#it means you can come up with whatever you want to make it fit with your fanfic

[drewsbraziliangf]

funny seeing you here | Drew Starkey x black!fem reader

summary: after seven months of not seeing his face, you find yourself at the same party he’s at. And he clearly made it his mission to be noticed by you. So what are you gonna do now?

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive smut

a/n: Here's part 3 of nothing to say when heaven falls. As the title called it, it was 100% inspired by ‘funny seeing you here’ by Jack Harlow which I recommend listening to during the reading. Comments and reblogs are never required but always very much appreciated 🫶🏻

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

"Hey," he said and you could barely hear the smile on his voice. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

No escape.

"Hi," you replied with a low voice, unsure if he had heard it over the loud music. "Yeah, I'm with Frankie."

"Uh, yeah, I saw her," he voices as he scoots slightly closer to you. "This does look more like her scene."

At that, you nod and mentally curse the fifth generation of this damned bartender who has yet to finish your drinks.

Everything around you is spiraling at this point. You were not ready for this, especially with how casual he's being about everything. It was not in your plans to run into him tonight and all you wanted was to get as far away from him as you could.

Your salvation comes in the shape of your friend, who you can see right past her excitement about how much she just wanted to take you out of that situation. She held your arm lightly and, it was as if you weren't waiting for almost ten minutes the bartender returned with both your drinks.

"Hey, uhm, what's taking so long?" Frankie says and pretends to be shocked when she looks up at Drew. "Oh hey! Long time, no see." As the words leave her mouth you notice how the stiff smile on her face shows her displeasure at his presence.

"Hi Frankie," he says a little taken back by her and you notice how he starts tapping his fingers against the glass the same way you were doing moments ago. A shared habit that the both of you didn't get to brush off of one another it seems.

"Let's go, babes! I still have so much to tell you."

With your drinks at hand, you followed her and immediately felt a weight fall off of your shoulders. Still, you weren't able to hold back and you looked over your shoulder just to see him checking you out.

Your face was burning after that and you just prayed to whatever God that Frankie was able to distract you enough to make you not act on the alcohol in your veins.

It wasn't a secret to anyone the effect that he had on you. I mean you were together for years and about to get married - obviously, you had to be attracted to him. And he just had this thing about him that made it very hard for you to ignore.

He looked handsome, but that was no surprise. He always looked so fine, except this time it seemed like he had filled out more. The black shirt he was wearing fitted him perfectly, the sleeves stretched around his biceps, and even from a glimpse you were able to notice how much bigger they were since you last saw him. His outgrown hair now looked more like a growing mullet and, god, that did work with him. At this point, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or your brain talking about how insanely good he looked.

“Y/N, honey, you good?” She asked once the both of you got back to your spot.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” You retorted to which she just stared at you with uncertainty.

“I don’t- I don’t know, you just looked like you were about to vanish in thin air back there,” she voices smoothly still looking at you.

“Yeah, I uh, I guess I just wasn’t expecting that to happen,” you confess.

She nods and sips on her drink, her own eyes scanning the room this time, and once she looks up at you once more you see a glimpse of regret there.

“I didn’t know. Had I known I wouldn’t have brought you here,” She declares with sorrow and you shake your head quickly.

“Hey, I know that! Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

At that, neither of you is sure enough.

You could feel that it was way past one in the morning, the air just felt different. The party was less crowded but the music was still blaring through the speakers. Frankie was entertained in a talk with a tall dark-skinned man who was whispering in her ear every now and then earning giggles from the brunette.

You had been nursing the drink in your hand for a while now, the condensation around the glass caused your fingertips to be wet. You were much more drunk than you’d normally get, but for once in a long time it felt good to let yourself go.

Still the numbness the alcohol brought, did not evade the feeling of what happened earlier. It had been so long since the last time and you were not expecting to see him like that. What would’ve happened if Frankie had not interrupted him? What would you have done?

“Hey,” You heard Frankie’s voice closer to your ear this time, “Would you mind if I left for a while? I promise I’ll be back and you won���t even notice.”

It amazed you that even with the amount of drinks she had, her pleading eyes didn’t fail to convince you. And honestly, she needed to have fun with the hot guy as well. So with a nod you sent her off watching her excitement as she followed him.

At least you were alone with your thoughts and could think and rethink everything, from your coffee orders to your love life as you downed the last of your blue coloured drink. But as if they were trying to prove a point, the spot next to you did not remain empty for long.

The same cologne that woke forbidden memories hours ago was flooding your space once again but this time it was subtle. Almost as if it was fading and taking with it your sanity.

“I thought we’d never get the chance to talk again,” was what he said and it didn’t take you long to notice that he too was a few drinks in.

Guess this isn’t a sober conversation, huh.

“I’d rather if it stays like that,” you mumbled as you watched him push a bottle of cold water towards you.

“Come on, this is a quieter spot. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now,” He leans in, just like Trent did with Frankie.

It felt so weird being close to him like this after so long. It felt like getting something you’ve wanted for so long but you were scared that you got the wrong thing. Does that even make sense?

“How's your sister and your niece?” You asked since there was no escape.

“They’re fine. Both of them, Lily still cries a lot but they’re good,” he voices as he sips from his own drink.

You unscrew the water bottle and take a big gulp out of it. Why were your hands so sweaty now? You didn’t have an answer to that so you just nodded and looked around the room as less and less people filled the dance floor and the bar.

“You look beautiful,” his compliment breaks the silence and goes straight to those confusing thoughts you were having. You have to control yourself. “I thought a lot before talking to you earlier, but I just couldn’t help myself when you looked like this. So pretty”

Even with his sweet words you couldn’t forget who he was and the history between the two of you. It was hard because even if you denied it a part of you still missed him so much. I mean, you shared years of your life with him so it isn’t that easy to ignore how much his absence affects you sometimes.

