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monamipencil · 4 months ago

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── 𝗠𝗥. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗥𝗦. 𝗬𝗢𝗢𝗡 ft. jeonghan

⛧synopsis; an intrusion, a couple, a murder and a twist. — second fic of lola's spooktober

⛧ pairings; husband! jeonghan x fem! reader ⛧ genre; smut, gore, horror ⛧ w.c; 4.1k+ ⛧ warnings; hybristophilia, body worship, blood, murder/death, description of corpse, sex on the dining table lmao, HORNY fucking, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving) creampie, allusions to cults, devil worship, etc etc. mentions of food ⛧ a/n; *clears thorat* *coughs* im so sorry for the delay lmao, i was absolutely not motivated to write. but anyways, enjoy!!

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION ⛧ MDNI

[ 07th October, 2024 ]

Thunder crackles, and lightning strikes. The heavy rain pitter-patters on the windows and roofs. Water flows, flooding the streets, making them inhabitable to unlucky strays. Chaos brews outside, and you observe it from within the safety of your home.

A ‘meow’ shifts your attention. You smile at the cat you rescued from the storm and rub its head. It meows again and shuffles to the living room, black fur disappearing behind the couch.

“-And everyone is requested to stay at home or take shelter till further notifications. Police’s investigation into the recent murders have been halted due to the storm. We request everyone to stay sa—”

The television cuts off and comes alive again, buzzing and glitching. You turn it off with a sigh. Except for the pitter-patter of the rain, your home is silent. The silence lays heavy on the walls and floors. You can’t seem to fill it no matter what. Your hand involuntarily touches the pendant your husband gifted you. Muttering a prayer to Him, you ask for Jeonghan's safe return to you.

[ ... ]

The gentle sizzle of the vegetables fills your ears, and you pour water into the vessel, turning down the flame.

Your newly adopted cat nuzzles between your legs, purring with content at the warmth. You smile and coo at it. But before you can adore it further, the doorbell rings.

You wipe your hands, contemplating whether or not to attend it. It couldn't be Jeonghan. You sigh and walk to the door. The black furball stays in the kitchen, observing you with its yellow eyes.

Looking through the peephole, you see someone shivering from the cold and absolutely drenched. Your hands fly to unlock the door, and the person is startled at the force you open it.

“Come in, please!” you move from his way. He nods his head with gratitude and walks in weakly.

Quickly shutting the door, you lock it. The stranger turns to see you secure the array of locks on the door. You greet him with a smile. He smiles back.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologizes, but you assure him and welcome him into your home. “Oh no, It's fine. I don't mind some company.”

He removes his drenched coat and hangs it on the coat hanger. While doing so, he notices another coat on it. “Is it just you at home, miss?”

“Mrs.” You correct him and reply, “Yes, my husband is out of town for business.”

He also removes his shoes and places them near the door, noticing another pair of shoes. “May I ask you why you are out in such a storm?”

“Ah, I turned up for work and my friend who was supposed to pick me didn't turn up.”

You give him an apologetic nod and gesture towards your living room. “Please make yourself at home. I'll quickly put together a warm soup for you.”

He tries to protest, but you reason with him and disappear into the kitchen. He sits on the sofa with a sigh and thanks God for helping him at the right time.

The low purr of a cat catches his attention. A black cat sits in the middle of the living room. It stares at him, and he awkwardly smiles at it and tries to distract himself. It leaves eventually.

The interior of your home mesmerizes him, reminding him of those vintage homes. The teal wallpapers and the antique decors mesh well together and create a homely look. The myriad of pictures on the wall near the kitchen intrigues him.

He walks towards it and observes each photo. He sees you in all of the frames, along with a man whom he deduces to be your husband. He sees all types of pictures, varying from road trips to studio ones.

“Is your husband a celebrity by any chance, Mrs. Yoon?” He inquires after seeing a frame with the writing, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon.’ A vague feeling of familiarity brews in him the more he looks at your husband.

“Ah, no, no. He's devilishly handsome and he could be a great actor but he only does business.” You voice from within the kitchen, but his mind drains you out. He's more fixated on the pictures, unable to shake the feeling.

He doesn't say anything after that, but you don't mind the silence. Quietly humming, you put together the soup. You smile to yourself, thinking of your husband. If he had been here, he'd be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppers kisses on your neck.

Your daydream feels almost real as you feel a presence behind you. Chuckling, you shake your head and move to grab a bowl. But before you could, a voice shouts behind you.

“Did you kill him?!” The stranger yells, anger surging through his voice. Confusion strikes you, “What do you mean?”

You try to distance yourself from him and grab a knife. His hand catches your wrist harshly, and you cry out. Acting on your instincts, you fling the pot of soup at him. He yelps as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin.

With him muttering a plethora of curses, you run out of the kitchen. The cat observes the chaos, slowly wagging its tail. The stranger blindly moves to the sink and splashes water on his face to wash off the soup.

After gaining composure, he trudges out of the kitchen with a meat knife. He checks every door and room, eyes darting to all corners to find you. His skin stings and burns painfully. He winces but doesn't let it deter him.

The floor creaks beneath his foot, and he doesn't care if it alerts you. He wants you to know where he is, to be afraid of him. He wants to make you feel fear.

A smirk pulls his lips when he notices the basement door open. He stands in front of it, observing the steep set of stairs. As he descends down, a foul stench hits him, and he covers his nose.

He struggles to find the light switch and crashes into a few things. The stench is unbearable, and he cringes. After finally finding the switch, he turns it on.

Light illuminates the room, but some things are better hidden in the dark, like the dead guy tied to the wall. He can't find it in himself to scream or even utter a word. The only noise that escapes him is a gasp.

His horror intensifies when he recognizes it as his friend. “You fucking bitch! You killed him!”

But it seems that there are far graver things than his dead friend. The red pentagram etched on the ground makes his skin crawl. A turn of his head also reveals a board pinned with a map that has pictures of people pinned on several locations.

His heart stops beating when he finds his own picture on it.

A noise from the cupboard pulls him out of his trance, and he stalks to it. Yanking the door open, he finds you there, cowering in fear. You push him off you and run away from him. But there's no way out with him standing directly in front of the stairs.

He runs to you, pinning you to the wall. “You bitch!” Then, he cackles, “Aww, can't run anywhere now?” His grip tightens, and dread fills your gut. He leans in closer, “You're going to be so sorry for what you did when I gut you.”

You flinch and shut your eyes. The sound of a stab echoes through the room, but you don't feel any pain.

A heavy thud echoes through the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. Warm blood dots on your face, and some stain the cotton of your slip. You gasp and shudder, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. Your eyes land on the injured body. Blood flows from his mouth and his chest. Three holes punctured through his chest.

You don’t need to look at him to figure out who your savior is. “Jeonghan!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The garden fork he yields in his hands meets the floor as he hurries to take you in his embrace.

Your lips are on his instantly, kissing him with ardor. He matches your passion, both his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You curl your arms around his neck, lost in the warmth of his lips. It isn’t long before his tongue prods your lips, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

His tongue glides over yours like it has countless other times. He shifts his head to gain a better angle and kisses you deeper. One of your hands uncurls to caress his face—his flawless skin, his high cheekbones, the bone of his jaw before it slides down further. You glide your hand over his shoulders, his lean biceps, and finally his crotch.

Jeonghan pulls away, out of breath and overjoyed. You mirror his grin when you find him rock-hard beneath his slacks. “Oh, how I missed seeing you kill,” you finish with a giggle.

With a playful roll to his eyes, he retorts, “it’s been barely four days since I did it.”

“And four days since I’ve seen you.” you pout, making him doe eyes at him. He melts instantly and cradles your face. “Always hungry aren’t you?”

“For you? Yes.”

“And for blood.” he adds, making you both giggle.

“Come on now, you gave me something to take care of.” With a pat on his bulge, you pull him up the stairs. Jeonghan happily follows but throws a cautious glance at the presumably dead body. He smiles, catching no sign of life in him, and trails behind you.

You strut to the dining table that adjoins the kitchen and the living room and sit on it. He grins at your place of choice, and lust taints his visage when you spread your legs, inviting him.

