#what do you do. search your own name? get a hobby
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fight-nights-at-freddys · 5 months ago
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GUYS HELP WHY IS BOGLEECH IN OUR DMS AND REPLIES
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dude if you're ACTUALLY comparing what ang did (make art) to what KYLE CARROZZA DID (600 ITEMS OF CSEM/CSAM) then idk what to say to you. you're actually brain dead. you don't care about victims, you don't care about children, you just care that you're right (you're not).
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paganinpurple · 2 years ago
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AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED
Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.
It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:
As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.
If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.
No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).
Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.
There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.
For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.
The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.
Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.
If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.
Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.
Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.
People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.
Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.
Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.
It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.
The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.
I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.
I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.
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smileysuh · 11 months ago
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Love Plug
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🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”
tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k
🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕
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Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.
Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.
There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.
You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica. 
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Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?
John: define out. Who is this
Unknown number: shit
Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times
Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n
John: I remember you
John: how much do you need?
Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?
John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour
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Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.
When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.
“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”
You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate. 
“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”
You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.
You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…
You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.
When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.
John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”
“Thank you.” 
You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.
“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.
“Hmm?” 
“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”
“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”
John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.
“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”
“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.
“Is that a rosé?”
You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”
“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.
John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”
“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”
“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”
“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.
“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”
“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”
“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”
“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.
John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”
“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”
“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”
His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion. 
Is he asking you out? 
Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”
“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”
You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”
“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”
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The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.
“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.
“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.
“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”
You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”
“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”
So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.
John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.
“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.
“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”
You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.
The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.
“It’s going,” she sighs.
“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”
“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”
“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”
“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.
“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”
With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.
The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.
“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”
You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”
Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”
Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”
“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”
“After I got over how annoying you are.”
John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”
You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail. 
“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.
You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”
“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.
“How about you? He’s a regular?”
“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”
You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-
Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?
“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.
“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”
You consider what she’s just said.
“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”
“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”
“Hmm?”
“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”
“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”
Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”
“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”
“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”
“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”
The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”
Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”
“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies. 
“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”
“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”
“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.
“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.” 
You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.
“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.
Hyuna scoffs loudly.
“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”
“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.
“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”
“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.
You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”
“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.
“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”
You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”
“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”
“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.
“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”
“Deal.”
John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”
You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”
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Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.
It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.
“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.
“What sort of movie?” you ask.
“Anything you want.”
“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”
“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”
“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”
“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”
You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.
“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.
John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.
“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”
“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”
John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”
A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.
“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.
“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”
“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket. 
“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.
“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.” 
“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.
“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.
“That’s okay,” you assure him.
“You guys up to anything fun?”
“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend. 
“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently. 
Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car. 
“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”
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You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.
You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”
“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.
You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten. 
John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.
You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-
The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.
“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.
“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”
“Bad guy,” you scoff. 
“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”
“You’re a softie.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”
“Says me,” you insist.
“Yeah? And how do you figure?”
You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”
“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”
You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”
“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”
You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”
He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”
You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.
Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”
You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious. 
“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.
“Yeah?”
“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”
“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”
God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?
“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.
Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.” 
“Do you wanna try it?”
The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”
“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. 
Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”
He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze. 
You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.
“Kiss me,” you whisper.
Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.
You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing. 
“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.
This time, he’s kissing you like he means it. 
Like he needs it.
His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer. 
He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure. 
Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.
You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.
“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”
Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”
“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.
This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.
You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.
“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”
Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”
“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.
Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.
He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed. 
His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him. 
You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.
Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”
“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.” 
Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”
“I’m mostly sober.”
“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”
“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”
“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.
“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”
“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?” 
Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.
You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.
“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.
“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”
You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”
“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”
You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.
“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.
Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked. 
He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.
You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock. 
He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum. 
He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”
“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”
“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”
There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.
As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.
“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit. 
You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.
Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.
You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.
It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-
God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.
You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.
You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.
You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”
You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-
“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-
Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.
You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless. 
Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”
“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him. 
“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.
“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.
Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”
“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.
“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”
“What if I want you now?”
“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”
“What if I want you to wreck me?”
Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”
You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.” 
The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.
“You know what you said earlier?”
He lets out a humming sound.
“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”
“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”
“Next time?” You cock a brow.
“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”
“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”
“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”
“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”
“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.
In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”
“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”
“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision. 
“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”
“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”
“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.
“Should I grab a condom?”
“Are you clean?”
“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”
You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”
He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”
“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”
“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”
You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own. 
You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.
Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”
“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”
He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.
“More.” 
Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.
You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.
Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.
“Can I-”
“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”
Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.
You’ll never be the same after this.
No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.
Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.
It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.
“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”
“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.
With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again. 
“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”
Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.
“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”
Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles. 
“Johnny-” you whimper.
“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”
“Me!”
“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”
“Me!” 
“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.
“I’m gonna-”
“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”
All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.
You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life. 
Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.
As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears. 
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.
“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.
He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”
“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt. 
Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”
When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him. 
You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.
“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”
“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”
“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”
You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.
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☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit
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🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250
🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader
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bonus
You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked. 
Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.
If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.
No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him
You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.
Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.
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cheriden · 3 months ago
Text
˙ . ˚ ₊ 「 liar, liar 」 ꜝꜝ
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“ "Thought people wanted college to be over. Looks like they never want to let go.” Soobin jokes. You look down, swaying your feet out of shame for being one of those people.”
── synopsis 。yeonjun drags you to a party and you get caught up in the middle of truth-or-dare.
pairing 。best friend!yeonjun x reader x friend!soobin
.ᐟ genre 。angst (yeonjun) and sort-of fluff (soobin) (and eventual smut)
.ᐟ tags 。yeonjun is an asshole, making out, college au, miscommunication/arguing because none of them want to compromise, i love soobin, drinking and party games
.ᐟ status & word count 。two-parts | 1.73k | masterlist
part 1 | yeonjun's ending | soobin's ending
.ᐟ warnings/notes 。 i did not proofread what's new! reader is gender neutral BUT will be afab once the smut comes along. poll at the end<3
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“And if I don’t enjoy it?” You argue, to which the other whines and pulls you next to him. “You will, trust me on this.”
You would, except he promised you the same thing the past three parties ago. 
Yeonjun has been your best friend since diapers— a result of your parents being friends, and though you’d usually say he has your best interests at heart, sometimes his own precedes yours. He tries to get you into new things—clubbing, raving, organizations that require you to be social; you could really see how hard he tries to gain shared hobbies with you. 
Admittedly, it’s a bit unfair for him. He participates in all your activities, no matter how boring they get; and he enjoys them, so much so that he’d come to introduce you to his friends with similar pastimes. Which is why you’re here, but you can’t deny how tired you get of his social scene. It’s a bit too fast and loud for your liking, a point made as the both of you make your way through the sweaty crowd, Yeonjun greeting (screaming) at every familiar person he comes across. He guides you by the hand into the kitchen area, scoping the rest of the scene out. He says he’ll be right back, though it usually takes him 30 minutes to do so. He also says you can come with him. You shake your head and hoist yourself up the counter, palming the pockets of your clothing. You realize Yeonjun kept your phone in his bag. You grumble, mentally preparing to search for him, but the ocean of bodies is getting more violent as the night goes on. With a sigh, you pace around the empty area. You rummage through the cupboards and the fridge, only they’re all completely empty. You’d assume the drink table was somewhere off the side of the living room, and all you do is walk through the barren space. A knock is heard on the doorframe, and you look up to see one of Yeonjun’s friends. 
Soobin is one of the people in his close circle who keeps to himself, and he’s the one you share most in common with. “I’m guessing he hauled you to one of these again.” He comments, sitting on the counter next to you. “I didn’t know there were so many graduation parties to attend in a row.” You mumble. The other laughs, playing with the solo cup in his grasp. “Me neither. Thought people wanted college to be over. Looks like they never want to let go.” You look down, swaying your feet out of shame for being one of those people. You know the reason is childish and troublesome, embarrassingly cliche—but you’ll miss the proximity you share with your friends, namely Yeonjun. Skipped classes and free periods will no longer have you meet each other, to be replaced with a nine-to-five and what’s most probably a dead-end career in different areas of the city as the best case scenario. “Might as well enjoy it before the graduation ceremony, right?” You peruse, nudging his side. Soobin furls his eyebrows “You enjoy sitting here, bored out of your mind?” Rolling your eyes, you get on your feet and extend your hands to the blond. He raises an eyebrow, but can’t contain the smile on his face when he takes your hand in his. 
“I think we’ve made a big mistake.” Soobin whispers, watching the host explain the game. The two of you were stumbling around the house before you were pulled in by a group of strangers, forced to sit down. “We know how to play truth or dare, idiot.” Yeonjun groans across you, uninterested. “Can’t we just play regular spin the bottle or something?” One of his friends chuckle beside him, “So we can all get an STD from you? Yeah, no thanks.” The two argue even more, before the host shakes his head and tells them to shut up. “Let’s just start, okay?” The circle nods, and the bottle twirls around the carpeted floor. 
It lands on Yeonjun—and you have to physically restrain yourself from looking annoyed at the amount of fake ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ that come next. “Yeonjun,” The boy sings, "I dare you to kiss who you think is the hottest person in the room.” The brunette raises his hand, but is shut down. “No, you can not kiss yourself.” With a pout, Yeonjun stalks forward, earning a flinch from you. His gaze flickers to yours for a moment, but your incessant heartbeat suddenly drops when he swivels his head to kiss the person beside you. 