“What are you doing here, Drew?” The words leave your mouth before you could even process the thought.

He doesn’t say anything for a while and you finally look at him. His hair was slightly darker than it was months ago, the low cut shirt he is wearing gives you a peak of his chest hair and some freckles he has there. Looking into his eyes made your blood freeze for a second, it was like you were drowning in the bluest sea.

He scratched his overgrown beard while he looked down at the cup he was drinking from.

“I miss you,” He confesses with a sigh.

You shake your head as you set the water bottle back on the table.

“No, you can’t do this now,” You say and pray that he can hear you over the music. “Not after everything.”

“I-I fucked up and I know that,” he admits and that makes you feel dizzy. “I want to make things right between us.”

“Oh, now? You don’t even know if I have someone,” you scoff. “How’s Odessa by the way?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s been a while since I last talked to her,” he says.

“Well so it’s best if I look over your shoulder since she might pop up from thin air,” your snide remark doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not here to talk about anyone else but us. So can we please do that? Let’s find somewhere where we can actually talk because you just left and I know that what I did was the radon to that, but still.”

Your eyes met his for the second time that night and without much thought you found yourself nodding. You texted Frankie letting her know that you’d be getting an Uber home so she didn’t have to worry about you and in the next second you were following your ex out of the club.

It didn’t shock you that he was still living in the apartment you used to share. It looked almost the same just a few new pieces of furniture decorating the space and you couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had helped him to pick them out.

“Do you, uhm, wanna drink something?” He asked after he locked the door behind you.

“Yeah, I could use a glass of water.”

“Okay, lemme get that for you,” he says and walks to the kitchen.

You stay in the living room and take it all in. Why does his house feel this warm? Why did you feel comfortable in a place you chose to leave? Why wasn’t this freaking you out anymore? Before you could begin to dwell in any of those questions, his footsteps against the wooden floor pulled you from your thoughts.

“Here,” he hands you the filled glass.

“Thanks,” you say before taking a small sip from it.

“So, how have you been?” He asks and you can see that he immediately regrets it, “Fuck that’s a stupid question.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that and he quickly follows suit.

“I am okay. I’ve been worse, I’ve been better” you admit to which he only nods.

“I felt like shit, you know? I knew I was fucking up but I was so entranced by everything that was happening that I didn’t realize how much it was affecting you,” he says as he leans against the wall.

“It wasn’t easy for me to come up to you and say those things but I was so fed up that I didn’t know what to do anymore,” you admit as you take a step closer to him without even realising.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t care about you or your feelings.”

“I guess I just didn’t want to be an intruder in our own relationship. There was a point where I felt like I needed to talk to her to get to you. And I know there is history between you two, I just didn’t want to doubt that there was still something going on.”

You sigh as one of your fingers traced the rim of the glass.

“I mean, there were a few times that I called your phone and she was the one picking it up. That made me feel so insecure and so scared that I was being lied to.”

“I-what? I didn’t know that.” He truly seemed surprised by your words.

“Well,” you scoff as you shake your head, “I guess she never told you that I called you then.”

You turn around and put the glass on the centre table. He simply watched you and even if he might not admit it yet seeing you in his house again made something in chest warm. Something in him just told him that you belonged there.

“You see, this is what I am talking about.” You add without turning to look at him. “This shouldn’t be normal.”

“I really didn’t know and when I looked at my calls registry your name wasn’t there so I assumed she was telling the truth.”

He did feel guilty about that, but he wasn’t lying. He truly didn’t know of that happenstance.

You sigh and you look back at him, your eyes burning as you feel a deep sense of deja vu.

“I really thought you were it for me, you know?” You confess and a tear streams down your face.

As if it was a reflex thing, he immediately reaches for you and wipes the tear off your face.

“I am so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that,” he says looking into your eyes.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the vulnerability that enveloped the both of you, but you couldn’t help more tears from following that first one. It felt so calming to be talking about this with him after so long, like a ton was being taken out of your chest. Obviously you had people to talk to but it wasn’t the same.

You rested your head on his shoulder as his hands were on the back of your neck. He went in for the first touch, his lips kissed the top of your head. That made you tense up for a second and as you looked up your gaze was immediately captured by his.

His nose touched yours first and as he leaned in for your lips, you couldn’t help but pull back. That happened twice more and you knew that he was frustrated but you were just so scared of opening up to him again.

“Please,” he begs with a breathy voice and as you look into his eyes you are able to see the same man you fell in love with years ago.

After that you didn’t resist anymore and his lips quickly found yours.

Oh.

One of his hands cradled your face as he deepened the kiss and the other was occupied squeezing the softness of your hips. Now, you could’ve lied to yourself about many things, but this was never one of them. He knew exactly where to touch you and how to do it.

You pressed your body against his and the sigh that left your lips when you felt his bulge pressed on your stomach. He moaned on your lips at the pressure and in a blink of an eye you had your legs wrapped around him.

He now held you with one of his arms as he guided the both of you towards the bedroom. His lips didn’t leave yours, the only time he broke the kiss was when he pulled your lower lip between his teeth, but in the next second he was devouring them again.

When he reached the bedroom he didn’t bother to close the door. He laid you on the bed and you breathlessly watched him pull his shirt off with one hand before he knelt between your legs.

Please God, don’t make me regret this.

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[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Oh goodness I am so excited to finally being able to read part two!

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...

“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. 

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."

And oh my word the two lines from Dean when she got mad KILLED ME. The:

"What's this, some kind of Latina temper?" he asks snidely.