He stands between your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Little drops of blood decorate your face, but the look in your eyes entrances him. A myriad of emotions swirl beneath your irises, but he recognizes all of them, mainly lust and hunger.

His eyes dip down to the column of your neck, which he glides his forefinger over. His finger slowly ventures down and undoes the knot of your slip. He tuts, complaining about the blood on them. “That’s fine. It gives me evidence of your love.”

“I’m right here. The living proof of my love for you,” he pecks your lips and pushes the slip off you.

He pulls you to the edge of the table. His fingers ghost over the cloth of your underwear, brushing against the wet spot on them. His warm breath wafts down to your breasts when he kisses your neck and chest. “I can prove it now, if you want me to.”

A breathy moan escapes you, giving him somewhat of a ‘yes.’ With another kiss to your jugular, he pulls away and kneels down. He kisses your heat through the cotton material and smirks, eyeing the wet patch formed by your arousal. In one sly movement, he removes your hipsters. His lips are on your heat before you can process it. He kisses your little nub and gives kitten licks to your hole. His eyes dart to your eyes, mischief swirling under his dark irises. “Jeonghan! Please!”

“Please what sweetheart? You have to use your words.” You feel his smile on your core, and his warm breath wafts against it.

“Please, eat me out!”

He groans and obliges to your wishes right away. He dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. He moves above, wrapping your clit between his soft lips. He sucks on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking at the bud softly. He makes sure to look at you the entire time he’s buried between your legs.

You relax and lay back down on the table. He spreads your legs further and licks up stripes on your sopping cunt. His tongue provides you the utmost pleasure, and moans fall from your lips freely. He switches to a slower pace as if he’s making out with your cunt.

His tongue prods your folds, licking and savoring your taste. His hand moves to spread your lips, and he places a wet, loud kiss on your clit. A gasp escapes you when his tongue slips past your hole. He slowly moves his tongue in and out while he thumbs at your clit, drawing circles.

He tones up his pace, getting faster and faster. Your legs tremble around his head as the coil in your stomach tightens. You cum the easiest whenever Jeonghan touches you after a “long time”—which is three days at the least. He seems to have some magic hidden up his sleeve to bring you the utmost pleasure possible. And, of course, all your years of marriage add to it.

The pressure on your clit builds up, causing your entire body to shudder and tremble. Your back arches, lifting off the table, but Jeonghan pushes you down, holding you firmly. And now that he has secured a tight grip on your hips, there is no escape from his tongue.

“Jeonghan!” you moan his name, hand shooting to grip his black locks. You push his head further into your cunt and move your hips in sync with his tongue. He smiles lazily between your legs, eyes holding nothing but awe and mirth.

The coil snaps, pushing you over the crescendo of pleasure. Wanton moans fill the room, and you cum on his tongue, giving him all your sweet nectar. Jeonghan licks you dry, caressing your trembling legs before he stands up.

Though you achieved your climax, the sight of your husband undoing his belt warms you up again. You sit up eagerly, hands flying to unbuckle his belt and slacks. He only chuckles, patting your head and muttering a low coo of ‘that's my girl.’

He slips off his shirt along with his slacks and boxers. It prompts you to undo your brassiere, presenting yourself bare to him. With a grin, he approaches you. You fawn at his rock-hard cock and undo your legs unconsciously.

Overwhelmed with the urge to feel him inside you, you pull him to you. He crashes his lips on yours in the process, giving you a searing kiss that sets your body aflame with desire. Your hands don't stay put, eager to roam all over his body. He does the same, hands relearning the route of your body for the nth time.

The heat of his body on yours melts your brain, knocking every thought out of you. The only thing you remember is his name and the way he makes you feel. Not the dire situation at play now or the dead body in your basement.

The brush of his fingers on your nipples, the poke of his cock against your inner thigh, the sensation of your sweltering skin making contact with his, the glide of his tongue on yours—all of it pushes you over the edge, driving you insane. Your arousal drips down your core, and it throbs with desire.

“Hannie,” you whine his name, your desire burning with a rage only he can control. “Fuck me.”

“As you wish, dollface.”

His cock slips past your entrance with ease, filling you up in an instant. You hook your legs behind him, your foot digging into his back to push him in further. Your gummy walls envelop him in a warm hug that makes him dizzy.

You moan in unison when he bottoms out, in bliss with how perfectly he fills you. Throwing your arms around his neck, you prompt him to move. The first thrust is easy, given how your cunt drips down with arousal. It fills you with a pleasure that makes your body tremble.

He sets his pace, fucking you with eagerness. Each slap of his balls against your ass makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cling to him for dear life. Sinful moans rumble from your throat with each snap of his hips.

His lips find yours again, but this time the kiss is sloppy and messy, with moans passed between your tongues and erratic snap of his hips. You meet his hips with the same vigor. You fuck him with an animalistic desire in your veins, and he gives you back just the same.

“Ah—fuck! God, I love fucking after we kill.” you yelp between your moans. He groans, replying with a “fuck, yes.”

Jeonghan grips your hips firmly, driving his cock in and out of you with a vigorous pace that numbs your nerves. Your nails dig into his back, and you scratch his delicate skin, leaving red marks for him to admire. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” you moan, unable to control your pleasure. The table squeaks in response to the vigor of his hips. You press your tits against his chest, desperate to feel more of his warmth.

You look down to where your body meets him. The sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt with a wet squelch each time makes you moan. A creamy ring forms at the base of his cock, and some of your arousal drips down to the table.

Jeonghan shifts one of his hands to harshly grip the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. A grin decorates his face at the hazy look in your eyes. He keeps up his pace while moving his other hand to squeeze your mouth open. You push your tongue out eagerly, waiting for him to spit in your mouth. He does, and you happily taste him before swallowing it.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, sliding his hand down to wrap around your throat. He grips your throat, squeezing it lightly. A chuckle erupts from his chest, watching your eyes roll back. He kisses your forehead again, only for him to deliver light slaps to your cheeks. Warmth pools in his chest when you whine and push yourself closer to him.

“Fuck, I love it when you go dumb on my cock.” He whispers into your ear, tickling you with his breath. His cock kisses your sweet spot, and you feel him twitching inside you.

You clench around him on purpose. He groans a low curse, and his movements turn erratic. You continue to do so till he eventually stops, whining a string of curses. “Stop it. Stop doing that,”

Obliging to his wishes, you observe him as he takes a few seconds to compose himself. His eyelids flutter, and his lips fall apart as he tries to regain control. A knowing smirk graces your lips, knowing the effect you have on him.

“Brat,” you only giggle in response, which is cut short when he thrusts with a force that has you shuddering. His tip kisses your cervix, sending shudders of pleasure through your body. Tears prick your waterline and eventually cascade down your cheek as you cry out his name.

All it takes is one more thrust to push you over the crescendo again. This time, it's more intense and mind-numbing. You moan his name over and over again, like a prayer for salvation. He follows suit and fills his load inside you, shuddering the same as you.

His hands wrap around you tightly and, yours around him. Leaning your head against his shoulders, you catch your breath and try to control the shivers through your body. His warm breath on your back calms you, and so do his feather-light touches.

Your eyelids feel heavy as slumber descends upon you. And, before you know it, you fall asleep in his arms.

[ … ]

“We have to let the others know about this,” Jeonghan informs, stirring his cup of tea with a spoon. You nod wordlessly, sipping your own cup of tea.

Slumber hasn't left you completely, and the tiredness weighs down on your bones. Your eyes slowly close shut again, and you lean back on the loveseat. Jeonghan sighs to himself, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He takes away yours before you can spill it on yourself.

Your soft groans make his heart flutter, and you stir awake again. The first thing you see is your husband sitting on the floor as he massages your legs.

“Poor thing, you must've had a hard time.” The pout on his lips makes you smile. “Not really,” you chirp, feeling more energetic as the seconds pass.

“Oh really?” he muses, and you hum. He shakes his head, worry marring his features. “What if I didn't get here on time? Why did you even allow him in?”

“I was bored.” To which he glares at you, a tired sigh falling from his lips.

“And, He visited.”