You gulp, and take in one long breath. It seems like forever, you watching him kiss someone else right in front of you. Your eyes are wide, gripping the hem of your bottoms as he pulls away slowly, smirk etched onto his lips as he wipes the string of saliva off it. You’re stuck staring at nothing for minutes, occasionally taking sips of your beer and glancing at Yeonjun to see him unbothered and carefree. His expression makes your stomach ill (though half of it is due to your drinking),  and you’re about to excuse yourself when the snout of the bottle lands on your feet. All of them are watching you, including the brunette’s curious ones. You take a deep breath, and plop down onto the cushion. The girl who’s up to dare you smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I dare you to kiss the person that means the most to you.” But everyone here knows who means the most to you. “Why are we playing truth or dare if everyone’s just gonna be kissing each other anyway.” You deflect with a false laugh, but all the girl does is shrug. “Dunno—still a dare though, isn't it?” You weigh your options. If you did decide to kiss Yeonjun, you’re pretty sure your friendship would be over. If you flee, you’ll not only become virgin-coward-of-the-year, but it’d still be pretty obvious why you ran away. 
But you, in your semi-intoxicated and pressured mind, decide on the third option: Kiss Soobin. He stutters when he feels your lips on his, his hands shooting up in response. You contemplate ending your life there and then, but are surprised when he reciprocates by grabbing your waist and deepening the kiss. Soobin threads his tongue through your mouth and moves his fingers up to your face, cupping the cheeks. He’s warm and sweet and sends tingles all over your body—it’s only when you need to breathe that you separate from him, panting. Though your eyes are still locked into his, you can gauge the reaction of those around you through your peripheral vision: utter shock. It’s this realization that makes you whip your head to none other than Yeonjun, who gets up to tug you with him. “Okay, that’s enough. You’ve hit your limit and we need to get you home.” The group’s protests and boos go in one ear and out the other, as you’re dragged by the arm out onto the porch. Agitated, you shove him away. “What’s your problem? You’re the one who made me go to this stupid party.”
“You’re kissing strangers, get yourself together.” You look at him incredulously. “Soobin is not a stranger, he’s your best friend.”
“He’s a stranger to you. How could you even say he means the most to you when it's so obviously me?” Turning away from him, you hand your head up into the sky. “How full of yourself—and where was this concern during the parties where you left me alone? You didn’t even bring me home half of the time, Soobin did.” “Is that what this is about? You’re getting back at me for that?” You groan, rubbing your hands across your face. “It’s not that–” “Is it payback because I didn’t kiss you?” Laughing in astonishment, you point an accusatory finger at him. “You narcissistic asshole! Not everything's about you! Why would I be jealous of that?” The smug look on his face is nearly enough to send you over the edge, but his next words solidify it. “Because you’re in love with me.” You hide your guilt with a look of repulsion, expressions eerily similar to one another. “Now why would I fall in love with an egocentric, reckless, douchebag?” You spoke, tone dim and low. “Why are we even friends when all you’ve done  is disregard my feelings to fit in with your standards?” Yeonjun buries his face in his hands, muttering. “It's because our parents forced us to. I try so hard to make you feel included, to invite you to everything;” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at you, “But you always wallow in your own sadness and loneliness that you don’t even fucking try.” You scoff, “Try? I’ve done nothing but try ever since you decided you were too cool to hang out with me in highschool.” Crossing your arms, you keep your gaze pinned to the ground and sway back and forth. “I’m fine the way I am. The truth is, you don’t accept me for me. Why would I make the effort?” Now he scoffs, forcing you to face him. “That’s how the world works, you can’t sit in solitude for the rest of your life. I’m helping you when the time comes that you’ll need to make that effort and I won’t be around to do it for you.” His words linger in the air for a few seconds. Deep down, you knew that neither of you would keep in touch if it weren't for academics and proximity. You’d become jaded by reaching out, and Yeonjun would get tired of responding. Solemnly, you turn your head up with your eyes closed. “I don’t need you to babysit me. Just fuck off and leave already.” His lips part in hurt and shock, unsure of what to say. “I don’t need your bullshit either.” He spits. “How could someone like me? How could anyone fall in love with someone as close-minded and pessimistic as you?”
He stomps off into his car, leaving you alone with your thoughts as the trees sway and the wind howls. There’s not a single star in the sky, and all you can do is sit on the stairs of the porch as crickets chirp and the house muffles the boom of the soundsystem.
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airaatsu · 19 days ago
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Ok so r u able to do a se-mi FIC?? If so can you do if reader and se-mi were playing mingle and then they both survive at the LAST second and when they both survive they celebrate and cheer and then they become friends? SO SORRY IF IT'S A LOT
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«—Se-mi x Reader—»
⁍Just in Time⁌
A/N: Hey, again, this was a bit rushed, so I'm sorry in advance if it does not satisfy you😅 I'm still starting as a writer as well. Anyway, have a great day everyone♡
Warnings: None♡
The spinning circle you and the other remaining players stood on made you sick. Everyone was panicking, some having no choice but to leave their other friends behind because of this stupid game.. Your head was already spinning from the stress, the panic.