AND

"Oh, I'm sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?" he snarks.

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.

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.

Oh sweetie pie, Dean you're an idiot, but we love our little idiot even when he loses his temper because he cares so much. This part really got to me, because at first I was like "oh why would she stay with him in his room," but I get it. 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 😅.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.” 

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.

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.

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. 

Hoping for some FORESHADOWING 🙏🏻👀

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 🤣

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.

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

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

ESPECIALLY THIS LINE:

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

I don't know why that wiped me out after everything tbh.

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.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, 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:

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

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

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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[gelatonic]

Idk if you write for Leo Valdez but if you do!

Him and reader being enemies, like the whole camp has known about it. It’s a whole thing. Kinda annoying atp, like people just want them to get over it.

Chiron wanted the reader to help the Hephaestus cabin with a project and they end up being the last people there. getting stuck in bunker nine because someone forgot about them and locked the door and it was jammed, it was already passed dinner so likely shot was that they’d be found in the morning

One thing led to another, and reader said Leo didn’t know how to fuck. Leo took that as a challenge

(If it’s okay could I be🫀 or🚂 anon? And if you don’t write for Leo, you can switch it up to fit another character!)

leo x f!bratty!reader ꩜ .ᐟ ignore how long this took plz lovie ;3 smut!

it all started when he decided to be a meanie to you

here you were, minding your business and being all cute while you dance at the bonfire for the camp, and Leo Valdez has to go and comment something slanderous towards you!!!!!! yelled something about how he could dance better, and you just couldn't accept that, getting all huffy and puffy with crossed arms as you choose to ignore him forever from then on, except his stupid nagging wouldn't stop! it seems everything you do, he just has to comment on, but you weren't going to take that, no! so you bite back, things escalate, and now here you were with your one and only enemy at camp, Leo Valdez.

everyone else seemed to like you, yeah, so when Chiron asks you to help out with the hephaestus cabin, ofc you say yes!!!! why wouldn't you? all the other kids there besides Leo are such sweeties, you don't mind! but then it turns out its just Leo who needs help, which leads to you being cooped up with him in bunker nine :(

and so inevitably, he just has to say something not very nice to you, so you just have to say something back. but you just look so cute when you argue, when you get up to leave, he almost stops you! but Leo doesn't have to, when it seems you can't yank your way out the door.

you turn back, cheeks all puffed up and tinged pink as you cross your arms at him and stifle back to sitting on the floor, glaring at it. "can't believe I'm stuck with an idiot like you," you grumble, legs criss-cross applesauce on the floor, letting Leo look at the way your already-short skirt rides up your thighs.

"yeah, sweetheart?" he says exasperatedly, setting down his wrench and stopping whatever he's working on so he can get a good look at how upset you were right now, with that stupid smirk on his face! "its not like I want a brat like you here either, y'know."

"brat!?!!?" you yelp back, scrambling to your feet so you can stalk to him, finger pointing sharply at him accusingly, "I'm only a brat to you because you're mean to me!"

"mhm," he hums with an eyeroll, not taking anything you say seriously, "y'know, at least I provide to the camp, make all these things. what do you do, huh?"

"well at least I can fuck!"

ohhhhh no, you shouldn't have said that. now here you are, bent halfway over the cool metal slab of his workspace, getting rutted into from behind. "who can't fuck, huh babygirl?" he's huffing a calloused laugh from behind, pumping you full of his dick. one of his hands goes up to your ass, gripping a handful of flesh and kneading it under his fingers.

"soooo fuckin' bratty, aren't you? what, just need a good fucking from Leo to put you in your place?" all you can do is mewl and whimper in response, legs kicking and hips squirming, making him push on your lower back to keep you still as his hips smack yours.

he's laughing as he watches how your pussy sucks him up whole, balls deep, before he wrenches in and out making you cry. he's leaning his weight down on you, smushing your tits on the table as he thrusts in and out, hand yanking at your hair hard, making your scalp tingle.

"wonder how many times I can make you come before morning. would you like that baby? wanna cum on my dick til you pass out?" he coos, making you babble something unintelligible as your drool puddles on your lips and on the table, glassy eyes half-lidded.

"yeah, you'd like that, huh? all cummed out for me, hm?

he is not stopping anytime soon...!!

[deeranger]

Sam's milk 🤤

.... Is dean's favorite snack, right? His ultimate comfort. And Sam always knows when it's time, can sense clearly whenever Dean's too wound up or agitated after a hunt.

The older Winchester will get snappy, eyes stormy and body restless as he aggressively paces the motel room floor, itching to either bury his face in Sam's chest or just explode in a fit of rage. And Sam will eventually take mercy on him and just sit down on one of the beds, hands calmly moving to his collar to slowly unbutton his shirt.

It stops Dean dead in his tracks at once. It always does. And his eyes turn darker, needy, and before he knows it he's right there, next to his little brother, waiting and impatient. Before long, Sam's chest is exposed and Dean briefly flicks his eyes up to look at his brother, seeking permission, just waiting for that tiny nod of Sam's head that lets him know that this is okay. And it is. It is okay. They're not hurting anyone, after all, Dean just needs to calm his nerves bit, to sate that need inside him and unwind. And this works, it always works... So, there's really no problem, is there?

Before he can even think about it he's burying his face in Sam's chest, lips automatically parting. A groan punches out of him, a wounded sound, like he's hurt. Sam just makes this soft sort of exhale at the feeling of Dean's lips on him, a shaky sigh. And then Dean will squeeze, lick and suckle away at his brother's breast, small whimpers and shameful moans falling from his lips while he works the tanned skin. He's hard in his jeans. They both are. It's nothing new, nothing they have ever talked about or even really acknowledged. They probably never will.