Jeonghan stops massaging your legs and looks up at you, confused. You see the tinge of fear in the clench of his jaw and the hold of his breath. You point to the black cat that has made itself home despite all the chaos that went down a few hours ago.

He visibly calms down and bows his head at the cat meows in return. He looks back at your smiling figure, and it strikes him. “Right, I asked for your safety to Him.”

“He saw our pictures,” your words barely audible as you look at the big wall covered with all your pictures with him. A soft smile graces your lips when your eyes fall on your wedding picture. 14th October, 1949.

Then you cackle, recalling the realization and terror on that guy's face. “Oh, you should've seen his face.” Jeonghan laughs along with you and resumes his ministrations on your legs. You relax on the cushion and let out a blissful sigh.

He sighs and zeroes in on the blood spots on your vintage slip. One of his many gifts to you, and it's something you've treasured for over seven decades.

“Ugh, it's fine. You can always buy me a new one.” You say, and a smirk adorns your lips when your eyes fall on the Johnny Cash vinyl on the shelf. You stand and walk towards it, pulling it out gently.

You flash your husband a grin, and he mirrors your visage. Placing the vinyl on the platter of the vinyl player, you move the tonearms and set it on the vinyl.

The world tunes into a buzzing background as you dance with him. His hands are gentle on you, holding you delicately. The setting is all a little too familiar to him, and before he knows it, he takes a trip down memory lane.

But the only one he can remember is the time when he almost lost you to death. The image of your bed-stricken figure flashes through his mind. He holds you a little closer.

In his life plan, Jeonghan never even imagined that you'd be diagnosed with cancer fifteen years into your marriage. Nothing held out, and it was hard to be optimistic with his wife on the lifeline.

And as he was holding your pained body in his arms, he cried and cried. What kind of god would allow this? Why should you be taken away? He felt life slowly slip out of you, and he couldn’t stop it.

They say to never pray to the gods that answer at night, but that’s all he could do. Turning his back on religion and righteousness. His love for you blinded all reason, and he yearned to be in your embrace once again. He could never live without you—what he feels is an immortal desire, lust, love. Even if he is to die, the ground around him will flourish and sprout your favorite flowers—an amaranthine yearning.

So he did it. He prayed and prayed, and when He finally answered, he vowed to do anything and everything that He wished for. Immortality for the curse of bloodied hands. He cringed at the sight of blood staining his skin, but as your bloodied hand intertwined with his, all felt right and in place.

His hands take purchase on your hips, holding you as you sway to the gentle hum of the music. You smile at him and lean on his shoulders, content in his embrace. He mirrors your smile and kisses your forehead.

What a blessing it is to be here with you? To gently sway to some music in the living room of your home with your blood-stained slips and his stained soul?

He kisses you, and you kiss him back. You bite his lips just enough to draw blood. A thousand ways to bleed, but you are his favorite.

⛧spooktober taglist !

@verogonewild @blancflms @chromequette @junniepookiedookie @kyeomiis

@jeonghnie @scoupsieee @xuminghaes @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ririesna

@monstacheol @hoshiskimchi @miyx-amour @woozidanisms @choco-scoups

@cookiearmy @shadowyjellyfishfest @wonwoossecret @strxwberry-skiess @iamawkwardandshy

@merakilles @vitaminkyeom @okiedokrie @armycarat2612 @gyuguys

@idubiluranghae @goodforgyu @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @gyubakeries @nonuify

@aaniag @4cheezflatbred

#lola's spooktober ⛧#jeonghan smut #svthub #svt smut #seventeen smut #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan #seventeen #jeonghan drabbles #jeonghan hard hours

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yoursweetwife · 8 months ago

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drunk!Ratio gn!reader

It is very difficult to get Ratio to drink, especially in public, but when this happens, his behavior is not much different from usual. He sits somewhere in the corner, trying to drown out the sounds of music and other people's voices with his own complaints, but when you're around, he becomes so jealous and needy. Ratio will sit you on his lap, hug you and start muttering something while burying his nose in your neck.

When people come up to you, he will look at them intently. His hands will squeeze you tightly in his arms, you only need to take his hand in yours, this is the only way he will calm down, although his tired eyes will continue to burn holes in your interlocutor.

Drunk Veritas will walk with you hand in hand, because your company is the only thing that keeps him sane, even if you need to go to the toilet, he would rather wait for you outside with all your things. Ratio blushes so cutely when you thank him with a kiss on the cheek, because he just can't control himself! You have a lot of photos on your phone where he is drunk, getting angry (for example, because he can’t open the door because the keys fall out of his hands.) or clings to you.

While a sober Veritas solves problems with words (sometimes with a little violence), a drunk Veritas is willing to fight any guy who makes you feel uncomfortable. Fortunately, most simply run away as soon as they notice Ratio's tall figure, although one was not so smart and ended up almost getting his nose broken.

The next day he will sit on the couch with a sore head, listening to embarrassing stories about his antics. And it was worth seeing his face when the same photo appeared on the wallpaper on your phone where he doesn’t look the best, to put it mildly. He's lying on the table with disheveled hair, clothes and...drool in the corner of his mouth?! But even if Veritas asks you to remove it, he can't deny that deep down, he likes it. This is confirmed by a soft look and a slight smile that usually does not reach your eyes.

#I haven't posted anything for so long.#hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio #honkai star rail #dr ratio fluff #honkai star rail x reader

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deanbrainrotwritings · 6 months ago

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— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire.

His four hours of nothingness.

He had too much time on his hands.

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day.

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you.

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM.

You were probably asleep by now.

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself.

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with.

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans.

He could be with you. You could be his.

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you.

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting.

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas.

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once.

He didn’t know how he did it.

He really just did.

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest.

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation?

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life.

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late.

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you.

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there.

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy.

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind.

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window.

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right.

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that.

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus.

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago.

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up.

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all.

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives?

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions.

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you.

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home.

Dean didn’t expect this.

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home.

He blinked.

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees.

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it.

You needed to be safe.

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you.

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human.

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you.

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement.

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools.

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked.

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma.

You were still way behind on unpacking.

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated.

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them.

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy.

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing.

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself.

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents.

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway.

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all.

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive.

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste.

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had.

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered.

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle.

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about.

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate.

He was thorough with his search.

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong.

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute.

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear.

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties.

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm.

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you.

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating.

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned.

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional.

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life.

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed.

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future?

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent.

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you.

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration.

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that.

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting.

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you.

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule.

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking.

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet!

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of.

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it.

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more.

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet.

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs.

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom.

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him.

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth.

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses.

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all.

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life.

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone.

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him.

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks.

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in.

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns.

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed.

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him.

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him.

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his.

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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brain-usurped-by-bug · 5 months ago

Text

Sugar and Smoke

King Candy takes advantage of the luxuries of his new life, while still longing for the simple pleasures of his old.

Characters: King Candy/Turbo, Sour Bill, Turbo Twins (mentioned)

Tags: Smoking, bubble bath, eating lots of sweets, angst

Completed on September 15th, 2024. 1476 words.

...

The new skin felt strange. It was softer than he was used to, higher definition. The flesh was unscared, the eyes bright, the cheeks jolly. The cadaverous pallor, the sunken eyes, the body he had carried his entire life was gone, phased out, banished into electric aether.

It wasn’t what he had before. He could smile again, but it wasn’t the same smile. He had a car again, but it wasn’t his red rocket. He didn’t have the simple pleasures of his home world; the gentle wave of the pixelated green grass, the earthy scent of the simple dirt loop, the reliable company of the twin racers…

Whatever. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need any of it. It was old software; untextured, primitive. The players had outgrown it, he had outgrown it. It didn’t deserve him. What he deserved was this! A castle, hundreds of subjects hanging off his every word, glitter graphics, high definition, a spotlight, a crown! It was the least fate could repay him for his suffering, rotting unknown in crawl spaces for ten years.

His honey brown eyes bounded over the walls of his new domain, cataloged it, let his mouth water. Pink cookie walls, rainbow sugar glass, sparkling white icing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had a taste of something sweet.

At the urging of his tongue he dove in, flew through his castle, eager to see every room, sample every flavor. Devour it, all of it, literally and metaphorically. It was his, all of it, all of it!