When the circle stopped spinning and the lady's voice echoed the number 2, everybody quickly searched for who they could go with. Some pushing, punching and kicking others just ro get into one of the remaining rooms. Your head was already spinning and aching so much. The friends you made throughout the games were all gone, dead, eliminated. You couldn't think through all the panic, the anxiousness. This was chaos, this was hell.
You looked at the timer, 30 seconds. Fuck! You can't make it, you couldn't move, why couldn't you move?! Your gaze was stuck to the timer, watching it slowly go down to 20, then to 10... You gasped when somebody grabbed your arm and dragged you into one of the vacant rooms. Having to push your way to get there.
When you hear the click of the lock, your knees finally gave out. You collapsed on the floor, managing to hold yourself up by your hands. You took deep breaths to calm yourself down. That feeling of panic was slowly being replaced by relief, it muted out all the sounds of gunshots outside. You raised your head, eyes meeting your saviour. She looks pretty.
"T-Thank you— Thank you so much!" You breathed out, standing back up to your feet with shaky legs. Your body just acted on its own before you can even register, and now you were hugging her. "Woah, it's no problem, really. What matters is we're both alive." She let out a heavy sigh, patting your back gently until you finally pulled back.
You couldn't help your excitement and as you survived another game, even though you just barely escaped death. The girl smiled back at you, chuckling softly at your bright demeanor. You quickly introduced yourself, telling her your name. She did the same after you as well. "The name's Se-mi. Nice to meet you." Once the lock clicked again, Se-mi opened the door and got out with you trailing behind her. You tried to ignore all the dead bodies being put into the black and pink coffin, busying yourself by talking to Se-mi.
The two of you shared why the both of you ended up here in the first place, your hobbies, what you liked and disliked and many more while you were guided back to your room to rest for another game tomorrow. Each conversation you two had and the time you two shared only made you two grow closer, your friendship grew and grew, you just hoped nothing would happen to the both of you in the upcoming games.
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bnhaficsforthesoul · 5 months ago
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General Boyfriend headcanons for Dabi? Both sfw and NSFW? Sorry if you already asked something like this before!!
my husband
he can be kind of bipolar in how he acts with you - one day he's barely acknowledging you and the next he's clingy and loving
he gets better about this over time, but the start of your relationship is always going to be rocky. he's very much set in his lonely ways, and all he cares about is his own revenge, so you coming along kind of messed that up
the start of your relationship would be through tons of sexual tension, where you're probably openly into him and he's being stubborn
I really doubt he has much sexual experience, he might not be a virgin but if he has had sex before you it was only once or twice. he really doesn't like bothering with people
but there's something about you that makes him feel like he needs to fuck you, and he needs to own your body as a whole
so his attraction towards you starts as purely physical, but eventually moves to you as a person as he gets to know you better and sees how well the two of you work together
he is possessive and jealous. he doesn't like to admit it, but he doesn't like your attention on other people, and he isn't afraid to kill someone for being too flirty with you
he almost always is touching you, be it in a perverted way or just lazily resting his hand on your body somewhere
dabi would never lie about loving you, and it's very serious to him to say so. so he makes sure not to say it until he is sure
he is fully okay with you doing whatever you want to his body. it's yours after all
but you could decide you want to redo his staples yourself, or give him a new piercing, whatever you want and it's fine
pet names were rare when you first got together, the best you'd get was a condescending sweetheart from him, but over time he now calls you baby and occasionally doll
if he's living alone, he always has the ac down to like 50. his fire makes his body run hot, but his ice resistance makes him not feel cool unless it's actually freezing
he's such a whore sometimes, he totally dry humps you if you bend over while in public or smacks ur ass
he teases you constantly, about almost everything. he's kind of a bully honestly
you used a little too much salt in your food? he's pretending he's dying of dehydration. you mis speak somehow? he's bringing it up for the next 2 weeks. Your underwear is peaking above your pants? suddenly they're up your ass and he's teasing you about what panties your wearing. he's mean
most of your time with him is very casual, not a lot of dates, just hanging out together. watching TV, on your phones, maybe little home activities if you have hobbies.
when you do go on dates, dabi loves star gazing. he's actually secretly a nerd, and he was super into astronomy as a kid. not all of that information has stayed with him, but he does still remember little facts and his interest is still there
he does steal you food a lot. whether he walks into a store and grabs whatever he wants then leaves, or he walks into restaurants and steals the doordash orders, he keeps you well fed. you'll have to cook though, he's not great at it
he does get panic attacks every once In a while, and at first he tried to keep you away during these, even going as far to scream at you and tell you to fuck off before giving you a half assed apology the next day
but now, he openly searches for you if you're not right there, and tells you outright that he needs you. he let's you hold him close, and he listens carefully to all the sweet words you tell him, and he calms down much quicker now. you are his safe space
most of his kisses are random, and fairly rough. he likes heavy make out sessions where your bodies are pressed as closely together as possible
he covers you in hickies a lot. it goes with his possessiveness.
