He admits shyly and you feel flattered that he had opened up and asked. You move towards his legs and with care, part his cheeks, seeing his opening fluttering, similar to how your pussy would when it needed to be filled.

You watch in fascination as Sylus continues to back onto the dildo and your heart leaps as he makes contact, and watch, wide-eyed, as it starts to disappear into his hole. There’s a rush of arousal, at how hot the sight was, but you remain quiet, the room filling with Sylus’s contained moans as he pushes himself onto the toy.

“Oh Sylus…the view is so sexy.” You encourage him as he pauses in his penetration, panting. 

“Yeah?” He looks at you over his shoulder, and you nod. Your hands slowly release his cheeks which jiggle slightly as they fall back into place. Then he starts to move.

The noises that leave him drive you wild. You’ve heard him while having good sex but nothing compared to this; the way his hips started to buck in abandon, the husky, desperate way he moans as he fucks himself. Not wanting to miss a second, you quickly scramble back to his face, his expression sending a spear of pure lust straight into your core.

His ruby eyes are wide with delight, mouth hanging open in an O as he rides to climax. His gaze fixates on you and you see the flush that stains his skin and know he’s just as turned on by you, by the fact that you’re watching him so admiringly. You squeeze your breasts, teasing your nipples as you try to stimulate yourself with him, rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts, watching the way his weeping cock drags along the sheets with each thrust.

It wasn’t enough and driven by primal instinct, you quickly slide under his muscled body, surprising him. He pauses in his motions. “Kitten?” he breathes questioningly, gazing at you beneath him. 

“Sylus, I can’t. I need to experience you like this.” He lets out a guttural moan as you spread your legs and begin to guide his neglected cock into your hot wetness, the dual sensation too much for him to handle. His hole clenches, feeling the dildo snugly against his prostate while his cock was being nestled into your pussy. He lets out a deep, sultry whine.

“Fuck, sweetie. You’re going to kill me.” You stroke every inch of his body you can reach and Sylus begins to build up his rhythm, going as slowly as possible to stave off his orgasm but he feels like he’s a lost cause. 

Your pussy grips his cock, spasming with each thrust. Every time he moved forward, he’s gliding through your eager cunt, and every time he moves back, the dildo massages his aching prostate and he feels like a loser, knowing he won’t last too long this way.

You see the struggle in his eyes and talk him through it. “It’s ok Sy. You’ve held on for so long. It’s ok to cum. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Let yourself cum.” you murmur reassuringly to him and he lets out a keening groan, his hips going into overdrive as he pushes himself over the edge.

His vision blurs at the edges as an intense orgasm grips him, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries not to collapse on you. His body shakes, creamy jets of cum filling your pussy as his hole spasms rhythmically, prolonging his state of euphoria as he empties himself into you. 

Sylus carefully crawls off the dildo, then lays over you. Sweat covers each inch of his body as you lovingly stroke his hair. 

“I don’t know why you’d hide something so hot from me.”

“What’s a relationship without a little mystery?”

“Well mystery solved. Next time, we should use a vibrating dildo.”

Your eyes flicker with mischief and Sylus chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[khorneschosen]

You're asking to have an argument about Trump's previous term to this one.

When it's quite clear the issue is about which side has the most empathy, common sense, and tolerance.

And when it comes to common sense y'all have none common sense belongs to a philosophy that you no longer practice or believe in.

It's a bumpkin version of rationalism, which Marxist outright deny the existence of. So you guys don't have common sense because you guys aren't rationalist or for that matter rational. Hence why existentialism formed as a reaction to the fact that the prophecy of Marx never came to fruition.

The masses and the proletarian never revolted on mass capitalism didn't become one giant monopoly nor is it really in danger of ever becoming a monopoly where the state is not involved.

What's more the standard living and wealth of the people living under capitalism or even quasi or broken capitalism are still doing better than all the people states of the world Even when those people states have access to a great deal of resources from the rest of the world.

This is by the way why market socialism is the big new hot push, what they really should call it however is modern Chinese socialism.

And however has the exact same problems of a socialist government with fewer tools to be able to deal with it. It's basically the state controls you and you control the factories but we control you so we control the factories anyway. Which is remarkably how national socialism works, you know it as fascism.

And then when it comes to empathy you guys have what can only really be described as transactional collective empathy. If a person or a group does what you say you have a great deal of empathy for them so much so that you'll let them get away with anything however if any member of that group goes against you or is even really just neutral and a way that you can't abide, even a small way you have no empathy for them.

And we've seen that when it comes to cishet white men for a while, and Asians and Jews recently, and even more recently Arabs and Hispanics who do not vote Democrat.

What I'm really describing here is just an in-group preference based on political or philosophical lines, But even then it's more based around whether or not that particular group is useful to you. Because despite everything destiny is one of your guys and y'all treat him like shit, because at times he dares to challenge you guys on some of your worst excesses and on your own terms. In a way that you simply cannot ignore. You can't rightly call him a conservative because the evidence of your own eyes and mind do not allow you to.

This too by the way goes for tolerance, The one axiom that you seem to have in group and outgroup preferences for being your politics and how useful someone is to the cause, you have no tolerance for it.

Meanwhile conservatives come from various different areas of influence. The Protestant and Catholics have long had their doctrine changed to better meet and work with reality. The capitalists are hard realists to the point of irrational pragmatism at times. And the nationalists are operating on a very old form of your system but they do it just for the people within their own nation. Which is just demanding that the benefactors be within their national boundaries.

Oh and liberals have a strong philosophical tradition that goes back to the enlightenment. Of course I mean classical liberals rather than communist calling themselves liberal because it's a lot easier than calling themselves a communist.

So as far as logic goes they're nowhere near as bad.

And as for empathy they are by definition conservatives they are being challenged and at every point of the challenge they have allowed you to challenge them in ways that they frankly shouldn't have. That their own code would have allowed them to crush you at any point and yet refuse to out of empathy intolerance for your kind.

And we're talking collectively right we're not talking about individual examples because if that's the case we'll be here all night but in the broadest strokes conservatives do have empathy tolerance and they're far more logical. I mean even scientific studies have shown that they have more risk assessment which you define is fear for the sake of your propaganda but really it's just risk assessment. Which one we're dealing with the country that is the leader of the free world and if its economy goes tits up, will destroy the free world and an economic collapse from which it will never recover from I don't say that fear or risk assessment is misplaced.

Like baseline conservative is infinitely more rational. Baseline libertarian is infinitely more rational because they at least acknowledge the reality of economics or culture. Y'all routinely ignore the risks or even cost of your actions and policies and ideologically do not believe in rationality.

So yeah leftist and I do mean leftist are less rational, less empathetic and less tolerant.

Also if you want me to get to your second question reword it a little bit, it's confusing how it's currently written.

[rebelliousmuse]

Diss Track - M.S and C.S.

Warnings: slight smut, unprotected p in v (use condoms).