He admired the paintings of ice cream landscapes, chewed the corners off the nightstand in the cheesecake guest room, let the swirl of the lollipops hypnotize him, Let chocolate doorknobs melt in his mouth, ran his palms up the twisting licorice banister, broke peppermint decorations off the walls and sucked them to points.

He was in the middle of licking the icing off a gingerbread headboard when he caught the movement of a stranger behind him. He leapt off the bed and hurried to make himself presentable. The stranger stared back, licking his lips, adjusting the cuffs of his purple suit. The stranger had that look on his face, the look of being caught in the act.

He approached, cautiously. The stranger approached, cautiously. They lifted their hands, fingers meeting on the mirror’s glass. The strange reflection turned its head, ran it’s peach fingers over the wisps of gray hair above its ears, squished the soft cheek, pulled at the corner of the lip, ran a red tongue over white teeth. It stood back a bit, dusted itself off. The reflection wore a purple tailcoat, gold puff pants, caramel leggings, a lace collar, a gold crown and a shimmering red candy wrapper bow tie.

Not a single color carried over, no textures, not a sliver of his old face. This was good. It was. No one would ever recognise him. Even he didn't recognise him. He left the room. The stranger moved to follow, then vanished as he shut the door.

…

His room…. His room…. Ooh… he couldn't make a decision on it. It was different. Very different from what he was accustomed to. There was a rug, a clean one. Gingerbread armoires, rock candy lamps, footstools, a fainting couch, a make-up desk, wallpaper, a four poster bed with satin curtains! All white and pink. There was no black plastic, no exposed wires, no oil, no rubber, no concrete, no trophy shelf. Just sugar.

He wanted to fix it. Bring in the scent of tools and grease, rust, motor oil and gasoline, antifreeze, real dirt, real grime. Was there anything real in this world?

He reached for the pocket of his jumpsuit. His fingers grazed gold silk. He chuckled nervously and moved a hand to the new pocket within the interior breast of his tailcoat. He removed the contents and laid them on the bed. His last cigarette. A nondescript lighter. The password to the code room written on the corner of a Tapper’s napkin. These three things were the only possessions he had deemed essential enough to take with him. His homemade beer bottle string lights, portable radio, cassette tapes, checkered flag pillow, the steering wheel of his old car, all had to be left in the bowls of GCS. They were too big. Too tied to his old name. They were useless anyway, he didn't need old junk dragging him down.

He took the cigarette between his teeth, lit the end, and let the smoke ease his rattled code. Tabaco lifted his insides, wafted from his lips, overpowered the smell of sugar. He breathed, out and in, tapped the ash off and kicked it under the bed. His softened gaze fell on the door to the bathroom. His personal, private bathroom. A luxury the greatest racer ever had yet to experience. A smile pinched the corners of his mouth. He slipped his possessions back into his tailcoat and locked himself in the new room.

The bathroom was pink and white, same as the bedroom, but it had more of the later color than the former. The floor was tiled with sugar cubes and the windows were made from frosted sugar glass, but the pink clawfoot tub was remarkably normal looking. Finally. He turned the wheel atop the gold faucet and watched crystal water flow. He frowned. This wasn't some strange candy water was it? He wasn't going to bathe in soda. He parked his cigarette between his first two fingers and leaned over the edge of the tub for a taste. Alright, it was just sparkling water. He could deal with that. He put the cigarette back between his lips, tossed in a bit of soap that promised a perfect bubble bath and stood aside to remove his clothes.

He found something to recognise once his model was striped to its base. The skin may be different, but he still had the same bones, the same basic shape. The oversized head, short limbs, long feet, pudgy belly. He shifted the cigarette from the right corner of his mouth to the left and stuck a familiar pose; chest lifted, right hand gripping a (nonexistent) trophy, left hand giving the thumbs up.

‘Turbotastic!’

He almost said, catching the phrase before it left his mouth. His arms fell to his sides. The cigarette drooped on his lip.

Careful, careful. You can’t keep anything from your old life. It’s gone. You're not getting any of it back. You're above it anyway, you've grown beyond. Throw off the old rags.

He breathed smoke from his nose, shaking his head and muttering nonsense. He tapped cigarette ash into the sink, turned the faucet off and eased into his bubble bath. The soap’s label had been honest, some of the bubbles were nearly the size of his head. It was probably scented like something sweet, but he couldn't smell it through the tobacco. The water was what he expected; warm, fresh. Cleaner than him, almost certainly.

He lay back. Soaking. Smoking his cigarette down to its filter. He started to hum to himself.

“Hmm… hm hm hm hm, hm hm hm hm, hm hm h-”

The trumpets of the Turbotime overture played between his ears. The cheer of the plywood crowd. The way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way he’d turn it at the south bend, the dust he’d kick up, the way the twins would curse him when it got in their mouths, the way he’d laugh. They would beat him up after the race sometimes, when he t-boned them or made them spin out, but they always forgave him in time. If they had lived, would they have forgiven him for-

No, no no no stop stop STOP. He had to stop thinking about it, it had to disappear, he had to forget. He needed a distraction. He should have brought his casetes, more cigarettes. He threw a bar of soap at the service button beside the door. He missed, badly. He threw a larger bar and hit it this time. A dreary voice crackled over the intercom.

“King Candy?”

“Sour Bill! I need music brought to my bathroom!”

A long pause. “Like… a band?”

“No no! A radio, a walkman, something along those lines!”

“Mmmm… we have a record player.”

“That will do. Bring it in.”

“Yes sir. What kind of music do you want?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything, something… something energetic. I need cheering up.”

“Yes sir. Is there anything else you need?”

He took a final drag, kept the smoke in his body as long as he dared, then let it escape. A ghostly tower, part of his soul fading into the air. He sighed.

“No, that will be all.”

End

Author's notes: this was my first time writing fanfiction since like, 2019. It was fun to write something short and in a very different setting than what I normally write in. :)

#my contribution #my writing #wreck it ralph #wreck it ralph turbo #turbo #turbotastic #king candy #fanfic #smoking #turbo twins

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literallys-illiteracy · 3 months ago

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Crow's Eye View and Limbus Company

Poem No. 9, "Muzzle", Crow's Eye View poetry collection:

Every day was a spate of gusts and now a largish hand touches my waist. Just when the smell of my sweat seeps through the ecstatic vales of my fingerprints: fire. I shall fire. In my digestive tract I feel the stout gun barrel its slick muzzle kissing the back of my clenched teeth. Then at the moment I close my eyes for the blast just what have I spit in lieu of a bullet.

By Kim Hae-Gyeong (김해경). Pen name Yi Sang (이상)

There are two notes to make about this poem. The first is that it has been directly referenced prior to this, in the Solemn Lament Yi Sang's passive name:

Fire.IShallFire

I want to note this in relation to the EGO's mention of "My viscera", which carries the implication of shooting one's self, alongside the awakening line's "feeling of the gun barrel" (or in other words muzzle).

Now in order excluding the mentioned

This poetry collection has been referenced several times throughout the game, and i thought i would compile all the places that it has been referenced so far (and with a healthy dose of conjecture)

Note that i am aware these were written without spaces, however for the sake of being readable i wont be removing them.

Poem No. 1 "13 Children":

13 children speed toward the way. (For the road a blocked alley is apt.) The 1st child says it is scary. The 2nd child says it is scary. The 3rd child says it is scary. The 4th child says it is scary. The 5th child says it is scary. The 6th child says it is scary. The 7th child says it is scary. The 8th child says it is scary. The 9th child says it is scary. The 10th child says it is scary. The 11th child says it is scary. The 12th child says it is scary. The 13th child says it is scary. Among 13 children there are scary children and scared children and they are all they are. (It is better that there is no other excuse.) Of those it is fine to say that 1 child is scary. Of those it is fine to say that 2 children are scary. Of those it is fine to say that 2 children are scared. Of those it is fine to say that 1 child is scared. (For the road an opened one is apt.) It does not matter if 13 children do not speed toward the way.

This poem has been referenced a multitude (2) of times in different places.

