#size 15

[tilbageidanmark]

[artharakka]

Variation on Swords I

| PRINTS | | Other Swordtember prints & more |

[ultopias]

sherliam week 2024 day 6 - affection

(it's just each and every single thing sherlock does)

[flimsy-spine]

<3

[marzipanandminutiae]

Dear marzi, for reasons of trying not to give period characters too modern fetishes in my smut, may I have some recs as to where I may find some of that olde fetish content you've previously seen?

On the Wikipedia page for the "corset controversy," unfortunately!

Historians have been taking obvious tightlacing fetish letters seriously for...way too long. And sometimes still are. Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing. Of course, there's no way to 100% tell which letters are fetish fuel and which are real, but generally any that use particularly heightened language or common erotic tropes- or that seem to fly in the face of evidence from extant garments, unedited videos, stock and advertisements from real corset companies, etc. -are to be viewed with suspicion.

(The same is true for letters used now to claim that nipple piercing was a real Victorian trend- for, indeed, the only source is anonymous magazine letters and many of them fall into the same obvious patterns as the tightlacing letters. One DOES describe the alleged process in detail...but it's basically the same as the process for ear-piercing, a service jewelers did commonly offer back then. Just applied to nipples. So whether it's real or not is still uncertain, but it's highly doubtful that large numbers of Victorian women were running around with nipple piercings given that no extant nipple rings have been found, such piercings are never mentioned in letters or diaries or other more concrete sources, etc.)

Besides that, I've seen glimpses of most modern fetishes in various sources:

the Psychopathia Sexualis, a medical manual of "sexual mental illness" (in heavy quotes because things like homosexuality and gender variance are mentioned under that heading), talks about everything from a fetish for tight boots and gloves on women, to bloodplay (initiated by a woman, actually, who wanted to drink her husband's blood), to force-femming, to some very elaborate femdom scenarios that I hope the sex workers in question were paid well for. Of course, since the cases are anonymous, these are also difficult to confirm- but clearly someone had THOUGHT of them, since they're written into the book.

And I've seen at least some of them in other sources, too, including some of the magazines that published the nipple piercing and tightlacing letters. The Englishwomen's Domestic Magazine was notorious for its letters on tightlacing, tight gloves, spanking, etc.

Photographic porn was definitely a thing almost as soon as photography came into being. A lot of it is pretty vanilla, but I could swear I'd seen piss kink photos (with urine painted in after development) before the blog where they were hosted went defunct

James Joyce's letters to his wife get into farting and scat fetish territory. Yes, really.

Speaking of letters, there was one man living here in Boston who, in the late 19th century, wrote letters to his wife describing erotic dreams of her as a giantess who pissed on him and then ate him. I cannot remember his name and it's going to drive me insane all day, but he was the head of Boston's censorship organization, the Watch and Ward society and these letters were first released by his own children for an unauthorized biography written five years after his death. Guess there was little love lost there.

BDSM is old. Like, really old. Old, to quote the sacred texts, as balls. I'm pretty sure there are sexual flagellation texts going back to the Renaissance, but don't quote me on that.

Basically, Rule 34 can be back-applied, too. If it existed, there was a fetish for it, probably. Of course, things that specifically involve modern technology or properties are out, but beyond that...the sky is the limit

[illufinch]

im getting into wood carving its super fun. very cursed lil guy

[bookrat]

Got a catfish bust available for sale for $350

[zepskies]

Dream With Me - Part 3

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your asshole ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.

AN: I decided to release Part 3 a bit earlier! Now, *deep breaths* here we go, friends…

(If you missed it: Read Part 1 || Read Part 2)

Word Count: 4.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, and a tinge of spice.~

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 3: “What Is Deserved”

Dean’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.

By the time the four of you reach the Impala, you’re in a cold sweat, pale, and barely conscious. Dean unlocks the car and carefully seats you on one side of the backseat, while Sam hurries to the other side. He then helps guide you in as Dean maneuvers you into laying across the backseat. Sam’s going to stay with you for the ride to the hospital.

“Watch her head,” Dean warns, his tone sharp. 

“I got her,” Sam assures. He holds you securely against his chest, with your head tucked under his chin.

Dean lets out an unsteady breath. When he turns around, Carter’s standing too close, peering at you anxiously. 

“Get her to a hospital—” he starts to say, but Dean’s blood-stained fist cuts off his words, cracking against his jaw.

Dean put all his strength into that one.

Carter cries out and goes down hard into the earthy ground. He groans, huffing dead leaves out of his face as he tries to push himself back up. He hears the sound of a gun’s safety cocking back. He looks up sharply and finds the barrel of Dean’s silver Colt.