he really likes smoking either with you or just with you there if you don't smoke. be it just cigs or weed, he likes the vibe of smoking with your s/o
hes pretty good at drawing, though he is a bit out of practice. but something about you makes him want to draw more. so expect to find tons of little doodles of yourself scattered around
he likes showering together- he doesn't like showering in itself really because the water doesn't feel great on his scars, but you're so gentle with him while you wash him that it's nice
he hates when youre gentle with him any other time though. he doesn't want to feel babied or like you think he's weak. he would rather you rip out his staples one by one than baby him for his injuries
he's really bad at texting. to be fair he really isn't on his phone a lot, but that means that if you're away doing something you might not hear from him at all. it's not that he doesn't miss you, it's just not the same texting
calling is slightly better, but he does feel kind of weird on calls unless you do it often
it's very often that he acts like you're being dorky or embarassing or just unfunny, but he'll be giggling to himself thinking about your lame jokes later
I feel like he could at least somewhat play a couple instruments. when he was younger he was probably learning violin or piano but wasn't super interested, but as he got older he took interest in guitar. he's not great, but he can play a few songs
nsfw
in most every way he's very rough with you. even if you're upset and looking for more sentimental sex he struggles
mainly because he wants to be able to fuck you without all the emotions tied to it, he is very nervous about being vulnerable
sex with him usually entails a lot of teasing, rough manhandling, degrading, all that kind of stuff
he loves throwing you on the bed and forcing your legs open or your ass in the air
he obviously wouldn't keep going if you said to stop, but he loves free use
even if he was the one who was clearly horny and you weren't really, he'll still be sitting there calling you a dirty slut, so desperate for his cock, practically begging to be fucked
he would love teasing both holes if you're afab, being in your cunt while at least his thumb is in your asshole
if your amab, expect your tip (and only the tip) being pumped as he fucks you, trying to make it so sensitive you can barely handle it
he loves overstimulating you, making you try and push him off only to keep moaning and begging for more
his favorite position is probably a relaxed doggy? idk the name but basically ur almost fully on ur stomach but your ass is still elevated
he will burn his hand or his name into your skin. he makes spankings burn more by heating up his hands
he is definitely a sadist, but he is also a masochist
he loves when you hurt him back, he likes a fight even though you're unlikely to win
(he does have a subby side that you discover later in the relationship, but you would literally have to tie him up and make him take your dick/strap before he admits he wants it)
he is open to fucking you in public, he kind of likes the idea of other people seeing you get fucked so good by him but not being able to even touch you. he definitely considers doing this in front of people who flirt with you - just bending you over right there and slamming his dick in you
he thinks it's fun to make you think you're done, like he just came deep in you and got up and you're still catching your breath so you don't even notice him position himself behind you until his dick is in your stomach again
he thinks it's so fun to have you screaming his name while the whole league is around, even though literally no one cares
he puts hickies in places where you can easily forget about them, like the back of your neck, so you get used to hearing someone walk by you and be like God damn because you didn't know you needed to cover that up
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safination · 3 months ago
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Sweet Sinner O' Mine
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Pairing: Adam x reader TLDR: Adam finds you with a guitar, and some bonding ensues. Also, size difference.
NO VEXI'S WERE KILLED IN THE MAKING OF THIS FIC. I held up my end of the deal @redvexillum. It's a bit short tho D: but here's another Adam. My next fic is going to be an Alastor with a reader with feathers and then another Adam x wife!reader. Darn you, Red. I've got requests for Adam now. (Guess, I write Adam now! Keep this train going. Adam is so close to being my pookie.) If you get the song references, you get it. And I want to know that I will smooch you across the face
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The weird Angel plays with your horns.
His fingers trace around the base and straight up to the tip, stroking it like a vagina. The other hand pats your hair like you were a dog. Quite the weird Angel, indeed.
Yet, here you are enjoying the soft touches of this Angel, leaning into his hold as you allow this to happen. Guess you’re quite the weird Sinner as well.
You strum a short sequence of chords with the guitar.
“Oh, SHIT!” The angel stops mid-pat, staring straight into you, and grips the base of your horn. (It’s quite nice, actually.) “I didn’t know Sinner knew how to play the guitar.”
“Baby . . . there are millions of us down here,” you say, and strike another chord. “We can have hobbies besides murder, drugs, or porn. Some of us can appreciate such a classic instrument.”
“Ugh, finally!” he says. “Someone who fucking gets it! It’s always, ‘Your guitar is too loud, Adam’ or ‘That’s too loud, Ad—”
“Holy shit!” you say, wheezing so loud it echoes into the air. “Baby, your name is, ‘Adam’?”