The first is the use of the word children in the uptie stories, referencing the 13 children, as there are 13 sinnners (remember that dante is still a sinner, even if they have no ID's (yet)).

The second is during Yi Sang's Dimension Shredder Corrosion:

As a matter of fact, the alley is an open one

alongside its profile line being "open alley", in direct reference to the second line of the poem.

Poem No. 2:

When my father is dozing by me I become my father and I become my father’s father and even then my father is my father like my father so why do I keep becoming my father’s father’s father’s…father why must I jump over my father and why at last must I be acting out myself and my father and my father’s father’s and my father’s father’s father’s roles all at the same time staying alive

This one will return in later mention.

Poem No. 4:

This above poem is a symbology of death, the geometric sequences all ending at zero, reaching their terminus. This relates to Hae-Gyeong's tuberculosis, which would eventually kill him.

Poem No. 5:

Relating back to, but not being the origin of, Yi Sang's motif of the "Wings".

Alongside Poem no. 2, this relates back to the concept of stagnation in ones life.

Poem no. 10. "Butterfly":

In the tattered wallpaper I see a dying butterfly. It’s a secretive mouthpiece a hotline to the other world. One day in my glassed beard I see a dying butterfly withered and feeding on the poor dew that respiration makes. If I die with my palm over the mouthpiece the butterfly too shall spring away. Words like these are never to be let out.

This is the inspiration for the abnormality named "Funeral of a Dying Butterfly" within the mirror dungeon, and arguably the "Funeral of Dead Butterflies" in games prior.

The second is the line "ISeeTheDyingButterfly" in the Solemn Lament ID itself. One could consider the fact that Yi Sang received this ID in itself a reference.

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide and self harm in the proceeding section, read with caution

Poem No. 15:

1 I find myself in an interior with no mirror. Me-in-the-mirror has surely gone out. For fear of him I tremble. From where and how does this sinister figure machinate against me. 2 In a cooled bed I slept cradling a crime. I was absent in my certain dream and my military boots which held prosthetics soiled my dream’s blank sheets. 3 I steal into an interior with a mirror. To release me from the mirror. But crestfallen and without fail he too and in sync enters. Bestows his regret upon me. Imprisoned by me as I am by him me-in-the-mirror too trembles. 4 My dream where I am absent. My mirror where my counterfeit does not appear. Yearner for my solitude to whom even incompetence is OK. Finally I have decided to prescribe suicide to him. I indicate the awning window which does not even have a view. The sole purpose of that window is suicide. But he cannot go before I kill myself he instructs me. Me-in-the-mirror is almost a deathless bird. 5 I occulted my heart with metal held the pistol up to the mirror and aiming leftward the chest pulled the trigger. The bullet dug into where his heart should be but his heart is to the right. 6 Crimson ink spilled out from the carbon heart. In my dream to which I am late I’ve been sentenced to capital punishment. It is not I who rules my dreams. I am guilty of a grave crime for holding captive the very two who cannot even shake hands.

The largest and most obvious reference that can be drawn from this is the "me in the mirror" relating back to canto 4 and Yi sang's relation to mirrors as a whole.

The second, in stanza (the term for a paragraph in a poem) 5, can be linked back to Fell Bullet, once again relating to the bullet piercing the heart that was present in the story of the Freischutz, however the failure of this to kill, or take Yi Sang's soul.

the 6th stanza is also interesting for its relation to both dreams, alongside its relation to handshakes. One could relate this to the abnormality "handshake of handshakes" or alternatively "Wandering Mind" (source of Wrist Guards and Phantom Pain respectfully), however, in Poem

#project moon #limbus company #literally's ramblings #limbus #lcb #essays i wrote primarily while half asleep #projmoon #lobotomy corporation #Funeral of Dead Butterflies #Solemn lament #Yi Sang #Crow's Eye View #Kim Hae-Gyeong #YiSang #Yi Sang Poetry #Poetry #media analyis #discussion

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oldguardleatherdog · 21 days ago

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[Gift link, no paywall]

Zuck wiļl now explicitly allow vile and dehumanizing hate speech against lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people to be posted on Facebook, Instagram, and Threads without adverse consequences for the poster. He has gone so far as to provide Meta employees with detailed examples of speech that will now be allowed on Meta platforms. This article goes into detail as to how these new policies were formulated and rolled out. It's worth a read to understand the calculation and planning that went into this.

This is more than "mere" homophobia and transphobia. Zuck went out of his way to explicitly target us and single us out over other minorities who use these platforms.

It's clear that this is Zuck prepping and staging his platforms for use in actions that The Rapist Administration is setting up to launch against us in the days to come. Our elected officials and our so-called national LGBTQ+ leaders and organizations have put out a statement or two, but I'd hate to be hanging until they actually take action to protect us.

We need to find a way to mount a response to this, and to all the rest of what's coming at us. Good people of good will are gathering and planning, but it's early yet. Take note of these signs, keep watch and stay alert, don't detach, don't look away.

From the article:

"Among its changes, Meta loosened rules so people could post statements saying they hated people of certain races, religions or sexual orientations, including permitting 'allegations of mental illness or abnormality when based on gender or sexual orientation.' The company cited political discourse about transgender rights for the change.

"The company also removed the transgender and nonbinary 'themes' on its Messenger chat app, which allows users to customize the app’s colors and wallpaper, two employees said.

"That same day at Meta’s offices in Silicon Valley, Texas and New York, facilities managers were instructed to remove tampons from men’s bathrooms, which the company had provided for nonbinary and transgender employees who use the men’s room and who may have required sanitary pads, two employees said.

"In the @Pride employee resource group, where workers who support L.G.B.T.Q. issues convene, at least one person announced their resignation as others privately relayed to one another that they planned to look for jobs elsewhere, two people said.

"In a post this week to the @Pride group, Alex Schultz, Meta’s chief marketing officer [and Meta's highest-ranking openly gay executive], defended Mr. Zuckerberg and said topics like transgender issues had become politicized. He said Meta’s policies should not get in the way of allowing societal debate and pointed to Roe v. Wade, the landmark abortion case, as an example of 'courts getting ahead of society' in the 1970s. Mr. Schultz said the courts had 'politicized' the issue instead of allowing it to be debated civically.

"'You find topics become politicized and stay in the political conversation for far longer than they would’ve if society just debated them out,' Mr. Schultz wrote. He said looser restrictions on speech in Meta’s apps would allow for this kind of debate.

"On Friday, Roy Austin, Meta’s vice president of civil rights, announced he was leaving the company. He did not give a reason."

[Emphasis added.]

#they are out to erase and eliminate us #it's a fucking battle cry #information gladly given

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 1 year ago

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[4:51 pm]

Everyone who worked for CEO!Johnny could say he was a good boss. He knew every single one of his employees names from the interns to the mailmen that came in on a regular basis. He was friendly and never found the small talk with his peers to be annoying since he was usually the one to initiate it. He had even told his employees to simply call him John, no titles, just John. He was so friendly and open to being there for his employees that he had taken to removing the door from his office for some reason no one could remember.

Despite how friendly he was, he was also a very private man. He loved to learn and hear about his peers' lives, but very rarely shared personal information about himself. They knew where he went to school because he had his degrees up on his walls, but besides that there was nothing. His office was minimally decorated, no personal wallpaper on his computer, and they never heard him take personal calls. They had guessed he had friends just because he was so friendly it would be weird if he didn't. They had also guessed that a guy as good as he was would have to be taken.

Everyone in the office had their own theories. Maybe he had a college love that he was hung up on, maybe he was dating a celebrity and had to keep the details to himself, but the most popular theory involved you. You were on the board of a company that regularly worked with Johnny's company, so you were in and out of the building at least a few times a month.

A lot of the office wondered when you two would get together. Every time you came in Johnny seemed happier, more smiley, and laughing more. He took you out to lunch regularly which he never did with any other person from your company that came in. Some people had even sworn they had heard Johnny on the phone with you a couple times, his personal cellphone, talking about something besides work. Thus, a bet was started among the employees about when or even if the two of you would get together. The winning pot was big, with three of the main groups having already lost because after a month, 3 months, and 5 months there seemed to be no changes or confirmation between the two of you.