Carter freezes where he lies. He’s wary, but not surprised. He wipes a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth from where he bit the inside of his cheek.  

In that moment, Dean wrestles with a decision—with a desire that burns hot in his veins…but he knows you don’t have the time the spare, even for this.

“I’m gonna give you the biggest gift of your fucking life,” Dean growls. “Don’t let me see your face again, you hear me? Or it’s on sight.” 

His thumb moves the safety back into place, and he stows away the gun. He ignores the other man’s subtle breath of relief. In fact, Dean doesn’t glance back even once as he hastens to the driver’s seat of his car. 

The Impala speeds off, leaving Carter lying on a dusty ground in the middle of nowhere. 

Trees and asphalt pass in a blur as Dean speeds down the narrow road. He uses the GPS on his phone to find the nearest hospital, several miles away. 

Your skin is clammy. You realize it when you grab onto Sam’s arm that he has secured around you. You feel the cold sweat on your palm and between your fingers. Sam looks down at you while trying to hide his concern.

“Sam,” you whisper. It’s a struggle to get out the words, but you fight for them. “I know I don’t need to tell you to watch out for your brother, but…”

“Hey,” Sam says. His voice is just as quiet, so the rumble of the Impala hopefully masks it. He glances up and sees Dean’s determined face through the rearview mirror. His attention is on the road ahead.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam says to you, gently. “I know it hurts. Just hold on.”

You give a short nod, but tears still sting at your eyes. They wet your lashes and eventually slip down your cheeks. 

Your hand moves down to grab his.

“I love you,” you tell him.

Sam has become your brother too, in every way that counts. He knows it, just as he knows that you’re the sister he never thought he’d have. He squeezes your hand back and fights the emotions clogging his throat, making it tighten. 

“I love you too,” he says. “Just…just hold on.”

God knows you’re trying your best.

Getting you to the hospital is just the first challenge. 

Then it’s Dean having to let go of your hand, having to let the medical staff take you away from him on a gurney, rolling you down the hall and past a wall of doors he can’t follow. 

Dean stands in the middle of the Emergency Room hallway half-covered in your blood. He feels at a loss, in a way that reminds him of a day just like this. It reminds him of Lisa.

They were gunning for you. Of course, it’s your fucking fault.

Yeah, that’s familiar territory too. It reminds him of every reason he hesitated to start anything with you in the first place.

Dean’s jaw locks, teeth clenched, and there’s a well of unrest inside him that’s never going to be calm.

Then Sam is there at his side. He lays a supportive hand on Dean’s back and guides him towards the waiting room.

And it’s an incredible wait. 

Hours in the making, where Dean sits in an uncomfortable chair with a half-inch cushion after trying to clean himself up in the bathroom. He holds his head in his hands. 

He’s had more than a few what the fuck moments in his life, but this just doesn’t feel real. 

This time, there’s no Cas to swoop in and heal you. There’s no Rowena with a spell, and Jack…

Dean’s been praying ever since he carried you out of that barn, but Jack’s not answering. Dean frowns, and in his frustration, he grunts and pushes off his knees to stand. He begins to pace without truly realizing it. 

Sam watches his brother with both sympathy and pain. 

“They’re taking fucking forever,” Dean grouses. “We should’ve heard something by now. I’m gonna find somebody, get an update.”

Sam sighs. “Dean—”

But he knows it’s no use. He watches his brother go to flag down a nurse. She nods patiently, but Sam overhears her give Dean the same answer he heard the first two times he asked about you.

“The doctor will come down to update you once she’s out of surgery.” 

Dean’s frustration is visibly mounting when he paces back into the waiting room. Sam once again tries to give him a supportive word, but Dean just shakes his head and sinks heavily into the seat next to his brother.

He holds a fist over his mouth, for a long moment, just staring at a thin crack in the beige tile floor. Behind his eyes, the entire scene plays out again. Finding you in the barn, freeing you, thinking to himself that he could finally breathe, knowing he’d keep you safe. 

And then, the way you’d saved him, throwing yourself at that vampire. Dean fighting tooth and nail afterward, and still, finding you unable to raise yourself off the rusty metal blade lodged into your body. 

Dean’s face tightens grimly while he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sam’s heavy grip falls on his shoulder, squeezing in silent support and commiseration. Dean can’t really allow himself to be comforted. All he feels is a deep pit of turmoil. And guilt. 

“She didn’t, uh…she didn’t want this,” Dean says. He looks down at his hands now hanging in his lap.