------------------------------------------------------------

Matt and you have been casually dating for a few months now. You've developed a comfortable, easygoing friendship with benefits. He's a wonderful guy—sweet, kind, incredibly attractive, and always keeps you entertained with his interesting stories and unique perspective.

Today, he's heading to a recording studio with his brothers Nick and Chris to film a humorous video where they'll playfully tease and diss each other.

Since you're good friends with Nick, he asked you to join him at the studio. He mentioned that he didn't want to be bored while his brothers were busy recording their diss tracks. You gladly agreed and soon enough, they arrived at your place to pick you up.

After a short drive, you pulled up to the recording studio. Sam, their friend, was already there, ready to start working on the diss tracks. Sam's expertise would be crucial in bringing the brothers' playful feud to life. Before diving into the recording, they began brainstorming, writing down random phrases and ideas to form the foundation of their diss tracks.

Once they felt prepared, Matt and Chris stepped up to the mic taking turns. The initial jabs were playful, each brother delivering witty insults with a smirk. However, as the session progressed, the tone began to shift. One of Matt's lines, a particularly pointed remark about Chris's questionable eating and constant soda drinking habits, seemed to pierce through Chris's facade. His expression flickered with annoyance since Matt always annoyed him with those things, but he quickly masked it with a forced smile.

Sam, being close friends with Chris, sensed the underlying tension. His keen eye noticed the subtle change in Chris's demeanor, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. To prevent any further escalation, Sam intervened, suggesting a short break. As the brothers retreated outside the studio, Sam could feel the residual heat of their unspoken rivalry. He hoped the brief respite would allow them to regain their composure and return to the playful spirit of the original plan.

Ever the curious one, you decided to stay behind to explore the studio equipment. Intrigued by the music industry, you wanted to learn more about the tools and techniques used to create music. As you were engrossed in examining a particular piece of gear, Chris entered the room. He found you gazing intently at the equipment with a look of fascination on your face.

"Hey, I thought you'd be with Nick getting snacks," Chris said, a small smile playing on his lips. He gestured towards the door, indicating that Nick had left to grab refreshments for everyone.

"Oh, I didn't know he'd left," you replied slightly taken aback. "I was just, you know, admiring Sam's studio. It's really impressive." Chris continued to smile with his gaze lingering on you a bit longer than necessary. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks and nervously averted your eyes back to the equipment, trying to avoid his intense stare.

"Wanna take a closer look at the record room?" Chris asked, leading you towards the room where he and Matt had just been trading insults. He held the door open for you to enter and followed closely behind.

"Aren't all these lights a bit distracting?" you asked, a bit overwhelmed by the bright blue lights illuminating the room.

Chris chuckled, "A little," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "But you kind of get used to it after a while."

"Right... and what does this button do?" you questioned, reaching up to touch a button. Chris quickly stepped closer, his hand hovering over yours. "Don't touch that," he warned, a hint of amusement in his voice.

He gently took your hand in his. As you realized how close he was, your heart pounded in your chest. Your eyes met, and you couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance to Matt, yet with a unique allure that set him apart. His eyes, held a captivating intensity that drew you in. You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the strange feeling. You were supposed to be attracted to Matt, your friend with benefits. But as your gaze held, an inexplicable pull drew you closer. Your body unconsciously leaned in.

The soft glow of the studio lights cast an ethereal glow on his face, highlighting his sharp features and full lips. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you became increasingly aware of the intimacy of the moment. A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers intertwined with yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Without warning, he closed the gap between you two, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. You gasped softly and felt your body instantly melting into the embrace. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him. In response, your hands instinctively tangled themselves in his soft, brown hair, deepening the kiss.

The kiss started soft and sweet, but soon turned hungry and demanding. His lips trailed down your jawline, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His tongue teased your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. His lips found your neck, his teeth gently nipping at your skin, making your breath hitch. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and you lost yourself in the sensation of his touch.

His hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your form. He pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss. When he finally pulled away, his eyes met yours, and he saw the same intense desire and lust mirrored back at him. He smirked, his eyes darkening with desire. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel, baby," he purred, his voice low and husky. Before you could respond, he recaptured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. His hands found the hem of your dress, tugging at the fabric. As his fingers grazed your skin, a wave of anticipation washed over you.

The intensity of the moment was electrifying. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and your own temperature was rising in response. His touch was both gentle and demanding. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his, eager for more. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that sent shivers down your spine. You moaned softly, your body trembling with anticipation.

As his hands worked their way under your dress, you felt a surge of excitement. You knew what was coming next, and you couldn't wait.

"We need to make this quick, though. We still gotta finish that video," Chris murmured against your skin, his voice low and urgent. Despite the urgency, his touch was gentle as he slid your underwear off. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

The intensity of the moment was palpable. The soft hum of the equipment provided a rhythmic backdrop to your passionate encounter. As you felt the cool air against your skin, a shiver ran through your body. You met Chris's gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of lust and anticipation. He responded with a knowing smirk, his eyes dark with desire.

With a swift movement he positions himself between your thighs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. The weight of his body against yours sent a thrill through you, igniting a fire within. With a swift thrust of his hips, Chris sheathes himself fully within you, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. You gasp and close your eyes, surrendering to the pleasure. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the raw, primal desire that consumed you.

"Look at me, wanna see those pretty eyes as I make you mine," Chris grunted, his voice low and rough. His movements were deliberate, each thrust a deliberate assault on your senses. The intensity in his eyes mirrored the passion in his actions. You met his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and surrender. As he continued to move, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the moment, your body arching involuntarily with each powerful thrust.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind. What if he could capture this moment, the raw, unfiltered pleasure in your voice? He could use the recording to relive the intensity of this moment later that night. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he discreetly pulled out his phone and began recording. He watched as your face contorted with pleasure, your moans and whimpers filling the room. A smirk crept across his face as he captured the sound of your ecstasy.

The soft glow of the studio lights illuminated your intertwined bodies, casting an intimate glow on the scene. The rhythmic sounds of your bodies filled the air, a symphony of passion and desire. Chris's grip tightened, his movements growing more intense. Your nails dug into his back, leaving a trail of marks. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation.

As you reached your peak, your body arched involuntarily, your cries filling the room. Chris, too, was on the brink, his breaths ragged and his body slick with sweat. In that moment, time seemed to stand still.

After the intense encounter, you and Chris took a moment to catch your breath. You were both flushed and breathless. Once you had composed yourselves, you joined Nick, Sam, and Matt outside the studio.

-----------

Back inside the studio, Matt, fueled by the adrenaline of his earlier encounter with Chris and the lingering tension between them, stepped into the recording booth to finish the bars of his verse. He continued his diss track, each line more cutting than the last. He mocked Chris's fashion sense, and his lack of romantic success. The words were delivered with a venomous tone, each syllable dripping with contempt. Chris, visibly annoyed, listened to the recording, his jaw clenched tight. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as Matt's insults cut deep.

When it was Chris's turn to respond to Matt's barbs, he paused before entering the recording booth. He handed his phone to Sam, whispering a quick instruction that only the two of them could hear. A mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes as he shot Matt a narrowed stare. He then stepped into the booth, ready to deliver his counterattack.