And as Dean's lips suckle on a hard nipple, his hand finds Sam's right tit, fingertips digging into the flesh and squeezing. This time, Sam moans too and he can't help the way his hips do a weak roll upward, a futile and aborted attempt at a thrust. And Dean's mouth is so hot and wet, just sucking on him and milking him dry drop by drop. By now, the older hunter's eyes have slipped closed and he's just clinging to Sam like a drowning man would to a boat, heavy and grateful and so damn beautiful that Sam wants to cry.

"It's okay, De... Just take what you need," he finds himself whispering, breath coming out fast as he places a hand on his big brother's head, fingers caressing spikes of unruly hair.

"You can- you can take whatever you want," Sam adds under his breath, and he means it with every fiber of his being. He really does. He probably shouldn't. But the moan bursting from Dean's throat lets him know that his big brother heard it, that he believes it just as wholeheartedly as Sam does.... And there is really no going back from here.

[wolvietxt]

late night conversation prompts!

confessions & chaos :3

🌀 it's past 2 am, and the two of you are lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “what’s one thing you’ve never told anyone?” they ask, voice hushed, like the world could hear your secrets if it were any louder.

🌀 you’re both curled up under a blanket, sharing earbuds, listening to a song that means everything to them. “this part,” they whisper, right before the lyrics hit, “makes me think of you.”

🌀 their fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin as the two of you talk about your childhood dreams, the ones that never quite came true. “maybe it’s not too late,” they murmur, sounding more hopeful than they’ve ever been.

🌀 it’s 3 am, and you’re both sprawled on the living room floor, trying to build the tallest tower out of whatever you can find - books, pillows, even a shoe. it’s teetering dangerously when it finally collapses, sending everything crashing down, and you both end up in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, tears streaming down your faces.

🌀 it’s one of those nights where sleep feels impossible. you're sharing the deepest fears that keep you up at night, and they hold your hand tighter with each confession, like they're trying to keep the darkness away.

🌀 somewhere between midnight and dawn, the conversation drifts to a vulnerable place. “do you think we’ll still be this close in ten years?” you ask. there’s a long pause before they finally answer, “i hope so. god, i really hope so.”

🌀 you're both sprawled out on the couch, the tv playing softly in the background. “if you could go back and change one thing, would you?” they ask, eyes heavy with questions they don’t know if they want answers to.

🌀 the rain is pouring outside, and it’s just you two, sitting on the windowsill, knees touching. “do you ever wonder if there’s someone out there thinking about us right now?” they ask, their gaze fixed on the drops racing down the glass.

🌀 the two of you are tucked away in bed, your voices low and quiet as if the darkness could hear. "tell me something about yourself i don’t know,” they say, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you should reveal the truth or make something up.

🌀 there’s a comfort in the silence that stretches between you, broken only by the occasional murmur of words neither of you remember in the morning. it’s like sharing secrets with the night, knowing it won’t tell a soul.

🌀 you’re both lying on the kitchen floor, sharing a pint of ice cream straight from the tub. “okay, serious question,” they say, spoon halfway to their mouth, “if i were a vegetable, which one would i be?” you both burst into laughter when you answer with the most absurd choice imaginable.

🌀 the hours have slipped away, and it’s nearing 4 am. the conversation takes a turn, and you find yourself talking about your biggest regrets. “if i could, i’d take back every mistake i made,” they admit, their voice thick with emotion.

🌀 you’re both staring up at the ceiling, too wired to sleep. suddenly, they turn to you with a mischievous grin, “if you could swap bodies with me for a day, what’s the first thing you’d do?” you’re both cracking up as you come up with increasingly ridiculous answers.

🌀 the moonlight filters in, casting soft shadows across the room. “if we met again in another life,” they say softly, “do you think we’d still find each other?” it feels more like a confession than a question.

🌀 the two of you are lying there, sleep far from your minds. “do you think we’re meant to be here right now, like this?” they ask, like the universe has all the answers and you're just a tiny piece of it trying to make sense of things.

[unnaturalequilibrium]

Capítulo 7

- Mafin rewatch (Sueños de Libertad)

Fina in that green dress - she is beautiful. Damn. She also is Isidro’s daughter through and through, she too seem to have that way of getting people to open up, getting them to accept her advice and comfort. She is soft and reassuring as Claudia spills her mistakes with Tasio. And Fina’s hug looks so nice. I’m pretty sure this is what “everyone needs a bosom for a pillow” means and I agree, they do. To get lost in her embrace looks like it could solve a great many personal problems and maybe a few societal ones too. I don’t know if it’s the solution to climate change, but if 2025’s Nobel prize winners tell me it is - well I won’t be surprised. I also like that she one hundred percent share my exact opinion of Tasio, he is trash, unredeemable trash and should be avoided like the plague.

Aww, Fina arguing her case that a marriage doesn’t equal happiness and that her father shouldn’t be so quick to wish one upon her. The old man really just wants her to be happy, you can tell though that it’s a conversation that makes her ill at ease because of the way she has to stretch and stitch the truth in her replies. I already know it’s going to hurt a lot when he later on rejects her.

Marta confronting Elena - I know that it won’t officially happen for another hundred plus episodes, but Marta is the boss. The way she just slides into that armchair and takes hold of the entire office with what seems like nothing more than an innate sense of authority and a raised eyebrow - yeah, she exudes in charge. But I enjoy the little exhale at the end as Elena leaves. Like so much of who Marta is at this point this too is a game face. Maybe she carries it with what looks like ease, but it might actually come at a fairly high price, just not one we’re allowed to see yet.