Sam tilts his head, taking in a deep breath. “Carter tricked her. He knew what would get her out here, and us.”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I mean she didn’t want to do this anymore.”

He meets his brother’s now confused gaze.

“She wants to quit the life,” Dean says. “Been talking about…retiring. The house, the white fence, a friggin’ yard for the dog, the…the 2.5 kids. Apple Pie Central.”

Sam raises his brows, especially at the mention of kids. His lips twitch at the thought. He realizes then that he wants that for his brother. Even though the look on Dean’s face has Sam dimming.

“What did you say to that?” Sam asks. 

Dean’s sigh is heavy. He rubs between his eyes, at the mounting ache there. 

“I’m the Job, Sam. Clearly I’m only good at one fucking thing, and it’s slicing throats,” he says. “I couldn’t even protect her. Not with Chuck. And not now.”

Sam’s brows draw together, disheartened.

“Dean…”

“It’s true, Sam,” Dean replies. “And I’ve tried. I’ve tried that retirement shit before. You remember what happened there, right?”

Sam’s lips purse, and he shakes his head.

“It’s different now. Chuck is gone, Dean. We made that happen—”

He’s using your argument without knowing, almost verbatim. Somehow, it twists the knife deeper into Dean’s heart.

“And what about the rest of the monsters, huh?” he says hotly. “Do we just take a sabbatical on all the evil sons of bitches still left out there?”

“We’re not the only two hunters in the world, Dean,” Sam replies. “There’s always going to be another hunt, and another hunter to take it on. If you wanted to get out, I would understand.”

Dean looks at his brother harder then. He knows that Sam has been seeing Eileen more seriously for the past couple of months. After a snap of Jack’s fingers brought the world back to equilibrium, the two had found one another again. 

Dean starts to wonder if Sam has started thinking thoughts of retirement too—of a life beyond hunting.

“But besides all that,” Sam continues. He grips Dean’s shoulder. “You really think hunting is all there is to you?”

Dean’s gaze falls, again down to his empty hands. By now, he’s scrubbed them clean of your blood until his skin felt raw. 

He doesn’t have an answer for Sam, but he’ll be damned if he loses you like this. 

Dean gets up abruptly, somewhat startling his brother. 

“Need some coffee,” he says. 

Dean leaves Sam in the waiting room to find a relatively quiet hallway. It’s late at night. He’s dirty as hell and hasn’t eaten or slept in damn near a day. He’s running on stubborn will and determination as his fists clench at his sides. He lifts his gaze heavenward.

All right, Jack. I know you’re hearin’ me. I need your half-angelic ass, right now. She needs you. So can you please just—

Suddenly, a nurse passing by him in the hall freezes where she stands. Dean jolts a bit, but when he turns his head, he finds Jack Kline standing there, in the same clothes he wore when he ascended into heaven. Some khakis, an off-white shirt, and a jacket Sam bought for him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Jack says, with a slight smile. 

Dean is relieved, but he’s also angry. “Damn it, man. What took you so long?”

“I’ve been…busy,” Jack says cryptically. 

Dean doesn’t really give two shits where the supercharged Nephilim has been.

“Okay, well, we need your help. She needs your help,” Dean says, pointing towards the doors that lead to the operating room. 

Jack nods, his eyes lowering.

“I know, Dean,” he says. “She’s in the veil right now.” 

Dean’s heart clenches. His entire body stills. 

“What?” he says.

Though he knows what Jack is saying. Dean’s been “in the veil” once or twice himself. It’s that in-between place. That limbo-like plane of existence for human souls, between life and the afterlife.

“Fix her,” Dean growls. “Fix her right now.”

“I can’t,” Jack says. He looks apologetic, even in conflict with himself. “I told you, I’m hands-off.”

“Hands-off, my ass!” Dean snaps. “You have all the power in the world, and no good reason not to help her!”

“Dean,” Jack tries, but the other man makes a cutting motion with his hand. He draws closer to Jack with intimidating steps, even though the Nephilim has no reason to fear him. 

“Before you were…this,” Dean says, gesturing at his “godly” form, “you were family. Part of our family. And family’s what matters. Matter of fact, she looked out for you, protected you, treated you like a little brother.”

Jack’s gaze falls toward his feet.

“After all we’ve been through, after what she’s been through, she don’t deserve this. Not from you,” Dean says. “Help her.”

When Jack looks up again, his face is still apologetic.

“Dean, it’s the natural order—”

“Screw the natural fucking order!” Dean shouts, pointing at Jack. “And screw you. Another dickless fucking coward trying to play God.”