"When I give you the signal, alright, man?" Chris whispered to Sam, who nodded in understanding. As Chris began to record, Sam prepared to execute their plan. The tension in the room was palpable. Matt, smug and confident, leaned back, anticipating Chris's feeble attempt at a rebuttal.

Chris cleared his throat and began to rap, his voice filled with a newfound intensity. He delivered a series of scathing insults, each one more cutting than the last. He exposed Matt's insecurities, his hidden fears, and his secret desires. His words were sharp and precise, each syllable a dagger aimed at Matt's ego. As Chris reached the climax of his diss, he paused dramatically, his eyes narrowing before he rapped his last few bars.

“I'm the king, the ace, the might,

A force of nature, shining bright.

Your lady knows, it's plain to see,

I'm the one, exclusively.

And if you doubt, just ask her, please,

She'll confirm with utmost ease.

And if she doesn't then allow me,

Hear her beg for my dick.”

Chris glanced at Sam giving him a silent signal. Sam, understanding the cue, pressed play on Chris's phone. A recording of your passionate encounter with Chris filled the room, your moans and Chris's suggestive whispers echoing through the studio. Matt's face turned a deep shade of crimson as he recognized your voice. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed with anger and humiliation.

Your eyes widened in shock as the recording played, your face flushing with embarrassment. You couldn't believe what you were hearing, your voice echoing through the studio. Meanwhile, Chris smirked triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He winked at you and then turned to Matt, shrugging nonchalantly and flashing a smug expression. The contrast between his casual demeanor and the explosive content of the recording was palpable.

The recording shattered the fragile peace of the studio. The once playful banter between the brothers turned into a bitter rivalry. Matt, consumed by anger and jealousy, vowed to get revenge. Chris, however, remained unfazed, his confidence bolstered by his victory. As for you, you were left to navigate the complex aftermath, caught between the two brothers.

Taglist: @mattsbitchh @riasturns

You have no idea how long I spent trying to make those rhymes.

[jojotichakorn]

i started penning a post about how i always find it narratively unsatisfying when an arc ends with a conclusion the following arc breaks, regardless of how realistic the repetition of the same mistake might be, which is still true, but i actually want to talk about something else right now.

i feel like, at least at this stage, jack is in a position that is both generally unrealistic and untrue to the specific events of the series. 'jack and joker' has a clear focus on poverty and money and class issues, but it seems to treat jack in a very special way. he somehow manages to stand on the moral high ground above other characters. specifically, other poor characters. which is, first of all, a little ridiculous, since he was indeed a debt collector and, in fact, almost became the boss's son. and, second of all, is generally Not Great, because it does idolise the idea that if you "just try hard enough", you won't "allow" yourself to be backed into a corner and therefore won't have to do bad things.

now, don't get me wrong, i am not saying that our characters who have made mistakes are completely blameless. tattoo did shitty things (and hoy followed suit), safe did shitty things, hope frankly admitted to enjoying doing shitty things. however, if we zoom out a little, we will see that all these characters are in a situation that is inherently unfair to them. we have all of these poor people in immense amounts of debt and then we have this disgusting rich motherfucker whose entire wealth is literally based on making their lives as miserable and unfair as they are. and i think that, in this particular case, the series would have actually benefited from a dichotomy. don't get me wrong, i'm usually absolutely brimming with nuance and also asking "what lies outside of it?" but this shall be my exception. (though you could say that joke already brings some nuance to it - he is initially from a well-off family and he actively makes choices to the benefit of poor people, despite it resulting in him being ostracised from said family and its riches).

jack walks the line of being poor and managing not to do anything "too bad" like he is a fucking circus performer on a wire. and, don't get me wrong, he is genuinely a selfless character. he makes choices that a lot of other characters in the same circumstances wouldn't make. he remains in debt and continues working for the boss because he keeps trying to help people and pay off their debts first - that is admirable. however, he himself was already set up for more success than others. sure, being forced to become a debt collector isn't a walk in the park, but most other debtors didn't even have that choice. jack has to work for the boss in order to stay afloat - that is an undeniably hard task. the other people the boss collects debts from, however, have to come up with a lot of money out of thin air - that is not simply a hard task, that is an impossible one that is designed to trap them in the cycle of doing this impossible task forever. that being said, ultimately, jack is still poor. his own hamster wheel should be somewhere around the corner, that's always the case. this idea is where i wish they would have taken jack's arc.

from the moment when he refused to marry rose, there was no escape for him. finally, much like our other poor characters, he found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. (and i think that it's very thematically appropriate for jack's particular "i can't do this anymore, i deserve to live a full life" sentiment to be connected to love, since he is, after all, a lead of a romance drama). he made the decision to say "no" and from that point on, he was completely and utterly fucked. because, realistically, that conversation that he had with the boss after refusing rose was insane. i don't know what he would have done to jack exactly, if that was a genuine conversation and there was no exchange of jack's freedom for the ring, but it would not have been anything good.

so i wish jack had to make the actual tough call there, instead of having joke save him all on his own (and later take the fall for it). and if it was, at least in some capacity, jack's decision to steal that ring, he would finally be placed in a situation where every other poor character already inevitably found themselves in. because the entire system is rigged against all of them and they are eventually always forced to do things that they should have never even had to consider in the first place. but they deserve better than living a life set up for them by evil rich people who literally live off of their suffering and they are allowed - no, at some point they simply have no choice but to - fight for a better life.

this, in my opinion, would have been a much more powerful message and - not to circle back to my personal preferences - would have also not left us with joke making the very same mistake that we decided we should never make again at the end of the previous arc.

[justice-maul]

Hey hey so glad that you are feeling good about your desicion. Now, may I have some tony x male reader where the reader is a lot younger than him and tony and him have a contract where tony pays the reader's bills and in exchange just wants the reader to fuck the shit out of him?

Tony Stark x Younger Male Reader | Headcanons

Author Note: Keep in mind, English isn’t my first language, thank you so much anon and so sorry for the wait, hope this makes up for it because I ADORE writing for Tony 🤤

Warning(s)⚠: Top reader, age gap (unspecified but legal), size difference (Reader is big), dom reader, mentions of praise, degradation, and rough sex (lol sorry if I forgot any)

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

You worked near Stark Towers but in a less... luxurious area, the job paid well enough but living in New York, you lived a very cheap and humble life that wasn't exactly your choice

There was a cafe near your job and Stark Industries, you would often go there on breaks and see some workers around the area, but never in your life did you expect to see the Tony Stark at that cafe nor did anyone else

Tony walked in on his phone, not really paying attention to anyone and got in line right behind you to your surprise, people murmured and whispers, some took pictures and you tried to look ahead and not pay too much attention to it so you can get back to work

Tony sighed, tired after a long day in the lab. All he wanted was a caffeine fix before working for the entire day again. He looked up from his phone, pulling his sunglasses donw to scan through the menu when he noticed you in front of him