Petra, I’m telling you - back off the Marta insults, or - If I remove myself from the narrative though, I love this. I love how they try to build Marta up as this stick in the mud, firm, cold and distant. Unsmiling, no sense of empathy, all business and with very little sympathy. If I hadn’t know what was to come maybe I’d buy it, maybe I’d laugh along with Petra as she mocks and says that Marta needs to smile more. Because yeah, all we’ve seen of her so far actually fits that vision of the demanding ice queen, except for these brief micro-expressions on Marta’s face when no one is looking, when she doesn’t have time to catch her true reaction. When Damian brings up marriage and children, when Elena turns her back, when Fina confronts her and tells her she demands a lot of respect. For a second you see something else, but only for a second, before it is hidden behind the wall again. So yeah, if I had watched this for the first time I would probably have thought of Marta as a bit of a bitch to approach with extreme caution.

That said, back to the narrative, fuck Petra. Fina is a fucking cinnamon roll and I ache so hard for her as this woman clearly leads her on, only to slam the door in her face and call her disgusting as wine and a win makes Fina bold enough to go for a kiss. And invertida is never a slur I’ve had to personally experience, but the way it is delivered and the way it lands makes it feel like I share its burden too. It’s a slap in the face and I wish I could reach through the computer screen and return it, with interest.

Marta’s relationship with her dad, ugh. She talks to him about being happy with being more involved in the company, getting a shot at running the business alongside her brothers. And what does Damian do? He turns the table on her and brings the conversation back to her marriage, talking about how it isn’t what he wanted for her. Granted it’s nice of him to want more than the isolation her current marriage gives her, but it’s also another dagger in Marta’s side, isn’t it? Whatever she does, or achieves, with her dad it always boils back down into her marriage, her role as a wife and the failure of it all. That shit really has to feel like someone ripping out the feathers of her wings every time she tries to take flight. It’s a nice parallel though of both Isidro and Damian wishing happiness and partnership for their daughters. I’m looking forward to when this will come full circle in 170 episodes and they discuss how their daughters have found just that, in each other.

[awynter]

"Are you saying you like when I'm not ladylike?" She raised her brows in faux surprise, suppressing the urge to burst out into a fit of giggles. "I'll have to keep that in mind for the future."

We could, but that still leaves the rest of the day. Anne nodded gently, biting at the inside of her cheek as she thought. He was right. As much as she had enjoyed her time with him last night, she knew that too much of a good thing could end badly. No, it would be wiser to cherish every moments, especially the more heated ones.

But without the obvious marital activities, Anne didn't know how else she was to occupy their time. Most of her days since she'd left her home in Northumberland had been spent teaching or entertaining others. She didn't have many of her own hobbies and instead partook in what her companions or students preferred to do. Even in her few hours of spare time, she would take time to read or write letters to John or Charlotte. But, now, with the freedom of marriage at her disposal, she was at a loss for what to do.

His question catches her by surprise and she finds herself blushing. The topic had never come up, not when everything had happened so quickly. Anne never expected to be married at all, so the prospects of being a mother were often far from thought. She adored children, loved her pupils and would love to have her own some day, but she wasn't blind to the struggles such a thing would present.

"I would like some, yes." She bit her lip, her heart clenching with nerves. He was gentle and loving, but that didn't always mean that men wanted to become fathers. And although the thought of giving up such a thing ought to have disappointed her, Anne realized that it wouldn't matter in the end. As long as they were together and happy, she would be content. "But if it's not something you're interested in, we can--"

A knock at the door caused her to flinch and, instinctively, she reached for him, seeking safety in his touch. It had been a long time since she'd been so jumpy, but it had also been quite a long time since she'd had something so precious to lose. Her eyes remained trained on him as he communicated with his godmother through the door, biting back a nervous laugh at the thought of her stumbling in to see such a scene. A man and wife laying naked in bed together, and a day after their wedding no less, was hardly something scandalous. If anything, it would be expected, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. If Anne wanted to make a good impression on his family, she wouldn't want to seem like a harlot so soon.

Anne moved to sit up in bed, her eyes watching him as he dressed, filled with love and admiration. Even in simple clothes, his hair slightly disheveled, he was handsome and it made her cheeks burn brighter. Having him even a few yards away was too much, her fingers itching to reach out and take his hand in hers. Whatever they decided to do today, she refused to let them be too far apart.

"We could go for a ride later, if you're up for it." Rising from the beneath the covers, Anne padded over to him and took one of the trays. "I know spending time with the horses makes you happy. Otherwise, we could ask your godparents if they know of anything interesting to do around here. Surely, they must have some things they enjoy doing together, too."

“Oh, I’m sure my hair is wonderfully ladylike right now.”

"Well... it's not," he was struggling to find his words with her fingers moving in his own hair; it was a mundane gesture yet there was so much unspoken in it; it was affectionate, thoughtful and more importantly, it felt good, "That's why I like it."

“I admit I’m not entirely sure what married couples are supposed to do."

Dizzily, he managed to draw his head back far enough out of Anne's reach so he could have some control over his thoughts. He was in agreement with her: what did married couples do? Well, aside from the obvious...

His father was long dead before John ever had the chance to see his father and mother interact, and as for the Admiral and Aunt Margaret... they'd only been married four years, John had been away during their courtship, only able to pay his congratulations when the Admiral wrote of his engagement. He tried to think of anything memorable his godparents did around the estate, when out in society, but he found himself blanking. They were just... well, they were a pair; their conversations never felt stifled or awkward, everything they did felt perfectly ordinary.

"We could always have a picnic, or read together." He hummed quietly in acknowledgement; it was no different than their activities before their hasty engagement, but maybe that was the point? They were friends before, and they were friends now.

"Or we could always repeat last night."