Jack sighs. He turns, as if about to leave. It makes Dean realize, with a tremor of panic, that he’s about to lose maybe the only chance he has to save you. He rushes forward and grabs Jack’s arm over his jacket. 

“Hey, wait, wait. Look, Jack. Please,” he implores. He doesn’t realize that his eyes are red, and starting to shine. “Please. Come on, man. I won’t ask you for anything else as long as I live, and I’ll swear by that. But you’ve gotta save her.”

Jack gives Dean one last look of sadness. 

And he disappears. 

The world returns to full speed, with the nurse passing by Dean with a mere glance at him. He stares at her in disbelief. He realizes that he’s alone in the hallway. 

His fury grows, and it grows. It burns hot in his blood. 

It bubbles over and has him punching a hole straight into the wall, white paint and plaster giving way. He yanks out his aching hand and storms back towards the waiting room. 

There, he finds Sam standing with a doctor, who wears a look that tells Dean to brace himself. 

Dean stares at your face. It’s still much paler than usual. You lie in a hospital bed heavily sedated, where you’re hooked to an IV and a couple of different monitors. The right side of your neck is heavily bandaged, and the blankets (and your hospital gown) cover the many stitches and bandages that span your right side. 

“We’ve given her several liters of blood,” the doctor had said. “I’m going to be honest with you, we nearly lost her on the table, twice. She’s in a very delicate state, but we will monitor her for the next few days. If she gets through tonight, we’ll know if she’s still able to fight.”

Dean doesn’t even dare sit on the edge of your bed. Instead, he dragged a chair over to sit beside you. He’s gone from holding your hand gently, to just sitting in silence with the tumultuous darkness of his inner world. 

Sam sits in the slightly more comfortable recliner seat in the corner. He flips through one of Rowena’s books in search of something that can help you, but he’s scanned the same page several times now. Neither of them has said a word for two hours. 

“You hungry?” Sam asks. 

Dean shakes his head. “No.”

Sam isn’t either. In fact, he’s been battling nausea all night. He just doesn’t know what else to do, for you, or his brother.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Dean says. It echoes the words he said to Jack. This time, they’re less heated, but no less filled with conviction.

Sam looks up from the book he’s not reading. Dean doesn’t look his way, but he knows he has his brother’s attention. Dean’s curled fist covers his mouth.

“She wanted out, and I said no,” he says.

Sam frowns, disheartened. “There’s…there’s still time, Dean.”

“She wants…kids,” Dean continues, almost as if Sam had never spoken. “She wants a family. Maybe to be the mom she didn’t get to have anywhere near long enough.”

Dean has always been able to relate to you there. He remembers the way you’ve talked about your mom, often with a lot of melancholy. But only now does he think he see the reasons why you want more. Only now does he realize what you were really asking from him when you talked about quitting the life.

“Yeah, she’d be a good mom,” Sam says, his lips almost forming a smile. Dean nods, but doesn’t reply. He’s thinking too much.

“And you, uh…you’d be a good dad,” Sam adds. He manages to smile at the thought. “You did it once for me. You can do it again.”

Dean tilts his head at that in consideration. It’s not that he doesn’t like kids. He does, and deep down, he’s always wanted the same things you do. This life had just pushed him to a point where he stopped allowing himself to dream.

Dean takes in a deep breath and tries to rub the exhaustion from his face. These thoughts don’t help him right now. They only torture him more.

An alarm suddenly trills, startling both Sam and Dean as their heads perk up. They scan your heart monitor, and it looks to be flagging from red to blue as the numbers fall lower and lower.   

Dean calls your name, but his movements are frantic in pressing the alarm button to call the nurses. Sam runs out of the room to actually find someone. Dean hears his voice shouting down the hall, but he’s too preoccupied with gripping your hand tight.

“Come on, baby. Fight,” he grits out. “I know you can beat this.”

His panic grows as he watches your heart rate fall lower, and lower. Tears finally sting at his eyes. His lips tremble. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Stay with me,” he says, rubbing your hand between both of his. He lowers down to rest a hand on your head, and he presses a kiss above your brow. “We’ll do it all, you understand me. I’ll build the damn cabin myself if I have to. Three bedrooms. Hell, make it five. We’ll get so damn busy, you’re gonna get sick of me.”

And if you were awake, you’d know exactly what kind of busy he’s talking about. You know him so well. Besides Sam, there’s no one else in the world left to know him like you do.

And your voice, your touch, the way you make him coffee with a double hit of espresso, the way you cook for him and Sam because you love to feed them. The way that, even when you’re fighting with Dean, frustrating him beyond belief, you never stop protecting him, as much as he tries to do for you.