A towering figure with broad shoulders stretching the fabric of your shirt even from the back it was impossible to miss your size and Tony always appreciated a good size difference, but it was your eyes that made him catch his breath when you finally peered at him out of curiosity

You cursed your own actions as you two made eye contact and he grinned at you, making you look away quickly and try to focus as you ordered your usual drink

"Can I please a get a (insert preferred drink)?" You asked the barista and pulled out your wallet to get ready to pay when Tony slid in smoothly beside you and ordered his drink as well

"Add a triple shot espresso to that too," he said and winked at the barista before looking up at you, your eyes meeting again and this time you maintained eye contact even as he smirked up at you

"Let me buy your coffee, handsome." He said, not really asking for permission as he inserted his card and payed for you both

"Uhh, thanks for paying for me..." you muttered, not exactly knowing what to say to which he just shrugged with a lazy smile

"Don't worry about it, it was nothing, though you can pay me back by joining me," he said teasingly and grabbed his drink signaling for you to join him at a table to which you hesitantly obliged and sat down with him

"You live around here sweetheart?" He asked you, sipping his drink to which you shook your head, taking a sip of your own drink

"Uh, no I just work around here, paying off some debts," you explained where your work place was and he nodded slowly, knowing that particular job wasn't exactly the best paying

"And how's that going?" He asked with a slight smirk to which you sighed and shrugged

"As well as anyone could guess, by the time I pay this off I'll probably be in a nursing home," you joked and watched as he stirred some sugar into his drink

"Well how about I help you with that handsome?" He offered and titled his head at you in question

Your eyebrow raised in confusion "For what in return?" You asked cautiously and he chuckled softly, lifting the stirring stick to his lips sucking on it suggestively

"Oh nothing too bad, I'll pay for anything and everything you need, plus more, and you just have to do one thing for me..." he paused and pulled the stirring stick out of his mouth teasingly and threw it aside "You get the luxury to fuck me, whenever I ask you to of course," he said and smiled as he sipped his drink and waited for your response

"I- um, wh-what?..." you stuttered, completely caught off guard making him laugh at your reaction "So your gonna pay for all my debt, my bills, and anything else as long as I just... sleep with you?..." you asked him

"Yeah, pretty much, if it makes you more comfortable we can put it in writing, make it a formal contract." He offered smiling cheekily, knowing that his night was about to get a whole lot better than it had been

Over some careful consideration, you agreed, making and signing the contract together, each having your own copy of it. Tony began paying for everything you needed or even happened to mention in passing time, but every week you would fuck his brains out for him as asked

Most days he seemed groggy or tired but he was always in a good mood when you came by and hid it behind his usual smiles and teasing, but he did always look much more happy after your thoroughly fucked his brains out

"Oh yeah, fuck this is just what I needed" he said, arching his hips to meet your thrusts better, his eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy and his hand raking through his hair that stuck to his glistened forehead as your large cock practically split him open

That was how it went, you gave him good dick, in return you got paid (Tony even began giving you "tips" every time you got off him real good) it was simple and you were fine with it, there was nothing that could possibly go wrong with such a perfect arrangement, as long as you don't get attached or catch feelings....

You got both.

But how could you not? Sure he was infuriating at times, a total diva, and an absolute drama queen which was typically embarrassing for his age but... you still couldn't help it, that little smile he gave you every time you showed up, a look of pure relief as if you were fixing all his problems, that moment right before he'd come undone where he would just whisper your name like he was in a trance, and they way he always tried to keep your attention on him

You'd never say anything though, it was far too comfortable, in fact you liked having to do what was considered the bare minimum for a fuck ton of money, it kept you employed and debt free and it kept him plugged up and content. Some days you'd get close, you would actually talk about life or you'd sleep in his bed all day, that sort of thing but both of you were at peace with your arrangement, you knew he wouldn't leave he might fuck around but he always came back, no one had ever taken him the way you do

The way you'd make his moans echo off the wall while giving him those degrading praises, how you'd angle your large cock just right against that one spot and hit it over and over again and yet you'd gently comb through his hair, that harsh grip you had on him that left him bruising for weeks... and yet the way you'd always make sure to never go too far was a luxury he never had before...

Yeah... he was falling hard too, just wasn't aware you were, it was clear the arrangement was fucked to begin with.

Hi hi! Sorry this took so long and sorry if it feels short but I thought I might as well get it goer with, thanks for reading and enjoy!

If you want more like this... check out my Masterlist

[tinfoil-jones]

For Your Own Good: Intermission

Askbox? Open

If you don't know what this post is about, "For Your Own Good" or tagged as "Early Amnesia AU" on tumblr is a dialogue-only Gravity Falls fanfiction I've been working on that kinda-sorta follows a Mystery Trio -esque timeline, where Ford doesn't build the portal. To sum it up, the whole fanfiction boils down to:

Researcher Ford: I told you I never wanted to see you again.

Mullet Stan: Dude, I don't know who you are or WTF you're talking about right now, but I'm leaving this town and never coming back. You are never seeing me again after this. I'm probably going to forget you in like five minutes.

Researcher Ford:

Researcher Ford: *immediately kidnaps him*

You can consider chapters 1-10 to be Act 1 of the fanfic, and I’m taking a break for at least a week, most likely longer. The chapters so far were already written out in advance, and so was a huge reveal, but I still need to tie things together.

Here’s some authors notes/extra stuff about it, some of it might have already been put in the AO3 before or after notes. These are in no particular order:

This takes place 10 years after Ford and Stan were separated, currently they are both 27 about to be 28. Fiddleford is slightly older than them, being in his early 30s.

Ford is unironically the only person who finds Stan’s really dumb jokes funny.

Ford is the one who displays the most behaviours that would be seen from Mabel and Dipper decades later. Like Dipper, he views washing clothes as a waste of time, and like Mabel he ate an entire tube of toothpaste (granted, it was on accident)

While Ford is the more likely of the two to display traits that later present in Mabel and Dipper, it still happens with Stan as well. Stan has a similar nervous-chewing habit that Dipper displays in the OG series, but his only comes out when he’s particularly anxious. In this case, it was because he had nicotine cravings.

The 'That motherfucker is ugly' line that Stan used on Ford can be considered extra ironic because of how much the Stan Twins look like their dad.

Bill Cipher was originally supposed to speak in Times New Bastard (which is Times New Roman except every 7th letter is jarringly sans serif, a meme from tumblr), but AO3 and tumblr don’t let you change the font.

Stan goes out of his way to avoid using Ford and Fiddlefords given names- but this isn’t because he doesn’t know what they are. In the few times he has used their names, it was a sign that he was being sincere.

If you want to wonder whether or not Fiddleford likes Stan back, consider the fact that he could have walked away at any point, and either washed his hands of the whole thing, or just outright reported Stanford to the authorities. 