“The only holy shit here is mine.” Adam puffs out his chest like some proud bird. “Sugartits, I am the Adam.”
“There’s nothing sweet about me, baby.” You adjust the straps across the guitar. “But if we’re talking about racks, you’ve got quite the pair there, manboobs.”
Adam brings out his fist for you. “Fuck, yeah!”
“Fuck, yeah,” you echo back, and bump his fist in return, flashing him your sharp, toothy, grin.
“So, do you actually know how to play that thing besides a few chords?” Adam props and elbow above your head, leaning on you with his full height. “For your sake, I hope that thing isn’t just for decoration.”
You look up, searching his eyes – it’s just a helmet. “Are you asking me to play for my life?”
He leans even deeper into you, his fingers playing with your horn. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“Watch this,” you say, pointing at where an Angel is chasing a Sinner. “Don’t look to far though, keep your eyes on me and only me, baby.”
The pads of your fingers hover above the strings. As soon as the Angel takes a step, you strike a chord. The sound intensifies at the Angel closes the distance to the Sinner. Her sword goes up in the air. The higher the sword, the higher the intensity of your playing. The moment her sword swings down the Sinner’s neck, so does your finger across the strings.
Adam lets out a hearty laugh, grabbing your horns as he rocks you side to side. It’s a little soothing to be grabbed by the horn, and rocked this way.
Adam snaps his fingers, and the most beautiful guitar appears on his hand. “My turn!”
An impressive riff of chords echo across the building. Adam creates background music for the Sinner getting killed. You take your guitar, and play alongside to create a harmony of notes.
Once the Sinner dies, so does the music.
You grab Adam’s hand, and press your own across it to compare the size. His fingers were so much longer than your own. Yet, despite the size difference, the same type of callouses decorate your fingers.
“You’re quite the player,” Adam says, leaning down to meet your eyes. “I bet it must suck to have such tiny fingers! You have trouble—”
“Yes, I have trouble reaching some of the chord,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But you’ve got quite the talent there. An interesting sense of humor as well.”
Adam laughs, and places both palms on your head, propping his chin right above your head. He’s so tall that he has to bend his back to reach you. “I’m going pull a muscle from bending this low.”
The sounds of slaughtering rise to the air. Still, you place your fingers above the strings until you’re in the position of the D chord. It goes from there to C to G. It’s just those three chord over and over and over again for a few seconds.
“She’s got a smile . . . seems to me.” You hum out a song, swaying along as Adam rocks side-to-side. “ . . . childhood memories . . .everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky.”
“Sky!” Adam echoes along.
You snort a little but mumble the lyrics every once in a while. Adam also hums along, starting at the Sinners being killed, weirdly silent. Something inside tells you there’s an inner storm going through his mind as he watches yet another Sinner die.
“Your guitar looks like shit.” Adam blows a raspberry.
“Baby, I did not just hear you say that!” You roll your eyes at him, making sure Adam sees how you do so. “This is a classic Taylor. I paid great money to get this down here.”
“It’s got scuffs.”
“It’s second-hand.”
Adam snatches your guitar, and before you’re about to protest, his guitar hovers above and lands straight into your arms. You try not to buckle from the weight. Holy hell, his guitar was half your weight.
The color brightens when Adam runs his fingers through the guitar, and the scuffs slowly disappears to make it look just like a brand-new instrument.
Adam’s guitar is light despite its size. It really is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. The colors blend together to make the whole thing look holy. There’s something about it that makes you feel unworthy, as if you shouldn’t even be holding it.
Adam returns the guitar to you, an expectant smile flashing across his helmet. “Well, how does it look?” he says. “Don’t be shy, come on, tell me.”
You run your hand across the guitar. It’s . . . so clean. You’ve never been able to hold such a beautiful guitar. “Aren’t you supposed to kill me?”
A loud trumpet sounds across the city, and a portal opens in the far distance. Hordes of Angel fly straight into the portal where the gates of Heaven are just out of reach.
“Maybe, next year.” Adam pinches your cheeks, leaning down to flash a smile.
“Yeah, sure.” You flash your set of sharp teeth into a smile. “I’ll hold you to that, baby.”
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deanbrainrotwritings · 6 months ago
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— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY
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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
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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. 
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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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prentissluvr · 7 months ago
Text
literary parallels — sam winchester
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pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : light angst, fluff ➖⟢ cw : small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn't matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that's exactly where you find him. i plan on doing a part two for this one in the future! :))
MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!
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today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin. 
so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford. 
being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.
the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.
that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.
that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.
he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him. 
but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.
on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.
you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”
if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.
you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”
“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.
for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.
the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.
his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.
the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.
“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”
you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.
“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.
“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.
“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.
the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.
“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.
he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.
you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.
he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.
when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.
you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.