You’re his, in every way. It scares him like hell, what he might become without you.

“Come on,” Dean begs, this time squeezing your hand. “Come on…”

Sam rushes back into the room. Footsteps are following him down the hall. 

And then, everything stops. 

Everything, except for Sam and Dean. 

Your monitors stop beeping out of control, freezing your heart rate where it sits far below where it should. 

When Dean looks up in teary confusion, Jack stands on the other side of your bed. He gives Dean a gentle smile. 

“You were right,” he says. “Family is what’s most important.”

Jack reaches out and gently touches your forehead. In a mere moment, you take in a deeper, more natural breath. Your eyes slide open and find Jack. It confuses you. Your mouth opens to say his name, but Dean squeezing your hand draws your attention. Your gaze softens.

“Dean?” you say.

He’s able to smile, even though his eyes are red, and a tear draws down his cheek. He hastens to wipe it away.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “How do you feel?”

Your brows furrow as you contemplate his question. “Fine, I…”

You remember then that you shouldn’t feel fine. You look up at Jack again, and as your memory of yesterday slowly returns to you, you realize then what he’s done. He hears the words you hold inside before you can say them out loud. He smiles.

You’re welcome, he replies in your mind. Then he gives Sam and Dean one last warm look. 

“Take care of each other,” Jack says. Then he disappears, without even a flash of light. He’s just gone. 

The world once again kicks into high gear. You’re forced to pretend to be asleep when two nurses flood into your room. Sam and Dean apologize for a false alarm when they see that your heart monitor and your other vitals are steady, and even stronger than before.  

When the nurses leave, you’re able to open your eyes and sit up normally. Sam comes to sit on your other side, and you reach for his hand while offering him a smile. Dean brushes your hair back to gently peel away the bandage on your neck.

Your skin is smooth underneath. Dean helps you do the same for the wrapping around your waist, after you peel back the covers and raise a corner of your hospital gown for him to see. Your wounds are completely gone. 

Dean huffs a breath of relief, his brows drawing together. You hold your hand to his cheek and give him a softer smile.

“I’m okay,” you promise him.

You wipe under his eye, where the tracks of his distress have remained. Dean wastes no more time. He gathers you into his arms and bows to claim your lips. You give him the comfort he needs, while melting into him with the same passion.

When he pulls away though, he has to wipe the tears from your eyes. The back of his hand brushes down your cheek.

“You scared the shit outta me,” he says.

You manage to stifle a laugh, but not your smile. “My bad.”

He steals another kiss, a bit softer this time.

“I love you,” he says. His voice is gruff, but no less genuine.

You let out a sigh, while more tears brim in your eyes.

“I love you too,” you nod.

While you soothe him with your fingers slipping through his hair, his lips press into your shoulder. He meets Sam’s teary smile with one of his own. 

You’re staying with him. That’s all that matters.

Six months later, the bedroom you once shared with Dean in the bunker is nearly empty. All that’s left are the nightstands, the old metal bed frame, and a bare mattress. Everything else is coming with you into the new place—a cabin-style house you and Dean found together in Lawrence.

Sam and Eileen have their own little place in the city as well, just a couple miles away.

It’s bittersweet to see this room in the bunker stripped bare, but you still smile as you survey it all with your arms crossed. 

Dean’s hands startle you when they smooth around the curve of your waist from behind. You jump a little, but you smile when he kisses your neck.  

“Reminiscing?” he asks, his eyes dancing. “Some damn good times here. Some damn good magic.”

You laugh at how he uses your words (and playfully slaps your ass), but you have to agree. You turn your head to kiss his cheek. 

“Just thinking about how we’re gonna make some more magic in the new place,” you tease. “We won’t have a sink in the bedroom anymore though.”

Dean nods at that, holding you more securely against his chest. 

“True. So convenient,” he says ruefully. 

You stroke his arms wrapped around you. You begin to tingle with nerves inside as an idea strikes you. It’s the perfect time… 

“I need to have a discussion with you,” you say. Dean’s smile grows against your neck. 

“A discussion, huh? Sounds serious,” he says. 

“It is,” you say. Though part of you is playful, you really are serious. You turn in his arms so he can see the gravity of your gaze.

Dean tilts his head, sensing your shift. 

“Hmm, okay,” he says.

You untangle yourself from his arms so you can lead him over to the bare mattress, where you sit him down. His hands slide down to your jean-clad thighs while yours fall on his shoulders. 

“Wait here,” you say. 