Bill is more like Discord from MLP - he’s just chaotic, often to the detriment of others, but he isn’t outright malicious (anymore), and he’s too busy SIMPING to cause any real harm. Basically, Bill is Fords patron for studying weirdness - he helps Ford in his research, but the cost that Ford pays is that Bill is able to possess him when he sleeps, and has unlimited access to his brain.

If Ford knew Rick Sanchez, why didn’t Rick see how similar Stan looked and put 2-and-2 together? Easy; Rick didn’t give a single shit about Ford, so he never committed his face or name to memory. Ford himself only remembered Rick because Rick was such a massive, egotistical asshole. If anything, Rick would think Ford is the lesser version of Stan.

Chapter 10 was the first concrete proof that the Stan we’ve been following likely is Stanley Pines and not some similar conman named Stan Malone. The last time Ford saw Stan would have either been when they were teens, so other than Stans commercials for his failed products there’s no way Ford would know what an adult Stan would even look like, and he’d have to use himself as a reference.

Stan has given some insight on his Thalassophobia (fear of the ocean / large bodies of water). In Chapter 10, he told Ford a number of things he escaped, including the trunk of a sinking car, and cement shoes. Cement shoes are either when you tie someone to a cinder block and throw them into a body of water, or when you literally incase their feet in cement, wait for it to dry, and then toss them into a body of water, so they’ll drown. Presumably, these are still things that would have happened to him even if he didn't lose his memories, so why would it give him a fear of the ocean now? Stan Pines in the OG still had a lot of positive memories associated with the ocean - he grew up on the coast, and had a lot of his hopes and dreams tied to the ocean. But without his childhood memories, he has no positive associations with it, only memories of times he almost drowned. 

Ford himself is not a touchy guy. The reason he hugs Stan even though it isn’t reciprocated is because from his perspective, this is his twin brother who is in pain and has been suffering all by himself for a long time. And Stan - at least how Ford remembers him - had a very touch-based love language. Fords doing it because he thinks it’d comfort him.

Stan seems pretty calm and chill for someone who’s been kidnapped by a ‘stranger’. This isn’t because he’s an overall chill guy because of amnesia, no he’s super pissed and the second he knows he’s free he will let them know that with his words, and incredible violence. He’s remaining calm because he’s been imprisoned and kidnapped enough times to know that pitching a fit or lashing out at his captors won’t do him any favours.

Fiddleford is still married to Emma-May and they do have Tate. But it's one of those lavender marriages (they're both gay and mutually bearding each other)

[sweetdreamspootypie]

hey, saw your tags on my iStop notice and had to say something. if you're a nurse you really gotta take the can't leave port accessed thing super seriously. I think it may apply to all IVs but I have a port so that's what I know.

I don't think I was explicit about it: the reason it is so highly illegal has nothing to do with infection. it is specifically to prevent people from having IV access for illegal drug use.

so imagine how I feel about the port being left in now that I know what they think I wanted from the hospital.

@kelpforestdwellers

(idk how tumblr does notifications for asks so figured I'd tag you)

Yeah that makes sense as the reasoning

But still

Plenty of people have central lines out in the community - people on chemo, long term antibiotics, dyalisis, gastroparesis patients who are TPN / IV hydration / IV antiemetic dependant. And those are just the ones I have met going through y particular ward which is general medical, not specialized.

I know you have been / are going through a very long and frustrating process around getting it added to your official care plan and being properly facilitated to access your port at home.

But I have assumed that's just bureaucratic paperwork nonsense about like. Which doctor wants to put their signature to it that they've done due diligence about risk management with you. And stuff about who's job it was to organise it for you.

As opposed to being issues with just having an accessed port at home itself.

It is obviously a huge fuckup to have an /accidentally/ accessed port - but that's still to my mind mostly about infection control.

If they did actually think you were at risk of unsafe IV drug use then yes that is also a major beach of duty of care.

I just had a quick scroll through your blog and you haven't said anything about the process of discharge besides the fact that there was back and forth about when it would be. So tbh I'm confused how you also didn't know it was still accessed, as it's a whole process to de-access it unless you were expecting procedures to be done while you are unconscious. But there was so much other things you were chasing for a safe discharge that I guess it just got forgotten for you.

It sounds like that ward were not confident with the port - you mentioned them getting snotty about doing a blood draw - which is wild to me, because central lines are amazing for that. It's so easy to do a blood draw, we love it. Especially ports! Way easier than PICCs. The only issue is that a phlebotomist will not do patients with central lines, so the nurse has to do it. So it's not a 'patient refused' it's a 'not done on pleb round - awaiting nurse to do it's

So the fact that that happened implies a high percentage of nurses there aren't familiar with central lines, which almost certainly contributed to it not being on their mental checklist for when you left.

Which is a silly situation but also kinda familiar. One of our gastroparesis patients has a standing plan that if she ever needs to go to hospital, she will access her port herself and draw her own blood samples at home before she goes, because it's not worth dealing with ER staff where nobody is confident to initially access a port.

Anyway yeah

I can see the reasoning about it being bad to have an unplanned IV access for drug abuse concerns

But I still would absolutely not blink an eye about a patient coming in from home or going home with central line access. But it should be part of a clearly documented plan for discharge.

I'm in aotearoa though, so different laws obviously. If there is something similar here, I wonder if it's one of those things where they tell you as part of putting the port in in the first place, but. For anyone else it's not relevent.

I hope things start moving for you for being able to access it safely at home.

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Omg yay!! I'm so excited to dive into your thoughts on Part 2. As you saw, it's a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. 😅

Alright it is devastating right off the bat and I know, I know I should be worried about her and I am. I am SO worried, but my mind completely went somewhere else when Dean PICKED HER UP. The man is so strong and I am just...

LOL girl I don't blame you for being distracted. The mental image of Dean manhandling in Protective Mode does things to me too. 🤣

I was prepared for this coming but dang... "I hope you've learned your damn lesson" is a line that breaks my heart more than I should. It cuts to the quick for me, because to me it's worse than just saying "I told you not to do something." It's not heartless, but it's enough of a rendition of it that it just makes you go "oh wow."

I love this observation. That's exactly what I felt inherently when I was writing that line. It felt more powerful to me than "I told you so" or the like. It has the feeling of that, but with more of an edge, even though you know he cares about her.

I was literally screaming. It's like he wants her to kill him. I know that Dean loves her so much but oh my goodness it's about to get so real for him. Man is about to be torn to shreds.

LMAO I remember someone saw the preview of Part 2 and commented, "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." And I was like, YEP, that's exactly it. Mans playing with his life. 😅😅😅

You just wanna go:

Even though she's upset, Dean is still her best friend and the man she loves and even though he's the one that made her feel this way, she still wants to be comforted by his presence. I always think that, this particular thing is so bittersweet to read about in relationships. Or at least that's how I took this bit 😅.

That's precisely how I intended it! Now looking back, I feel like I should have had her leave him by himself in his room to sleep in another room. But at the time I was writing, I was thinking that for her in particular, despite this being the biggest fight they've had so far in their relationship, he's still the one that makes her feel safe after a bad hunt. 💙

Side note: I am happy that the reader didn't have to tell the woman about her son. That would have broken me to read that especially after the reader promised that they would find her son in part one.