"We could," he deadpanned, "but that still leaves the rest of the day." As tempted as it sounded, he knew they very well couldn't spend every waking hour of their honeymoon lost in pleasure; they'd grow tired, they'd grow bored, and the last thing he wanted was to dread warming his wife's bed.

"Though, I can't imagine your family would be all that pleased with us if we came to be with child quite so soon.”

Oh...

He blushed, the weight of her words sinking in. "Do you want children?" he asked suddenly, realizing they'd never spoken of this before, and the memories of their actions, of his one definitive choice last night gnawed at the back of his mind," I should've asked before..."

His voice trailed off and he found himself looking away from her; why hadn't he asked?

John nearly jolted upright at the harsh knock at the chamber door. Entire body tensing, he held his breath, waiting for a beat before calling out, "Who is it?"

"Me, dear," came the familiar sound of his godmother's voice through the door, "We missed you at breakfast. Is it safe to deliver a tray?"

Good God...

Hastily, "No! Leave it by the door. I'll come for it."

Relaxing back into the bedding, he waited a moment before moving, though the entire pause, his mind was still on Anne's mention. Could they have a family here? Could he stand for a daughter to be whisked away by his godmother? Could he stand for a son to be trained as a miniature version of his godfather? No, he wasn't sure he could... Hembury was plentiful in space, but it was too big an ask.

"I guess that's one decision made for us," he physically ached to part from her, but he did complete the slow process; once risen, dressing in fresh breeches and shouldering into his banyan as he went to collect the breakfast tray from the hall. Opening the door, he was pleasantly surprised to find a tea tray in addition to their silver-cloche protected breakfast.

[headfullof-ideas]

Soft follow-up to my Monumential post. We don’t know much about Lemuria and the Monumentials themselves, aside from the fact that Lemuria sank six thousand years prior to the show, and the Monumentials have been around for at least a little longer than that. Long enough that Lemuria already had more than one device to control them, and effectively enough that it seemed to be a somewhat militant thing. At least that’s what the intention was when the Benthos line tried to usurp Doreus.

But that’s all we know. There’s not much information about how long the Monumentials had been around, or what Lemuria was like in regard to the rest of the world. Which means it’s a whole entire sandbox for us six fans to play with. I’ve already talked about how I also like to imply that the Monumentials aren’t from this world, but I also like to play with Lemuria’s origins, the Nekton and Benthos’s families connection to one another, and all sorts of other stuff. Each AU I have tends to have slightly different origins or functions when it comes to Lemuria and the Monumentials lore, but I’ve built an entire background for the Monumentials and how they’re linked to Lemuria’s history.

I’m writing this because I’ve been revising and editing my Subnautica/The Deep story, and all the above is pretty important to the story itself, aside from a few tweaks to make it fit with the games lore

[sharpilu]

looked in the nature wives tag for inspo and all i got was annoyed at the lack of muscular esmp2!Katherine. it's literally canon c'mon guys sobs

[lyculuscaelus]

Absolutely well put. We love constructive opinions, creative ideas, but it’s a big NO when it comes to discrediting the artwork as a whole, disrespecting people especially the artists…

Indeed, the ideas used to conclude this arc might not meet everyone’s expectation, and the resolution in this saga might probably be narratively unsatisfying for some people, but the way some of them comment things…literally, it’s not the end of the world when the “canon” version doesn’t fit your own vision of how things should go like. I just feel like people are being a bit…overreacting in this one.

Yeah, overreacting.

Overreacting when the musical is still just in its concept album stage, when so many changes may still occur if it ever makes it as a stage production… (think abt it: if you hate the jet pack idea, do you actually think it’s gonna make it on stage with the popularity and practicality that it has for the moment?)

Overreacting that the plot of a single song pisses you off, and you’re suddenly disliking the entire saga, and even the musical itself for some people… (I mean, is it not popularly agreed that the songs themselves are all bangers musically, and excluding 600 Strike in your consideration, the other four songs are still well-written, and deserve their own praises?)

Overreacting as if everything suddenly loses its meaning because of this part of the story is not handled the way you want to see it handled, as if the musical couldn’t move on to the next saga anymore… (like, the arc with Poseidon is basically concluded. Whatever come next are the hunting season and the reunions, which do not leave much space for messing up. As for the Vengeance Saga you can still fix it with your headcanons and stuff if you don’t like the ending. If you still considered it flawed—then let it be. Just leave it alone. After all, since when is an artwork not allowed to have flaws? Since when are you required to enjoy the entirety of an artwork, even accepting what you don’t agree with?)

I think at this point, what we all need is to chill down, and like op said, to have fun with the parts we enjoy, to stop wasting time being a hater, to have all the fun you can get—let it be a meme, a reinterpretation, a rewriting…we all can have fun, after all!

Opinions and Interpretation ( Epic Spoilers)

Author's Note (As long as it’s not hurting/attacking anyone mentally, physically, or emotionally, people are entitled to their own opinions, own beliefs, own ideas, and nobody is allowed to make you feel bad for your thoughts/ideas.)

Okkkkkkk, I had a long day, and this was bothering me so I wanted to make a post about this so humor me. I have problems with an issue in and outside the Epic community, so that is something I will speak on. Also an inappropriate situation happened earlier this week that caused someone to become extremely uncomfortable so I am going to discuss that as well. And imma teach this up, so sit down and let’s talk. (This issue is a separate post)

Opinion: a view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge.

As long as an opinion is not hurting anyone emotionally, spiritually, mentally, physically,  you are free to speak your mind in the proper time and place. Your opinions on things, with the things above in mind, should be respected because you are entitled to your opinion. It’s yours and it is precious, cause you are precious. 🥰

Same way switched. You certainly don’t call the opposite party’s opinions “cringe” or  “weird�� just because you don’t like them. Are you allowed to discuss why you don’t like it? As long as you are being respectful, go ahead. Do what you do but certainly don’t diminish anyone’s ideas. They are precious. 