Dean quirks a brow, but he lets you walk away, over to your empty nightstand. You pull out something wrapped in tissue paper. 

You unwrap it and hold it up for his view. 

Dean’s eyes widen when he sees those two pink lines. He takes the little white stick from you and looks up at your face in pure shock and awe. 

“Holy shit,” he utters, making you laugh. He sets the little test aside so he can quickly grab your waist, once again pulling you in close. “You sure?”

“I’ve done it three times. I’m fairly certain,” you say with a smile. One that shines brighter with your burgeoning tears. You frame his face with your hands. “We did it, baby.”

After just about three months of trying, you’re already pregnant.

That reality sinks into Dean as he falls deeper into shock. You start to frown at his silence though. Your thumbs brush his stubbled cheeks.

“You’re, um…you’re happy, right?” you ask.

His gaze flicks up to yours. Seeing the uncertainty there breaks him out of his shock. His expression eases with a smile. He tugs you even closer by your hips, and he presses a kiss above your navel, over your shirt.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I am,” he replies, even as his deep voice breaks slightly on the last word.

Your smile grows, and you bend down for a searing kiss that Dean matches with all the emotions coursing through him; excitement, a tremor of anxiety, but mostly love. It’s nearly overwhelming in his chest, because he never thought he’d get to have this.

He’s damn grateful it’s with you.

He grips you tighter on reflex, and he brings you down onto the mattress so he can roll on top. He smirks in light of your giggling, brushing your hair out of your eyes and caressing your cheek.

He captures your lips for another heated kiss, one that grows into another, and a few more for good measure. Your hands slip down his back to squeeze his ass for once. His growing length finds friction through his jeans and between your legs, making him groan.

“How about we make sure it sticks,” he suggests between kisses. He trails them hot and wet down your neck. 

“I don’t think it works like that,” you breathe, though you smile as you slip your fingers through his hair. Dean smirks against your skin.

“Huh. Worth a shot, right?” he quips. He curls one of your thick thighs over his hip and rocks into you just enough to start driving you crazy. Already you feel his clothed erection pressing against your center. Your core begins to pulse in response, needing him.

You shove the layer of plaid off his shoulders, and he helps you with the undershirt as well. He starts to divest you of your layers, down to your bra, where he kisses a familiar path down between your breasts.

Just for a moment though, you hold his face and make sure he’s paying attention, despite your panting breaths mingling with his. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I didn’t think I would ever get to…”

Tears well up in your eyes again, and this time, Dean catches them when they fall. He shakes his head and brushes them away with his thumb. 

“That’s my line, baby,” he says. “Whatever’s up next, this is it. It’s you and me.”

He takes your left hand, which already holds the weight of a silver ring. His own holds one to match. You’re now officially his in every way.

Your smile already agrees with what he said.

It’s you and me.

But you also nod and guide his hand down to your belly. 

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s us.”

Dean hums in approval at that. A softer smile takes over his features, before he lowers down to your lips, so he can finish what he started.

You and Dean still don’t have all of the “retirement plan” mapped out just yet, but for now, this is a damn good start.

AN: I promised a happy ending, and this is the happiest I could think of! 💗 Hopefully this provides a smoother transition to the story In Bad Weather, though I'll never say no to coming back to these two. 😘

Let me know what you thought of this little ride in the Midnight Espresso-verse!~ ☕

Read From the Beginning:

Want to go back to the beginning of this series? Start with “Midnight Espresso”:

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

▶️ First Story: Midnight Espresso

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @rizlowwritessortof

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @twinkleinadiamondsky

@anticxrrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords

[modormouth]

hot take of the day is that eldritch beasties should also be affectionate in some degree

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Fifthteen: Pedro Pascal + Face Sitting

Pedro knows you like the back of his hand. He knows when you're so fucking exicting that you move around lot in your sleep. He knows when you're angry as someone because it reads all over your face. He also knows when you're nervous about something.

You pace around the house unable to stay still or just in one place. The house is a wreak, blankets thrown all over the couch. The kitchen is a mess from your trying to get some baking done, but the cookies came out a little wonky and now your frusted with that as well.

Everything is just going wrong.

He can see that way you're downspirling very quickly. He's watching you from the corner of his eye on the couch. The volume on the TV is low, some comerial runs on the screen as he gets up setting his book down and getting up in search of you.

The kitchen is empty now, so he follows the notise of you pacing cirlces upstairs. Your shared bedroom door is creaked open. "Baby?" He asks into the room. You hum. You're sitting at the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" Pedro asks as he comes to sit next to you. Your shurg your shoulders at first, and then you start to ramble. Words fumbling out of your mouth and then all the sudden Pedro gets up.