Oh my God, yeah. I considered having her be the one to face her "mistake" and talk to the mother, but I felt that having Sam take that on would be better, even as it added to the reader's guilt (and it would keep the story moving).

Oh my word. I love you friend, but WHY!? Dang it, this pricked at my heart. It's so good, so heart wrenching. I feel so bad for him, but it really just reinforces why he "lost it" with the reader earlier. Goodness the trope of the reader getting yelled at by someone who loves them about putting themselves in danger really is just such a good one for Dean and you do it so well.

Lmaooo I knowww, I'm sorry! All the angsty feels in this one. 😭 Now you see the full weight of why Dean popped off the way he did. He just feels things so deeply, it comes out sometimes in anger, when at the root of it all, it's fear.

Thank you though for that compliment! I think this is the only time I've written that Dean trope. Because I honestly think it's overused, but I tried to do it in a way that made sense for the ultimate growth of their relationship and who Dean is.

His apology is really just pricking at my heart. It's so good, so forthcoming so honest. And the thought that he was "better off alone" is so on brand for him. I know that we've talked about that before, but it really does fit him, and I love how you weave it into this fic.

Aww thank you! 😭😭 Weirdly enough, that was one of my favorite parts to write? Maybe I just like the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff moments. The "better off alone" thing I thought was implied throughout the later seasons of the show after Dean lets go of Lisa and Ben, so I wanted to explore that deeper here, even though it hurt my heart to write it. 💙

She's crying... I'm crying. It's really just tears all around and such a good moment. Also the him saying "You don't have to cry for that"... YES SHE DOES.

Everyone's crying!! 😭 YES ABSOLUTELY SHE DOES -- and she's a verified crier. I see a lot of fics where the reader is tough as nails, "doesn't cry very often," but I wanted to create a reader character who is a badass, but still has a soft heart. (Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL. 🤣🤣)

This is just overall a really wonderful vulnerable moment that you've captured that feels real for both the reader and Dean. Especially when she talks about "working with my heart, not my head." I think that if it were me, I would also be "working with my heart." I don't think that I'd be able to take myself emotionally out of the situation that they're in all the time because they're hunters.

Thank you so much!! 🙏🏽🥹🥹 Yeah same, and it's definitely a contrast with Dean, who obviously cares about helping people and takes way too much responsibility on his shoulders, but he's been doing this so long and seen so much that he's learned to compartmentalize a bit more.

Hoping for some FORESHADOWING 🙏🏻👀

Oh girl yesss! If you make it to the last two stories in the series, remember this moment. 😏💜

Also the salsa lesson is just so cute. And the way you took a really emotional moment to a cute salsa dance to a steamy session to a giggly awkward moment is great. The transitions make it seamless. And the song choices were perfect! When the reader was describing what the song meant I was like, "oh yeah, that's him right there. There's the man officer." lmao 🤣

Ahaha thank you so much!! I LOVE me some salsa music, and it was a fun challenge to try and transition between these scenes. From one writer to another, I always appreciate those "technical" observations. 💓💓💓

Oh big YEP!! "Devorame Otra Ves" was the first song I thought of when the salsa idea came. Dean, in fact, is that guy. 🤣🤣

I was again so emotional reading this, because oh my word, poor Dean just reliving the moments where the reader almost died.

Sorry for jerking the angsty chain again there! 🤣 Poor guy, he went through an ordeal just as much as she did.

And also the final scene 👀🌶️ I should have known from the gif at the beginning tbh lol.

LMAO Oh yeah, the gif was a dead giveaway for what was coming later on. 😏 And thank you for shouting out the “What, now you’re shy?” line! It's a special kind of intimate, I thought, for her to be kind of embarrassed about what she's just done, but Dean like, "uh-uh, you're not getting away that easily." 😂😂

Also I love you for using a Chicago Fire gif!! loll Was a big fan of that show back in the day.

Not to mention that the sex was also giggly towards the end and I really just love that. And the love confessions KNOCKED ME OUT.

Awww thank you! I love me some fun giggly romantic smut. 😂

Fun fact on her confession! When she says I love you twice, she's actually saying it in two different ways:

I love you, you’d said. I love you ("te amo," you're my love) and I love you ("te quiero," you're my family), more than you can believe and understand.

Oh I'm riding a train of emotions, and all of this was so good. Especially Sam walking in on them. I was laughing so hard at Dean's reaction:

Lol but seriously, I really appreciate that, thank you!! This story was definitely an emotional rollercoaster. I'm so glad you enjoyed it though!! 💕 ...And Sam's little mishap LOL. Dean has very little shame -- something he's going to prove later on again in the series. 😂

It's all wonderful my friend! And I can't wait to read another fic from this universe! 😊

Thank you SO very much!! Honestly you don't know how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this series so far -- and spoiling me with such lovely and thoughtful feedback. 🥰💕💕

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

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About DA:TV ending

My thoughts on the veilguard ending, which might be not in line with most people think of it, in particular on the final scene (but I would very much like your opinion and point of view in replies).

I finished the game yesterday and I didn't stop thinking about the implications of the last Solavellan scene, asking myself many questions and the more I think about it, the less I am happy with the fate of the ship.

I do believe that the Solavellan ending is not as happy as many people thought it would be. To be honest, I think Solavellan's fate is particularly sad, awful. I did not intend to express my opinion about it but I am so troubled by it that I need to write it down.

Let's talk about the thing I liked first; I really loved the fact that Mythal decided to "free Solas from his duties" toward her. It implies that from the very moment Solas took a physical body, he was torn between its nature turned to Wisdom and his proud side growing from his actions dictated by Mythal, showing that the many mistakes he had done are as much Mythal's fault than his, which, in my opinion, calls for a fate made of redemption, and hope in a future where he could finally choose his destiny. As a fan of the Dragon Age saga, from the very beginning we know that forcing a spirit doing things against its nature is a terrible thing, and Solas, as any spirit we saw having the same fate in the franchise, deserves our compassion and his friends forgiveness.

However, what is his fate when he is convinced to make peace with his past mistakes? Going back to the prison (this has been confirmed by Weekes on their social media account BlueSky), and linking his destiny with the Veil and protect it as much as he can. And I insist on it, it's a PRISON, so it is very much implied that he is PUNISHED for his past actions.

Are we talking about the same prison Rook has been stuck ? This place of horrible emptiness and despair, cut from the rest of the world and the Fade itself, the Fade he loves so much ?

That means that Lavellan will live with him yes, but a Lavellan cut from her roots, her family, her Dalish clan, her friends she made while running the Inquisition ?

I don't think this is a deserved fate for any of them.

There is as well the argument that an immortal being must be linked to the Veil for it to not collapse, that feels like a last minute narrative twist to force the ending toward a certain direction, and justifying (again) that Solas cannot choose his fate.