Now, the jet pack animation in the Vengeance Saga. Was it unexpected? Hell yeah. Would you like to have seen Jorge choose a different orchestration on how Odysseus got out of water? Maybe. But do we call his idea “cringe?” 

Class: No

Absolutely not! He has stated before how video games have affected the creation of Epic and how he wants to demonstrate it in the animatic. So why are we saying it was “stupid” or ”weird?” Is it inaccurate? Unless Homer has a trashcan of scrapped jetpack scenes we have no idea about, yeah it is. But it is fun. And I think that is what we missed. We are allowed to have fun, as long as we are not posing it as accurate information.

Correct me if I am wrong, but Jorge never said this was a “on the mark” musical of the Odyssey. He is gonna take liberties, and unless a Greek Mythology Association sues him for not following the story to the letter, is it hurting anyone? Do the people who like an accurate retelling of Odyssey have to like Epic? No, absolutely not. Well, I mean unless someone has a gun to your head.

I have mutuals who don’t like Epic, and that is absolutely ok! They aren’t doing anything illegal, and neither are we. UNLESS we are telling and or arguing with Greek Religion Experts, mythographists and the like, that Epic is God's honest truth. In that case, we need to read The Odyssey together and apologize to them.

However, if you are gonna listen to it and just shit talk about it, bullying the creator and the fandom for creating/liking it, scrutinizing the road they chose, and just being a Debbie downer about it, do it by yourself. 

You know what is great too? Sparkle* The Power of Animation *Sparkle. Animators don’t like it, you do it. And that is not an taunting attack like, “oh if you think you can do better, then do it” blah blah nonsense. This is the glory of your talents. You are allowed to let your mind travel in the way that it does, I encourage it.  When I saw the prosthetic Poseidon, I didn’t say in the comments, “actually Poseidon didn’t have a prosthetic, this is cringe and inaccurate.” I didn’t say anything in the comments cus I was screaming and shrieking like a little bitch cus of how much I loved it. I apologize to my neighbors, I was losing my crap, like OMFG, HOW ARE SO TALENTED AND WHAT IS IN YOUR MIND I WANNA SEE IT AND-sorry I’m trying to get to a point.

(Also go check out Neal Illustrators Etsy shop, the pins are up and scrumptious)

All are talented artists/animators. I’m pretty sure when he watches your stuff, he gets so  giddy and excited. No one idea is steady law. We all are allowed to shine and share. I wanna see your talent and ability. 

So please, please.  Epic fans, if you don’t like Jorge’s ideas, look towards the animators. If you don’t like the animator's ideas, do your own. And if you can’t, imagine your own. 

But please, do not send hate or nasty messages toward Jorge and his team or to people in/within the community. Jorge is allowed to have fun, I am allowed to have fun, you are allowed to have fun. We are all allowed to have safe, healthy fun. Don’t spend all your time being a hater. Respect, we all deserve respect. Opinions, we all deserve to have our healthy and good-mannered opinion’s. 

Ok? Ok. Yay!

[snekdood]

The way yall assume the worst about vegans is absolutely tiring. Yeah dude i totally care about inserting my hands into your life and morphing you into the way i think you should be. I totally feel like i need to exert that energy towards you and that you dont have the criticial thinking ability to think about veganism and consider if you truly can or cant. I totally totally care about that dude. Goddamn. Just. so so much.

[seventh-district]

tag limit my beloathed... continuing my analysis of my potentially Sun x Moon coded ships here ↓

[fmhobeus]

so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*

a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick 😮‍💨 so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!

nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.

nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.

nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.

nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?

nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.

nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (

nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.

choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.

nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?

nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.

nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.

"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."

uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.

"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.

nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.

nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.

nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.

nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.

nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)

nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.

"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."

oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.

you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.

"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.

fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.

he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.

nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)

[genericpuff]

Tbh at this point you should just make your own webcomic app/website because it would probably be 100 times better than whatever going on with webtoon right now.

hahaha it wouldn't tho, sorry 💀

Here's the fundamental issue with webcomic platforms that a lot of people just don't realize (and why they're so difficult to run successfully):

Storage costs are incredibly expensive, it's why so many sites have limitations on file sizes / page sizes / etc. because all of those images and site info have to be stored somewhere, which costs $$$.

Maintenance costs are expensive and get more so as you grow, you need people who are capable of fixing bugs ASAP and managing the servers and site itself

Financially speaking, webcomics are in a state of high supply, low demand. Loads of artists are willing to create their passion projects, but getting people to read them and pay for them is a whole other issue. Demand is high in the general sense that once people get attached to a webtoon they'll demand more, but many people aren't actually willing to go looking for new stuff to read and depend more on what sites feed them (and what they already like). There are a lot of comics to go around and thus a lot of competition with a limited audience of people willing to actually pay for them.

Trying to build a new platform from the ground up is incredibly difficult and a majority of sites fail within their first year. Not only do you have to convince artists to take a chance on your platform, you have to convince readers to come. Readers won't come if there isn't work on the platform to read, but artists won't come if they don't think the site will be worth it due to low traffic numbers. This is why the artists with large followings who are willing to take chances on the smaller sites are crucial, but that's only if you can convince them to use the site in favor of (or alongside) whatever platform they're using already where the majority of their audience lies. For many creators it's just not worth the time, energy, or risk.