Today, the air felt different, the 6 month betters were more excited than ever for some reason they couldn't explain. Today, you were coming in for a meeting, and there was just some electricity in the air that they couldn't describe.

No one would be able to dispute that there was a serious lack of work being done while you and Johnny were in the conference room which was thankfully had glass walls. The noticed the smiles you both sent at each other, laughs that had to have been over something else besides the paperwork you were both looking over. Then there was the goldmine, the jackpot, a single lingering touch of your hands as you slid the file back in Johnny's direction.

There were whispers that the prize pool had just been won, and they only got louder as Johnny led you out of the office with a hand at the small of your back.

"I'll see you at home," you told him quietly as you both walked toward the elevator.

"Home?!" Johnny's secretary screeched.

You both froze mid-stride to look at her, taking notice of all the anticipated pairs of eyes that were locked on the both of you. Johnny lets out a surprised chuckle, “Yes, we live together.”

“Since when?” Another surprised voice calls out.

“Since shortly after we got engaged,” you reply calmly.

“You’re engaged?!” Various voices scream.

Johnny laughs heartily, “We’ve been married for four years. Why are you all acting surprised?”

“Nobody knew, we’ve had a bet going on for almost six months,” Johnny’s secretary replies while running a hand over her face.

“Dude- sorry, John. How could you not tell us?” An intern asks.

“I thought it was obvious. There’s a picture from our wedding day on my desk and I wear a wedding band,” Johnny shrugs shyly.

You quickly slap Johnny’s shoulder, “That wallet sized picture John?! How are they meant to see that?”

“I swear I said something before,” he pauses, “I told my last secretary… who retired at the start of the year. My bad guys.”

“Well, Johnny will make sure that he matches the prize pool with end of year bonuses. I’ll see you all soon, and see you at home. We’re going to have a nice chat,” you smile at the office, narrowing your eyes at your husband before you continue on your way to the elevator.

Johnny sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Thanks a lot guys. Wish I had a door to slam right now, do you know how long the waitlist is at our favorite restaurant is so I can fix this the right way? Two months. Can you let me in on the plan in advance next time?”

“We’re not going to bet on you finding romance as a married man, can you let us get to work now?” Another intern asks.

“As if you were working during that meeting we just had, forget about those bonuses now,” Johnny smirks.

His secretary smiles menacingly, “Then forget about that chat at home being short, I have backup now. And don’t forget who makes those reservations at your favorite restaurant.”

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #johnny x reader #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny fluff #johnny blurb #johnny timestamps

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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I was so excited to see this 1892 Victorian b/c of the round turret. But, I am in shock over what they did to the home. I never expected this. Located in Goshen, New York, it has 5bds, 4.5ba, and they want $995K. I wouldn't give them $9.95. Look at how they completely stripped it of all character.

There was no point in showing the center entrance hall, b/c it's been stripped of everything. Instead of 2 sitting rooms, there's a modern living room and a dining room across the hall.

This was sitting room #1.

And, here's the dining room, which was probably the reception room. Why did they leave the original exterior intact? What was the point? The should've put up vinyl siding.

The original dining room was turned into a dinette, I guess. The windows. Wonder if that rectangular one was stained glass.

I have never seen anything like this. Usually, they'll paint the original woodwork white, or leave a little something original. Every piece of millwork was removed.

The new guest powder room.

Oh, lord, whatever beautiful original railing there was has been replaced. They just gutted every single bit of Victoriana and left nothing. I wonder if they at least sold it to an architectural salvage company.

I'm certain that they removed the fireplaces from the bedrooms. They even modernized the windows in the bump-out. Crown moldings are gone, everything's gone.

Blech.

There were probably lovely doors to a terrace, but they've been replaced by modern glass doors.

The new, improved terrace. I'm picturing a quaint covered porch that might've been here.

Modern bath.

They left a fireplace in the primary bedroom, but it's modernized and has a deep window in what was once the chimney.

Could this be any more bland?

This must be their version of a modern clawfoot tub.

And, it's in the round turret that I was so excited about.

Note that instead of allowing us to see right to the top, they constructed a weird frame for an overhead fixture and blocked it with a disk. They say that it has a turret- this is no longer a turret. I pictured brick walls and an amazing cozy little room, but now it's an angular tub room thanks to wall board and wallpaper.

The bedrooms are a waste of time and so are the baths.

And, we are in the finished attic on the 3rd level.

There's nothing anyone can do to fix it. It's ruined. The corner lot is 0.4 acre.

#victorian renovation #houses #house tours #home tour

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new-tella-us · 3 months ago

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I got a fic!

Aight go easy on me, I haven't written a fic in a while so it might be a little short and jumbled. This is really just to establish the "James Neutral Route" idea that has been brewing in my head for a while.

For now the Fic/Fic Series is gunna be called Neutrality. It may change though.

“When did our nights become so recreational?”

The thought pierced James’s mind as he read what had become his default book in the recent years. He couldn’t help but look up from his book at the world around him to see what it had become. The warm colored wooden flooring and frankly tacky but comfortably familiar wallpaper of the Anderson manor, the smell of cedar wood from the marble fireplace that burned so dimly covering the library in a soft glow and the dark, starry sky just outside the window that contrast the murky, red sky he was so used to.

Oddest of all, was her. Mika, the woman that so casually rested her tired head on his right shoulder. She snored so comfortably against his chest. Looking to his side, his vision became covered in her barely tied up curly hair, as dark as the night sky to their left. As normal as such a sight became for James, it still made a side of his mind feel odd. He couldn’t help but find the whole scene almost unreal. Like it was an unrealistic dream, or a play and they were the actors. And that’s when the question would appear in his head. Life had become so slow and full of frivolity, even with running the Anderson Toy company.

When?

When did calm, soft nights become normal? Were they ever fully normal to him? Maybe not. He expected them but he wasn’t used to them.

With a sigh and a shrug, he brushed the thought aside as always. It’s a question that didn’t have a clear answer. Eyes turning back to the book in his hand, the cover more specifically, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Love and Romance. A Study of Intimacy.” His “favorite” book according to his brothers’ teasing. It really wasn’t, there were others he liked more, better written with more solid themes and plots. Even other books from the human world had superior books to this one but, he just kept coming back to it and he barely understood why.

“Love and Romance...”

Another topic he felt like he knew casually but never understood. He understood the lust often tacked onto love fairly easily. The rising passion of two or more people when the mood calls for it, the fire that burned in your core until it becomes raging and impossible to ignore. He knew that all too well. He just had to be around the woman currently resting on his chest –whose hair is currently tickling his neck- long enough and he’d feel that rise in passion, often caused by a lack of energy. He perfectly understood that. But love... Love was so complex and fickle. It was a walking contradiction; beautiful yet ugly, powerful with no real power, a peacemaker or a war bringer, and something so very far removed from him.

He knew better than to try and feel it. If he did, his soul would feel an emptiness. An uncomfortably spacious void where the missing emotion would be. He knew he couldn’t love anyone anymore. Not the romantic love he should feel for her anyway. He could imitate the actions someone with love does and he did care for her, but he couldn’t truly feel it. That book, understanding it more with every read, might be as close as he gets to romantic love he’ll ever get.

...

The air always got so cold when he allowed himself to spiral in thought like this.

Maybe it was time to go to bed. There was no point making the night colder or longer than it had to be. He was about to shake Mika awake when he thought against it. She looked so peaceful on his shoulder; he wanted to preserve that peace before she inevitably ruined it by consuming her -frankly concerning amount of- coffee. Slowly, carefully, he shifted his hands around her waist and under her knees to pick her up in a way humans call “bridal style”. She shifted but when she didn’t seem to wake, he started walking out of the library and down the hallway to the master bedroom.

The door creaked open, and the royal blue of the room invited him in with its familiarity. He’d become well acquainted with this room over the nights he’s spent serving Mika, especially after his younger brothers, one by one, left the manor and he spent more time keeping the mistress fed and happy, or in this case, rested. A night like this of putting her to bed wasn’t common but not unheard of either. He had gotten used to it enough that he was trusted to undress her and put her in something more comfortable.