You follow his movement as Pedro rounds the corner of the bed. Sitting on the bed before slipping his shoes off and settling ontop the covers. "What are you doing?" You ask him. He wiggles a littel further down, so his head sits perfeclty on the pillow.

"I'm getting comfortable so when I ask you to come over here and sit that pretty little pussy of my face you'll do it." Pedro says with a straight face. The rambling from beofre hand has been about a lot of things, but some of it had been about the weight you had gained during the winter season and now that spring was here you were starting to regret ever eating anything during the holidays.

"WHAT!" You shirek as you look at your very calm boyfriend laying on the bed licking his lips. "Why?" You ask, he rolls his eyes. "What is this 72 questions? I just want to eat my girls pusy out so she'll stop thinking about everything for a few moments." He says warmly quirking a brow up in a ever so teasing manner.

"But…" "There are no buts, besides that pretty one I want up here right now." Pedro says coaxing you closer to him. "Come on hermosa, come sit on my face and let me tell you how good you taste, how much you mean to me. Let me show you mi amor."

He knows he's got you when you slip your shirt over your shoulders and head, when your sweats come falling down into a pile around your feet along with your slutty, lacy panties.

He helps you, outreaching his hand to support you as your climb up onto the bed and crawl over his body. Still fully clothed and you see what you do to his body. Evidence of his hard erection in his blue washed jeans.

"Mi Amor don't you worry about me, just put that pussy up on my face and let me take care of the rest." You listen postioning each thigh on either side of Pedro head. One hand leans on the headrest for support and the other is combing through Pedros thick greying locks of hair.

"There we go princesa, just like that." He says guiding you down onto his lips. His hands are clasped around your ass. He sits you the rest of the way down. His nose nudges into your clit and your shiver at the sensation. Hot breath blows on your cold pussy breathing a new sort of life into you.

"You smell so good hermosa." He mutters into your pussy. "Oh fuck." You moan, just him talking into your pussy already has you wanting his tongue more.

His tongue lays flat agasint your entrance. "Fuck and you taste so good mi amor." The next thing you now theres no more talking, just his tongue attacking your clit and weeping entrance as if he's just come back from the desert and he's dying of thirst.

You grind into him now, aching for more. Yearning for more then just his tongue at this point. Your knuckles go white as your hold onto the headrest for dear life. Pedro fingers dig into the meat of your ass as his nudges into your clit with grind of your hips.

"Fuck me, fuck Pedro… I'm gonna…" Your moans are like music to his ears and edges his further on. His pants are tight, but he doesn't care. "Cum baby." He mutters into your wet pussy.

Vibrations sent up your core as you shirke with joy and euphoria. Your legs shake and your head falls forward. "There we go angel, doesn't that feel better now?" Pedro says licking his lips.

He helps you shift to the bed. Your body hot and aching from your orgasm. "Hmm." You hum and close your eyes resting for a moment.

No racing thought, or anything else pass through your head as the two of you sit in quiet peace on your bed together.

Completed on: 10/19/24

Posted on: 10/20/24

Kinktober 24'-

[wigglebox]

Hey there 💫 [x]

[luna-the-cretar]

They’re holding hands :)

[demonir]

Guy who’s been avoiding watching Doctor Who his entire life finally succumbs to peer pressure by no one but himself and turns into his most annoying version possible and makes it everybody else’s problem now for the foreseeable future (exaggerated for dramatic effect)

Had to get these 2 out of my system somehow or I was going to explode

[3liza]

saw a youtube sponsorship for a brand that markets itself as "masculine shoes in small sizes, for trans men" and if the entire idea wasn't already preposterous (this is part of a large scale marketing push to convince trans people that clothing that has been available on the normal heterosexual market for generations is "hard to find" so they can charge you hundreds of dollars for it), it's also ugly, and they have chosen to call their company "Tomboy Toes". if you said those two words to my face in a shoe store i would slap you

$120 for a black or brown version of the standard school uniform brogue which has been available all the way down to toddler sizes since uhhhhhhh approximately 1820.

just to double check my sense of reality i went to the largest single online shoe market on earth besides Amazon (zappos) and typed in "women's brogues" and selected size 5 which would be pushing the lower limit on the larger part of the bell curve of adult AFAB people on earth, or at least the northern hemisphere, and there are many options in approximately the same price range depending on brand name, with sales regularly down to much less, on similar or identical styles. ebay also. Tomboy Toes carries down to size EU33 which is around 3.5 US Women's and again, that's just in the children's section if you need Picture Day/uniform (children)/ Office Whatever (adult) Shoes and they are on eBay lightly used in great numbers because kids grow out of them in 6-10 months.