Even if you find short-term success, in the long-term there are always going to be profit margins to maintain. The more users you pull in, the more storage is used by incoming artists, the more you have to spend on storage and server maintenance costs, and that means either taking the risk at crowdfunding (ex. ComicFury) or having to resort to outsider investments (ex. Tapas). Look at SmackJeeves, it used to be a titan in the independent webcomic hosting community, until it folded over to a buyout by NHN and then was pretty much immediately shuttered due to NHN basically turning it into a manwha scanlation site and driving away its entire userbase. And if you don't get bought out and try your hand at crowdfunding, you may just wind up living on a lifeline that could cut out at any moment, like what happened to Inkblazers (fun fact, the death of Inkblazers was what kicked off the cultural shift in Tapas around 2015-16 when all of IB's users migrated over and brought their work with them which was more aimed towards the BL and romancee drama community, rather than the comedy / gag-a-day culture that Tapas had made itself known for... now you deadass can't tell Tapas apart from a lot of scanlation sites because it got bought out by Kakao and kept putting all of its eggs into the isekai/romance drama basket.)

Right now the mindset in which artists and readers are operating is that they're trying way, way too hard to find a "one size fits all" site. Readers want a place where they can find all their favorite webtoons without much effort, artists wants a place where they can post to an audience of thousands, and both sides want a community that will feel tight-knit. But the reality is that you can't really have all three of those things, not on one site. Something always winds up having to be sacrificed - if a site grows big enough, it'll have to start seeking more funding while also cutting costs which will result in features becoming paywall'd, intrusive ads, creators losing their freedom, and/or outsider support which often results in the platform losing its core identity and alienating its tight-knit community.

If I had to describe what I'm talking about in a "pick one" graphic, it would look something like this:

(*note: this is mostly based on my own observations from using all of these sites at some point or another, they're not necessarily entirely accurate to the statistical performance of each site, I can only glean so much from experience and traffic trackers LMAO that said I did ask some comic pals for input and they were very helpful in helping me adjust it with their own takes <3).

The homogenization of the Internet has really whipped people into submission for the "big sites" that offer "everything", but that's never been the Internet, it relies on being multi-faceted and offering different spaces for different purposes. And we're seeing that ideology falter through the enshittification of sites like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. where users are at odds with the platforms because the platforms are gutting features in an attempt to satisfy shareholders whom without the platforms would not exist. Like, most of us aren't paying money to use social media sites / comic platform sites, so where else are they gonna make the necessary funds to keep these sites running? Selling ad space and locking features behind paywalls.

And this is especially true for a lot of budding sites that don't have the audience to support them via crowdfunding but also don't have the leverage to ask for investments - so unless they get really REALLY lucky in EITHER of those departments, they're gonna be operating at a loss, and even once they do achieve either of those things there are gonna be issues in the site's longevity, whether it be dying from lack of growing crowdfunding support or dying from shareholder meddling.

So what can we do?

We can learn how to take our independence back. We don't have to stop using these big platforms altogether as they do have things to offer in their own way, particularly their large audience sizes and dipping into other demographics that might not be reachable from certain sites - but we gotta learn that no single site is going to satisfy every wish we have and we have to be willing to learn the skills necessary to running our own spaces again. Pick up HTML/CSS, get to know other people who know HTML/CSS if you can't grasp it (it's me, I can't grasp it LOL), be willing to take a chance on those "smaller sites" and don't write them off entirely as spaces that can be beneficial to you just because they don't have large numbers or because they don't offer rewards programs. And if you have a really polished piece of work in your hands, look into agencies and publishing houses that specialize in indie comics / graphic novels, don't settle for the first Originals contract that gets sent your way.

For the last decade corporations have been convincing us that our worth is tied to the eyes we can bring to them. Instead of serving ourselves, we've begun serving the big guys, insisting that it has to be worth something eventually and that it'll "payoff" simply by the virtue of gambler's fallacy. Ask yourself what site is right for you and your work rather than asking yourself if your work is good enough for them. Most of us are broke trying to make it work on these sites anyways, may as well be broke and fulfilled by posting in places that actually suit us and our work if we can. Don't define your success by what sites like Webtoons are enforcing - that definition only benefits them, not you.

[wordstome]

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

[joy-haver]

there isn't a "kill all the ____" that will fix the problems of the world, because, 1. you probably can't. 2. if you did, more of them would probably come into existence, or 3. other people would come to fit the same social position. 4. There isn't a group of Fundamentally Bad Evil People that Cause All The Problems, because 5. Harm isn't caused by a type of person. everyone causes harm and an effective system of addressing harm has to contend with that. 6. you will end up expanding the definition of ____ to include whoever else you want to kill anyway. which will suck. 7. Destruction without building will leave nothing behind. New harms will arise. Old harms will continue. Because there is nothing to replace them. There is nothing Helpful being done. a better world isn't created by just getting rid of all the bad stuff and calling it a day. you have to actually make something that meets peoples needs. 8. structures of power and harm sometimes maintain themselves even if no one intends them to or purposefully wants them to. 9. systems of power will end up finding a scapegoat. they will convince you that some marginalized group are the real ____ and you should focus on them. and in your zeal and blood thirst you, or at least some of your allies, will fall for it. And you will commit atrocities. 10. The world that is created can only come from the world that is. And look, whatever group you are thinking of -- yes I mean them too. Pedophiles, rapists, murderers, sociopaths, nazis, billionaires, cops, you name it. Harm and oppression is far too complicated to ever be solved with Finding The Right Group To Kill. And there are lots of really great arguments to be made about why eliminationist rhetoric is ethically bad, or historically questionable, etc. I am open to that being added on and talked about too. But my point is that It Will Not Accomplish Your Desired Results. You Will Have Committed Atrocities and You Will Have Failed At Achieving Your Initial Goal.