This time, however, he felt that familiar flash of something more carnal at seeing her undressed. He could almost feel the gold whirling through his violet eyes. It wasn’t blinding or overpowering but it did make him stare at her form and curves longer than he should; and it was a good sign that he might be low on energy. He’d discuss that with her tomorrow. For now, he tucked her into bed then headed for the door.

“Thank you, James,” A soft, tired voice whispered.

Turning back, he saw Mika staring back at him with a small smile; her emerald eyes barely holding themselves up. He couldn’t help but smile back, her smile always drew him closer, and tonight was no exception. He found himself near skating back to her side, putting a hand on her hair and ruffling it. It was like touching silk or something made of magic and the anxiety of the question that still loomed over him slowly went away.

“Sleep, you have work tomorrow,” he said as softly as he could make his voice, his hand slowly falling to her cheek.

Soft skin pressed into his hand as she relaxed. Her eyes closed and when he heard her snoring pick up again, he knew it was safe to leave the room. He closed the door as quietly as you can with a door as creaky as this one before turning to go down the hall towards the stairwell. His walk back to his room on the other side of the mansion gave him time to ponder that question again.

“When did life become so recreational?”

He thought on it with a lighter perspective, life became different but like a floating dream. And when? Does it really matter anymore? Life is more recreational, and he’ll live in this recreation until life stops letting him.

Not everything has to be overthought.

#seduce me the otome #seduce me demon war #seduce me the complete story #seduce me james #seduce me mika #rewrite #fanfic #fanfiction

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mr-1-2-3-4 · 6 months ago

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I’m making a shadow company wallpaper for myself or others if anyone likes the finish product

If anyone wants to be on here or doesn’t want to be, let me know and I’ll add you or remove you please let me know, yes I’m putting Jackpot in here even though his creator (can’t spell the name or the blog) is in the manhunt fandom now

(I think I spelled everything right)

#shadow company #call of duty #wallpaper

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obi-wokenobi · 23 days ago

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Here are the changes coming to all Meta owned platforms (Facebook, Instagram, Threads and WhatsApp) now that Mark Zuckerberg has openly embraced the racism, bigotry & misogyny that permeates the MAGA movement - from a NYT article:

"On Tuesday, most of Meta's 72,000 employees learned of Mr. Zuckerberg's plans along with the rest of the world.

The Silicon Valley giant said it was overhauling speech on its apps by loosening restrictions on how people can talk about contentious social issues such as immigration, gender and sexuality.

It killed its fact-checking program that had been aimed at curbing misinformation and said it would instead rely on users to police falsehoods.

And it said it would insert more political content into people's feeds after previously de-emphasizing that very material."

(You can take a wild guess which political views will be prioritized on Meta platforms - just look at X/Twitter).

The article continues: "On Friday, Meta's makeover continued when the company told employees it would end its work on diversity, equity and inclusion. It eliminated its chief diversity officer role, ended its diversity hiring goals that called for the employment of a certain number of women and minorities, and said it would no longer prioritize minority-owned businesses when hiring vendors.

In interviews, more than a dozen current and former Meta employees, executives and advisers to Mr. Zuckerberg described his shift as serving a dual purpose. It positions Meta for the political landscape of the moment, with conservative power ascendant in Washington as Mr. Trump takes office on Jan. 20. More than that, the changes reflect Mr. Zuckerberg's personal views of how his $1.5 trillion company should be run — and he no longer wants to keep those views quiet.

Zuckerberg decided to promote Joel Kaplan (a staffer under former President George W. Bush, and he appeared at the New York Stock Exchange with Vice President-elect J.D. Vance and Trump in December) to Meta's head of global public policy to carry out the changes and deepen Meta's ties to the incoming Trump administration, replacing Nick Clegg, a former deputy prime minister of Britain who had handled policy and regulatory issues globally for Meta since 2018.

The night before Meta's announcement, Mr. Kaplan held individual calls with top conservative social media influencers, two people said.

The company also removed the transgender and nonbinary "themes" on its Messenger chat app, which allows users to customize the app's colors and wallpaper, two employees said. 404 Media earlier reported on the change.

That same day at Meta's offices in Silicon Valley, Texas and New York, facilities managers were instructed to remove tampons from men's bathrooms, which the company had provided for nonbinary and transgender employees who use the men's room and who may have required sanitary pads, two employees said.

On Workplace, Meta's Slack-like internal communications software, employees began arguing over the changes. In the @Pride employee resource group, where workers who support L.G.B.T.Q. issues convene, at least one person announced their resignation as others privately relayed to each other that they planned to look for jobs elsewhere, two people said."

Article's summary ends

There you go. Mark Zuckerberg is totally convinced that they (Conservatives and oligarchs) have won the "Culture Wars". And he's betting the future of Meta & its platforms, on Far-Right fascism being a permanent fixture in the American political and cultural landscape.

However, remember that these fuckers only have the power that they have because many people continue to use Facebook, Instagram, Threads and WhatsApp.

Stop giving Fuckerberg that power. Deactivate all your Meta accounts.

BTW, before you deactivate your Instagrams, tell the celebs and influencers that you follow there why you're leaving. Maybe they'll do the same - If (and that's a big IF) they actually care and give a damn about the progressive issues they claim to care about.

#meta #mark zuckerberg #facebook #instagram #threads #whatsapp #far right #fascism #woke #dei #anti woke #chuds

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fuck-customers · 2 years ago

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Not a customers story but my company recently had IT remotely change all our lock and desktop screens from whatever wallpaper we chose for ourselves to be a PowerPoint slide wall of text of the company’s goals for the year. And then they locked the preferences.

Not only is this legally murky because anyone in a cafe can get a view of insider trading information (thank you, stupid MBAs who run this shitshow), but it’s incredibly demoralizing and infantilizing, especially after every consecutive year for the last five plus, we have seen pointless layoffs. So many of my friends have lost their jobs due to nonsensical cuts. For example: Our CEO raves about cutting spending by a certain amount while taking private helicopters to the airport that cost an entry level salary per pop. But tell me more about how the people who actually make and maintain our product are a drain on the budget.

Just this simple change by IT removes choice from our personal preferences for our workspaces and serves as a constant reminder that we better turn a profit this year or else. Lest we forget we’re corporate slaves who traded our freedom for slight/temporary financial “security” and health insurance benefits.

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tact-and-impulse · 1 year ago

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Three Strands Part III

Conclusion was a little late, but I'm happy with how it turned out! (Second half is NSFW.) Thank you @shinkaneweek for hosting the event! FF.net, AO3

part iii: purpose

The warning sign was that the lobby was crowded. A company gathering had been diverted here, or some other excuse which Kougami doubted. Night had already fallen, and it was time to capture a fox. Whether these people were Yanase’s conspirators or not, it could be determined afterwards.

He placed his hand on Akane’s lower back, murmuring in her ear. “Let’s move.”

“Right.” They hastily wove through the gaps, to the concierge desk. The wait for the card keys was excruciating, followed by the elevator ride upwards. But they weren’t stopping, instead headed for the stairs. Yanase’s office was located on a hidden half floor, part of a renovation upon her purchase of the building.

Akane unzipped her bag, passing over one of the Dominators. He gripped the handle and the automated speech was almost nostalgic. The elevator opened, but the hallway was empty. A scan on her end confirmed no biological signatures. Together, they proceeded to the furthest wall, where the passage was located.

As soon as he opened the door, he caught a snap of crimson light, a motion sensor going off. Immediately, he grabbed Akane, bracing his arm around her torso. The wooden stairs suddenly folded, and the floor of the closet dropped. An irritating defensive measure, installed by its paranoid owner. He was frowning at the dark ceiling when her hand slipped around the back of his head, bringing his face down.

His heart raced. Was she trying to-?

A blast above ended that thought, and by the time he registered the mounted artillery in place of a security camera, Akane had fired a Decomposer shot. The machinery crumbled in a blue haze, but it certainly wasn’t the only one. They had to find cover. And they did have access to a place. They rushed towards the room, disabling more security guns, and the door slammed behind them. He briefly checked both of them for injuries; he had a singed sleeve but nothing else.