is it annoying to be shopping in "women's section" or "kids section" for these things when you are an adult man. yes. so i dont understand the marketing impetus to replicate that exact scenario by naming your company for adult trans men something i would assume was a sassy yet misguided terf brand if i found it on a label in a generic wingtip at Goodwill. cis men who are very small also have to shop in the small sections for their small clothes. i am wearing a t-shirt meant for a 7 year old right now, it says so on the label. it fits me better than any of the shirts i own that are made for the standard american adult. i literally have bigger things to worry about

naturally their "vegan leather" selection is much larger but again, it's ugly Trendy Booties that will fall apart in a year and are, i cant emphasize this enough, made of plastic, nothing special, and in standard women and children's sizes which are already plentiful at every shoe retailer. why are we letting these "trans brands" charge us a $100 tax to pretend to take us seriously (while at the same time calling us "tomboys")? does anyone know

i do, its actually because of the learned helplessness issue again. the accepted wisdom at the tumblr layer of transness is 'its so hard to find [item of clothing that is suitable for trans people]" because the knowledge of how to shop for these items in the actual market has completely evaporated within the last ten years, i watched it happen right in front of me. but it's a complete fallacy, you can find this stuff easily. you can find large women's shoes, small men's shoes, women's clothing with wide shoulders or long torsos, there are entire stores for this already and measurements and sectiions within "department stores" (such as they are) and then after that there are one million billion foam inserts and seams and button placements and belts and scarves and gloves and hem lengths and blah blah blah that trans people and also cis people who are not standard-shaped or who just want their shoes or bras or shirts to fit have already been using for thousands of years so ive been mad about this all day. TOMBOY TOES. they are having us for absolute fools. just call me a slur at this point

i already know some nincompoop is going to match me paragraph for paragraph in a heated defense of the hundred dollar jingle keys boring shoes so i just want them to know in advance: we are not the same. i have so many cool shoes it is unbelievable. in every gender imaginable. and i didn't pay more than like $50 for any of them. also no theres no cheat sheet to learning to buy clothing for your body, i do not say this with any rancor either, its just hard, it takes a long time, and i dont have a cheatsheet for it because there isnt one. except rule #1: dont buy $120 boring ugly shoes from someone jingling their keys in front of your face and calling it Queer Fashion when you can get them for a lot less basically anywhere $120 isnt even a lot for a GOOD pair for mid-range, non-designer leather dress shoes. if you know they will last for ten years and stand up to resoling, it's completely fine. but not for thooooooose

[padawansuggest]

You know you into yarn when you have headcanons about what spindles characters would particularly like, what they prefer to do with the yarn, what type of wheel spinner they are, and who has 17 projects going on at once (Anakin) vs who’s gonna focus almost entirely on one project as they go through thought spindle spinning a fine yarn, plying and washing enough of it for a blanket, immediately sticking it on the loom, and weaving a particularly intricate pattern (Obi-Wan) vs who’s the ‘I add the knots of silk and locks so that I can live in the moment and let chunks come out when they need to’ (as if I even have to say it, it’s Qui-Gon)-

ANYWAYS. I actually love yarn and think that yarn craft should be more in fics but that’s sorta like how lots of chefs and bakers make a lot of foodie fics like it’s nice but. Everyone eats. Not enough people care about Scottish spindles. Obi-Wan has 7 Scottish spindles and like 8 Turkish ones so he can make a blanket’s worth of yarn in a single go without having to unwind them and ply right away. Qui-Gon likes supported spindles and a traditional wheel. Anakin designs and makes his own electric spinners, electric yarn counters, and electric cone winders. And then he knits Padme shawls. Qui-Gon crochets blankets and keeps leaving them in the creche or outside random apartments in the temple. Obi-Wan weaves. Anakin spent 5 hours learning how to dye fiber in Padme’s favorite colours, made an electric wool carder to make batts of them, spent a solid 15 hours spinning enough for a massive shawl in lace weight yarn for his wife, knit her one, and then went back to his ADHD project hopping.

I have ideas!!!!!!

[melit0n]

Just noticed that in the new Metal Hammer mag it's actually two different types of snakes! First photo's snake is a Boa (Siam) and the second is a massive ball python!

Edit: The ball phython's name is Cleo! Thank you to @moonchild-in-blue for providing that in their reblog. I looked around for it earlier but couldn't find anything, so I left her nameless; glad she isn't so