Solas is now bound to the Veil by blood, and the implications of this are SO HUGE, that means that he has now new duties that falls upon him (after spending millenias having duties toward Mythal), after deserving having his own destiny in hand. That means as well he is FORCED to remain alive in order to maintain the Veil and avoid a new cataclysm that would destroy the world.

And what does that mean for both Solas and Lavellan? He is condemned to live forever, again, not choosing his fate, and see Lavellan die, for she is mortal. And THIS, for me, is the coup de grace.

Solas wanted two things : having a simpler life just like the one he had while helping the Inquisition, and not dying alone. Both of them are not resolved, for there is no chance that he could have a simpler life with his life now bound to the Veil, and being left alone in the world as ages pass…

I cannot see it as a good ending for them and I cannot imagine anyone thinking this knowing all those facts.

There could have been such better ending for them, I had that idea that maybe Solas could have known the same fate similar to what Cole had, meaning that there was a possibility for him to become more human, even if its mindset and personality would have been a little altered.

An Ancien immortal Elven, choosing to become mortal, and finally making its own choices with his lover at his side with a death he could have chosen. It would have made a wonderful echo to the discussion Varric and Solas while trying to help Cole during his personal quest, and a last hommage to the character of Varric himself that remain central to the story of Veilguard itself…

I know that every Dragon Age game has its story with a certain bittersweet ending, but what I feel for the Solavellan ship is not bittersweet, it's unfairness, after everything we kown of this two wonderful characters…

As I am writing down right now, I feel so enraged by this ending and non said things about it, leaving us with questions calling only, if we apply logic, for dreadfull answers.

For my part, I will let the Veilguard behind me (even though there are some parts that I enjoyed anyway) go back to DA:I in some time and make my own headcanon for the Solavellan ship, far from the one Bioware decided, unless there is a possibility for both of them in the future to have a better resolution.

Anyway please don't hesitate to comment to tell me what is your opinion about it, if you don't agree I'm very interested.

[liquidorcard]

Lily Orchard is very politically opportunistic and her posts on Palestine show how blatant this is. She presents herself as militantly anti-fascist and anti-hate, she claims to hate centrists who try to give fascists a space to speak (instead implying she'd be willing to use violence to stop them). But like, as soon as it comes to electoral topics, she aggressively, AGGRESSIGELY insists that the liberal centrist parties are the only viable option. Like, the guys she pretends to hate. To the point where she's victim blaming activists for Democrats losing the election and telling people not to listen to activists when they call for a boycott against the liberal centrists who are upholding the right for fascists to speak and politically act. She pretends to be a leftist, but it's blatantly performative, the reality is that she is centre right and she seems to hate herself for it. Kind of sad, honestly.

I've said something before here that Lily and I grew up in similar environments? Well, I honestly think that has something to do with it.

I grew up in a very right-wing household in a very right-wing community that like, I knew I knew from a very young age I wasn't ever going to be accepted in. Assigned Reject at Birth. You know, it's one of the many ways religious and right-wing spaces just tare apart interpersonal connections important to the human psyche. That makes a wound in people. I won't go into detail, but my home life was bad to begin with. Being queer just made it that much worse.

Before moving away for college, I very much believed I was the most left-wing any human being on this earth could possibly be. I thought I was going to be met with open arms and the unconditional human acceptance I had always wanted, even though I wasn't fully cognitively aware of that.

I wasn't. And I feel people were even less forgiving of my lack of leftist literacy because I was a queer AFAB and concluded there was no excuse for me to be as ignorant as I was.

Now, I know the discussion of the social policing and virtue grandstanding gets flattened of any nuance online so the right can use it against the left, so I want to make sure I'm clear with what I'm about to say. No, the left should not be tolerant of bigotry. No, not every right-wing nut job can be deradicalized by hand-holding them through their own come to Jesus moment. Nor is anyone owed that emotional energy from you. But when you were raised right-wing, even if you grew to resent it, a person needs time to be deprogrammed. And, I know this might upset people to hear, but you won't understand how much of a privilege it is to be raised in a more liberal household unless you weren't. People who were can sometimes be, what I feel is unreasonably hostile to those of us who don't know any better because we haven't had the chance to learn.

It also just so happens I started college in 2015, right when gamergate went down. And it was an art school. Really, it was a uniquely not very ideal environment to rid myself of right-wing brain worms. And in a very real way, it retraumatized me getting rejected for not having the sociopolitical context to understand everything I was expected to. I'm not blaming anyone in particular for that-- that is more an unfortunate symptom of the anti-social rot the right causes, but it wasn't a good time. I think some people could have been kinder, and to this day I do my best to be charitable with meeting people where they're at myself. And I do think there is a problem in the left, especially online, failing to read between the lines and respond appropriately-- especially when it comes to vocabulary choice. You know, sometimes people use dogwhistles without the proper context to understand they are dogwhistling, sometimes people are just genuinely misinformed and lack the language to ask the questions they have, and vocabulary does shape perception. Right-wing ideology only can survive on the basis of rigid, strict, conceptually or literally divine hierarchy. Right-wing language is shaped on the premise of that hierarchy. The reason why a lot of social progress doesn't make sense to right-wingers and is almost impossible to communicate properly in right-wing language is because it disregards the premise of that hierarchy. Right-wingers don't literally live in a separate reality, but they kind of functionally do. Mentally. For people who are more on the right, but open minded enough to genuinely learn and want to, it's better to use as their language as much as possible to explain to them things that can ease them out of the premise of that mental trap of explicit social hierarchy in a gentler fashion.

With all that said, the root cause was still that right-wing upbringing.

I feel I have more than enough reason to very confidently say Lily went through a very similar experience to me. A shitty childhood for a lot of reasons, but one of them for sure being a queer person in an extremely right-wing household. She has a hypersensitivity to feeling shame and will go to extreme measures to avoid it, she feels isolated and desperate for acceptance in an extremely unhealthy way. In one regard she was knee-capped significantly in her ability to function socially that I wasn't, in that her parents decided she was a simpleton when she was very young, basically wrote her off and conditioned her to never take accountability. Though being overly critical of children is equally harmful (though in different ways), dismissing a child of all agency because you think they're too stupid to handle it can result in a lot more damage to everyone around them aswell as themselves and is a form of emotional neglect.

Online I think she searched out for a community that would accept her, and when that did not work out for her, when she experienced that retraumatization again of rejection . . . She took some very interesting lessons away from that. The wrong ones.

And, glass houses, it took me a whole journey aswell to get where I am. But I was conditioned to internalize social rejection, for better or worse. Lily was not. She is aggressively, profoundly, depressingly incapable of self-reflection, in healthy or in unhealthy amounts-- and even though that's not wholly her fault, she's a big girl now, and she's the only one left to accept responsibility for that. As someone myself who feels deeply angry at the ways I was psychologically damaged, I'm speaking as someone who has accepted that dwelling on how unfair it is that I have to be held accountable for that isn't going to improve my situation.