Akane persuaded him to remove his jacket, before the Holo disguises were dissolved and she contacted her team through her wrist device. Meanwhile, he investigated their hiding place. It was larger than a typical guest room; a sitting area with a kitchenette, a spacious clean bathroom, and a separate bedroom…with a king bed. Were they placed in one of the honeymoon suites? He didn’t know whether he wanted to confirm it or not.

“All clear.” He relayed.

“Thank you. The others are trying to infiltrate the security system and locate Yanase. What about SAD?”

He peered at his messages. “They think some of the immigrants are on the premises, trying to evacuate them safely. Are we stuck here?”

“As part of lockdown measures, unfortunately. Mika didn’t want the risk so she forced a hard reset.”

A new text popped up and he fought back a smile. “Gino told me not to drive you crazy.”

“A little late for that…”

“Huh? Did you say something?”

“No, I’m just thinking out loud. Anyway, I’ll send a Pillbug to travel through the vents and support the others.” She activated the bot, and it skittered up the cream-colored wallpaper into a ceiling grate.

“Thanks. Keep me updated.” He peered past the curtains, but there was no balcony or railing to scale. Too far to jump, and since they were in the middle of the city, zero chance of rescue by flight. They were stuck. However, he was oddly calm, his perception straying instead to her presence and movements.

She’d sacrificed her life and reputation, in order to protect the law. Her voice had sounded thready when he first visited, stronger over the months, but he noted how thin she became. She had winced at the sunshine upon her release, looking as if she was about to weep at the taste of a good meal. She deserved to have space and to enjoy the world after so long. That was what he’d been telling himself. If he thought she was cute while admiring the cherry blossom petals or finishing a bowl of noodles, he wouldn’t let it show. And then, he dove straight into this tempting fantasy of marrying her. An idiot’s behavior, indeed.

“Not much else to do, until there’s a new development. I guess we’ll have to wait patiently.” She stood beside him, close enough that he could discern the scent of light citrus. She smoothed her hair, and the ruby ring glittered under the lamp light.

Gruffly, he said. “You can take it off, if you want.”

And in return, her challenging stare fixed him in place. “Well, I don’t. It may have been for the job, but I’m too attached now. Besides, you don’t actually want me to stop wearing the ring.”

His gaze drifted. “That’s…I did say understanding people was your strength.”

“Kougami-san, won’t you be honest with me?”

Now, he regarded her with the full force of his attention. She looked endearing, with her pleading eyes and her lips in an inviting curve. Against his will, his voice sounded hoarse. “You already know I’ll do so with my actions. What you’re asking for will change things between us. If you’re prepared, don’t run away.”

“In that case, you shouldn’t run either.” She reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers.

A thrill surged beneath his skin, right to his chest; it reminded him of a rainy night, eight years ago. He knelt, sweeping under her slender legs, and lifted her. “Then, no point in standing by the window.”

“This is familiar, except without the handcuffs.” She nervously laughed. “It’s been on my mind; why’d you place the other cuff on your wrist?”

“Ah…I don’t know.” He grimaced. An inadequate answer. “Maybe, I had accepted I wanted to be with you, for better or worse. My clumsy attempt at expressing how I feel.” Gently, he lowered her onto the bed but her touch moved to pull him in.

“So, you should take responsibility for your clumsiness.”

And at long last, he kissed her.

***

This was an ironic end to their pretend engagement, but she couldn’t complain. She could tell he was still exercising restraint, his mouth closed and surprisingly tender. She lightly bit down, an encouragement, and he made a low deep sound that warmed her entire body. Instantly, she wanted more. She pulled him down, but he resisted, an unspoken question in his dark gaze.

“Right now, I just want you.” She insisted. “You can be slow or gentle later.”

He seemed to relax, then his mouth widened in a smirk. “Agreed. I’ll be thorough.” He grabbed his collar, wrestling out of his shirt.

She quickly unbuttoned her blouse and nearly snapped the zipper of her skirt, throwing them off the edge of the bed. She was eager to help with his belt buckle, though he had paused. And she remembered why, a little pleased.

His eyes darted all over her, and then, red crept up his ears. “Didn’t know you wore these things.”

Admittedly, she had caved and bought a few lingerie sets. This one was deep burgundy, the bra embroidered with a floral lace pattern and the panties held together by artful strings. She cheekily replied. “I was told I like to tease.”

He swallowed, his throat working. “Then, it’s my turn. I’m unfair after all.” His callused hands landed above her knees, spreading them apart.

Cool air washed over her exposed folds. Oh. She forgot about that feature. Reflexively, she tried to sit up, about to protest, when his forehead pressed against hers. This kiss was rougher, demanding her full attention or she’d drown. His touch was purposeful on her skin, caressing up and up. A soft but unmistakably slick noise caused her to gasp, and he didn’t relent.

He braced above, his leg sliding between hers as he pinned her wrists. In this position, she was completely vulnerable. The kiss was a further distraction, and she gave in. She was aware of the stretch, his advances and exploring turns, preparing her as he said, her own excitement. His tongue stroked the roof of her mouth as his finger curled inside, in simultaneous identical motion. Her head spun.

“Make it easy. I’ve got you.” He rasped in her ear. Damn it, why did he have to be sweet? “Almost there. Akane.”

She broke, using each syllable of his name as he pried that orgasm out of her. She was still shivering when she opened her eyes. But he wasn’t smug or proud. He looked…a little in awe? Stunned, like he couldn’t believe she came from his fingers. Then, he tilted his head, the recognizable contemplation mixed with the newer heat of interest.

Unable to bear it, she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I was getting ahead of myself, thinking about how I want to see every variation of your face in bed.”

“...Kougami-san, you’re absolutely ruthless.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you calling me that a minute ago.”

Her cheeks burned, and without a good verbal retort, she unhooked her bra and accepted the slight slackening of his jaw. She resisted the urge to cover herself, keeping her chin high even as the belt came off. The last of their clothing was discarded, and he tore open a condom, a souvenir from the bathroom. Her imagination hadn’t done him enough justice; he gave a firm twist for security and she was going to remember that particular sight forever. Her left hand tangled within his hair, her brilliant crimson emblem of victory as she gladly welcomed him.

Not slow and not gentle. Her nails scored his broad back, and she was certain there’d be bruises mimicking his fingers on her hips in the morning. But she didn’t care. Heat and strength, force and provocation. Years of admiration, frustration, and mutual understanding - converging into the inevitable. This was what she needed, and he was hers.

His thrusts became uneven, a swear punctuating his heavy breaths. She stroked the nape of his neck, and took the initiative in kissing him. He hissed and drove against her; she found a smaller peak and crested it, squeezing him for all she was worth.

The stickiness was the first thing she noticed when her mind had settled again. She must have wriggled because he slowly slid out of her, rolling off. She exhaled; already, she felt empty and wondered if it’d always be like this. A shadow fell over her, and her gaze languidly drifted to him. He was carefully studying her reaction.

Did he think she was regretting it? Idiot. She leaned in, using her teeth to imprint a circle in his shoulder. At his grunt, she turned on her other side and clarified. “A ring of your own. For now.”

His arms looped around her waist, his thumbs caressing underneath her breasts, and she could feel the vibration of his voice when he echoed. “For now.”

The haze was shattered by an incoming message, thankfully a text. Yanase had been barricaded in her office, coaxed out by Arata and Kei. The immigrant workers were accounted for and pending transfer to mental rehabilitation. A success, on all counts. And a formal close to the undercover mission.

If anyone was curious why they had their Holos back on, they didn’t ask.

The following week, Akane submitted a request for personal time off. She tidied her desk, the cool silver chain around her neck shifting with her movements. The ruby dangled under her shirt, before resting once more on her chest. The elevator descent was quiet, and she didn’t spare a backwards glance at the tower.

The parked car was a block away, and she entered through the unlocked passenger side. “Sorry about the wait.”

“It’s not like I would have left.” Kougami was obviously amused, watching her fasten her seatbelt. “This trip wouldn’t mean anything without you.”

“The same line of thought with the job we just had.” She wryly pointed out.

“Exactly. Ready?”

“Yes.” Her hand tightly gripped his, as they drove away.

#shinkaneweek #shinkane ppp #shinkane #psycho pass #psycho pass providence #wrote this in between night work and naps

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