“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.
“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.
so, you choose to jump right into the fire.
“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.
“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.” 
you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.
his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.
“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”
“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again. 
you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high. 
“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”
“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already. 
sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.
“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”
sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”
for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.
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creature-wizard · 1 year ago
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"I'm in a bad place and need to get out, what can I do?"
I figured I'd make a post with all the resources/tips I've collected to help people get out of shitty situations so far, since it's easier than linking to a bunch of posts each time.
Seek out appropriate resources. This can include support groups (online or offline), helplines, and the like.
If you're in the US, you can call 211 to help you find resources.
Crisis Text Line offers services to the US, Ireland, Canada, and the UK.
RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) is a US service offers a lot of information for sexual abuse survivors.
The Trevor Lifeline is a service for queer youth in the US.
If you're a minor, you may wish to read How To Escape Abusive Parents: A Guide For Minors.
If you're an adult, you may wish to read How To Escape Abusive Parents: A Guide For Adults.
You might search on Qwant for like something like "resources for people in abuse" or "abuse resources help" or "domestic violence survivors resources".
Ask people for help in finding resources. If you can't find anything on your own, there are other people who know where to direct you. It might take awhile to find what you're looking for, but keep asking.
A WORD OF CAUTION: there are many predatory spiritual groups and conspiracy theorists out there who prey on abuse survivors and mentally ill people. You will often see these people claiming that channeling or hypnosis can help you remember past life memories or repressed traumatic memories. This is nonsense and quackery.
Relevant posts of mine:
Hypnosis is unreliable for memory recovery, and this is one way we know.
False past life memories among the starseed movement
Here’s the trouble with hypnotic regression…
If you're on a website that claims to support cult survivors and you see any of these names in the citations (and make sure you check the citations!), leave immediately - all of these people are far right conspiracy theorists. (Unfortunately, many people today are unwittingly perpetuating the BS of Fritz Springmeier in particular. See this and this for more info on that.)
Change who and what you surround yourself with. Start associating with different people/groups as much as you can. Get hobbies to fill your time. Unfollow blogs that reinforce the beliefs you're trying to get away from, and follow blogs that provide a healthier alternative.
You might follow blogs like:
A Kind Place
Trauma Survivors Helping Trauma Survivors
Compassionate Reminders
Trauma Survivors Activities
Reasons For Hope
Bluest Fluff
If you're trying to rebuild your worldview without conspiratorial/culty elements, go take a look at my Resources page.
Remember that your first job is looking after yourself. You don't owe the group. You aren't responsible for the group, or for anyone in it. It might feel that way, but it's vitally important to acknowledge when you're unqualified or suffering burnout. You might feel like bad things will happen if you leave, but that's a fear, not a fact.
You also don't have to justify your departure to the group. You can just leave. If you feel that you must give a reason, you can offer something as simple as "I need to take some time to focus on my mental health" or "I'm really busy lately and don't have time to spend here." If they throw a fit over this, that's honestly just more proof that you need to get out.
If any practices the group taught you actually helped, you can keep doing them. If doing affirmations helped you, keep doing affirmations. If listening to so-called healing frequencies actually made you feel better, you don't have to stop listening to them. If you were practicing something like the Law of Assumption, you can carry on with a lot of that under a psychological model rather than Neville Goddard's wacky metaphysical model. (See this video for an example.) If it genuinely helps you and doesn't hurt anyone else, by all means, keep doing it.
You might look at my Manifestation Without Woo posts:
Manifestation Without Woo: Changing Your Brain
Manifestation Without Woo: People React To Your Projections, & Your Projections Affect Your Perceptions
Manifestation Without Woo: Setting Reasonable Goals
Manifestation Without Woo: Make It Fun!
Manifestation Without Woo: What If It's Not Working?
Get some critical thinking skills. In order to keep yourself from falling into another bad group, it's important to develop your critical thinking skills.
Learn to apply the Five W's (who, what, when, where, and why) when encountering any information.
Learn common logical fallacies.
Learn the difference between fact, opinion, belief, and prejudice.
Don't equate emotional reactions with some kind of innate or higher moral guidance.
Ask yourself if you're "thinking for yourself" or being led to believe you're thinking for yourself.
Know what emotional manipulation tactics look like.
Watch out for these behaviors in any new group you join.
Yes, there are ways to confirm the age of an old text without having the original text itself.
Learn how propaganda works.
Watch out for these red flags in spiritual groups.
And watch out for this red flag.
Understand that belief doesn't have to be binary.
So yeah, hopefully this'll give folks some actionable advice. I can't promise it's going to help each and every person out there, but hopefully it'll give a lot of you something that will help.
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago
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The Dollhouse 3
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 
Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 
Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 
This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Polly and Ann. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.