Believe it or not, I don't think Lily is inherently stupid. I think she was treated like she was stupid since she was young, and has put a lot of energy into pantomiming intellectualism instead of actually learning stuff. Again, glass houses, I also learned how to pretend I am smarter than I actually am out of an extreme aversion to shame-- but I can tell I have more actual knowledge, interest and curiosity to learn than Lily does.

I don't think Lily has any interest in learning about left-wing politics, and I don't think she has actually deprogrammed herself from the right-wing environment she was raised in. She has no motivation to care, and likely still is deeply bitter about the social rejection she's experienced in left-wing spaces. However, she has a lot of social capital to gain by PRETENDING she is.

And pretending is enough for the people she courts in her audience.

[pendragora]

"Her love is yours...

But only if you give your heart to her."

This particular part of the verse is hitting different every single time

[americankimchi]

god i wish they hadn't retconned maul's death. i get wanting to explore more of his character because he was, objectively, one of the coolest star wars characters to ever hit the big screen and didn't get much screentime prior to his death, but also his role was fulfilled perfectly within those constraints so i wasn't too upset by it.

but by retconning it and making it so he never died it's like. okay. what now? the whole point (well, to me, ymmv of course) of the theed generator fight was that it was the first ever fight between the jedi and the sith in thousands of years, and that in the end even though the jedi (obi-wan) won the fight, a jedi (qui-gon) and a sith (maul) still died. a master and an apprentice dying together to herald the start of a new age/the return of the sith. perfectly paralleling the way in rotj a master (palps) and an apprentice (anakin/vader) died together to herald the return of the jedi. in both instances, a father figure (qui-gon/vader) dies in the arms of their son (obi-wan/luke) as a sith (palps/maul) is cast down into the abyss to their deaths. (palps being alive in the ST and retconning his death in rotj is also annoying for this reason)

i mean i like maul. don't get me wrong. he's an incredibly compelling character and i enjoy seeing more of him... but there's always the thought hovering in my mind like "he should be dead though. he should 100% be dead. this wouldn't be happening if he was dead, but i honestly would rather it not if it meant that maul was dead."

like the tpm fight just doesn't hit the same knowing that canonically he's just. going to become a robot octopus at some point. (shoutout to palps becoming sith glados in the ST) it cheapens the moment for me. it was supposed to be a moment of triumph marred by the deep and soul-crushing loss of a loved one and it's just... not, anymore. or at least not to the same extent. AUGH i'm just. frustrated. wish star wars as a whole wasn't constantly reframing/retconning what's been established. just puts a bad taste in my mouth.

[longagoitwastuesday]

I keep thinking that this Gojo is just like Sukuna. I truly don't see much of a difference between them beyond the human/curse point of view

[sysig]

He was a human pirate, which you wouldn’t think you’d have to specify and yet (Patreon)

[ealvara7]

AAAAAAA thank you so much for the Debbie ref! 🫶 (I was always curious about her hair color in relation to Jonathan's and I was convinced they were both brunettes... guess I was wrong LMAO)

It's funny that you mention your concern over the concept of Jonathan going to Hell potentially being "too bonkers" for a second film, because I actually find it to be an important plotline to help connect Jonathan more with Sock! I obviously don't know how the second film ends yet, but I still think it's important for Jonathan to understand what he's dealing with in general-

In terms of character/tone change, I agree that Jonathan was in part built by the fandom! I think a lot of us were able to resonate with him because of how well his body language is depicted in the first film!

I feel that Kaitlyn's line delivery for Sock, alongside the script, plays a big role in his more "confident" attitude in the second film! I'm not sure how else to explain it... but I actually think Sock's demeanor has become more passive with each iteration? Something that has always fascinated me about the comic in particular was how dark the depiction of Sock's death was. I like how it almost shows this "uglier" side to Sock. To me, that's what made him feel more human.

That being said, I believe these changes are a good thing! Seeing how your work in general has changed over time allows me to appreciate how far Welcome to Hell has come as a series! I've gotten a lot more invested in understanding how the Heaven/Hell system works and I'm excited to see where the second film goes next! ✨️

Congrats to everyone who has been working on W2H2! 🎉 If it's alright, I'd like to ask to ask 2 questions:

Is there by chance an official ref of colors for Debbie, or is it still up to interpretation at the moment?

Would you say that your personal, real life experiences within the 10 years moving from W2H to W2H2 shifted the tone/story of the series in some way? Something that I've always been fascinated with when I started looking more into W2H was the shift in Sock's character from the original comic -> first film -> second film, and Jonathan's character from the first film -> second film.

Thank you! ✨

I actually just made some 'official'-ish colors for Debbie! Her voice actor Kaitlyn wanted something to use on a banner for conventions haha... so here you go!

2. I'm not really sure how to answer this one, haha. I mean I've definitely changed as a person over the course of making each iteration of W2H. I started the comic while I was at community college, before I went to art school. I adapted it into an animation for my graduation project. And I started W2H2 a couple years after I graduated college. So there's a good 2-3 years between each attempt at W2H I've done, haha. I think a lot of my original ideas from the comic had to change because it needed to be condensed into a short film. I didn't even GET to Jonathan yet in the comic! Some things just didn't make sense to me anymore, like the idea of Sock already having a human body count. It'd just be absurd for him to be able to hide it for so long! Plus, if I made it so that Sock has only ever entertained the idea of murder, it makes his new job that much more appealing-- it's a chance for him to really lean in to this thing he's always had to hide. Between the first and second films though, I mean... I think there's been some tonal shift, for sure (I don't know about a character shift? We'll get to that haha) But basically, when I was first thinking about W2H2, my idea was "Sock and Jonathan hang out and attempt to figure out touch physics, also there's some drama about a journal Jonathan keeps." All of the hell stuff is something that came from bouncing ideas around with my friends, Michael and Neil. I was worried that sending Jonathan to hell would be too bonkers for a "2nd episode", but we all kinda agreed that enough time had passed that the fans would probably enjoy something higher stakes, so it would be fine. (I'll give everyone a moment to realize this conversation would've been happening in 2015-16... ha.)

We also kind of thought, y'know... I have no idea how many more of these there's even gonna' be, so why not go a little bigger with this one? W2H2 is a higher stakes story than what I set out to make in the beginning, that's for sure. It is interesting to compare all of them.. the employee handbook was actually from the comic and I cut that because it wasn't helpful for W2H... but then it became helpful for W2H2, so it came back! Haha. I'm curious to know in what ways people think the characters have changed though. (And is that a good thing or a bad thing?) Especially a character like Jonathan, no one's really even seen that much of him yet, I think most of the characterization comes from fandom, or like... art I've drawn, I guess? Haha... I'm not sure! I guess Sock's a little more confident and antagonistic in this one (though he'll have his moments of hesitation... we're only at Part 1 right now!), and Jonathan has had to become a more vocal/active character, just by nature of the kind of story it is, I suppose. But yeah, I'm not sure! Happy to hear your guys' thoughts though!

[bumblingbabooshka]

Janeway in 'Nothing Human' vs Tuvok in 'Resolutions' There's something here I know there is I can almost wrap my teeth around it.