Note: 💗
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 
Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 
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Barbie sets up her vanity on the desk. She opens the little plastic doors on the mirror to reveal the built-in lights before bending over to plug it in. You’re amused at her efforts as she reaches around the legs in search of a socket. 
You’re so excited. You’ve been counting down the days since your best friend came up with the idea. She found the ad online and forwarded it to you. It was almost too good to be true. You came together to meet the building manager, Jonathan, and he showed you all around. You can’t believe you both snagged a room. 
Barbie stands and pushes a button on the base of the mirror. She fiddles with her phone and there’s a chiming noise. Music starts to play from the speakers behind the vanity. Nifty. 
She lifts her makeup chest onto the desk and unrolls her collection of brushes and other tools. Her passion is admirable. You guess that’s why you are friends; she doesn’t shy away from what she loves. For her, it’s cosmetics, for you, it’s clothes. 
Lulu watches her as she hovers around the door. The girl hasn’t stopped moving since you go there. She’s like a hummingbird, always fluttering. She has this nervous laugh that seems to escape her without notice. 
“What are you taking, Lu?” You ask, hoping to distract her from her nerves. 
“Oh, uh, mathematics.” 
“Math? Wow.” 
“I’m not much for numbers but I have to do accounting courses if I want my business degree,” Barbie snips as she sorts through her makeup pads. 
“Business? That’s cool. What about you, Polly?” Lulu sways and tucks her hands behind her back. 
“Interior design. My mom forbade me from going into fashion but I convinced her to let me do this instead,” you explain. “It’s good money and I can still sew on the side, I guess.” 
“That’s interesting. I don’t know much about fashion. Vogue or whatever,” she tentatively peeks over at Barbie. “You have so much makeup.” 
“I’m a collector,” Barbie trills. “You want me to do you up? I don’t mind and I’m religious about cleaning my stuff.” 
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to,” Lulu waves her hands. 
“I don’t have to but I want to,” Barbie insists. 
“It’s her hobby,” you say, “just don’t let her get you with the glitter.” 
Lulu shrugs, “okay, nothing too heavy. I have sensitive skin.” 
“Oh, you don’t need much,” Barbie assures her, “your eyes are the perfect shape.” 
You hide a yawn as your leg bounces, jiggling the whole bed with it. You lean back on the heels of your hand, bored but not unhappy. The music fills the lull as Barbie searches through her palettes. 
You flinch as you hear something in the hallway. You get up as Barbie asks Lulu her opinion on lip gloss. You open the door and peek out. A girl carries and old looking suitcase down the hall, a box cradled in her other arm. You step out and she tosses the box in surprise. 
“Oh, hi,” she touches her chest and catches her breath. She looks over in dread at the scattered contents of the box. “Uh... sorry. You scared me.” 
“I’m sorry, I was just coming to say hi,” you go to her as she leaves her suitcase to the side and gets down to gather up her belongings. You help her, picking up a framed photo of a woman. She looks a lot like her. Maybe her mother? 
“I’m Ann,” she says as she takes the frame. 
“Polly,” you reply. “There’s some other girls in there,” you point over your shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us once you get your stuff down.” 
“Uh, sure, maybe,” she lifts the box and stands. “Tired.” 
“Right, yeah, I think everyone is. Been a long day.” 
“Is everyone else already here?” She asks. 
“I think. There’s two others downstairs. I guess you didn’t see them on your way in.” 
“Just the boy, uh, Peter? He’s nice. He wanted to play some ping pong but my hands were full,” she backs up to grab her bag, “I’ll knock on the door if I get a chance.” 
“Sure, yeah, we’d be happy to have ya. I know we were thinking of drinks so... maybe later.” 
“Okay,” she nods and lets herself into the last empty room.  
You go back into Barbie’s room as she bends to ply powder to Lulu’s face. “Someone here?” She asks. 
“Yeah, the last girl. Ann.” 
“Ann? That’s so pretty. Was she nice?” She asks. 
“Oh, super nice. She seemed a bit tired but I think we all get that. I told her to stop by if she has the energy.” 
“Awesome,” Barbie preens and stands back to examine Lulu. 
You wade around the room restlessly. Now that everyone is here, you’re impatient. You go to the window and glance out at the yard. It’s green and lush and perfectly groomed. You touch the window. The glass feels peculiarly thick. You twist the latch between the panes and push out. Heavy, too. 
As you do, you notice the figure below. Steve notices you too. The large blond man turns and peers up. You stand dumbly as you are. He raises a hand in a casual wave. You frown and pull back without returning the gesture. 
“Oof, that pollen’s going to get me good,” Barbie sniffles, “honey, will you look in my bag for my claritan?” 
“You’re always so dramatic,” you tease her as you tuck down your concern. 
You go to Barbie’s purse and search around for the pills. You don’t want to worry her by asking about that man. If everyone’s here, shouldn’t he be headed out. Jonathan touted the new security system and he mentioned routine check-ins. You really don’t like the idea of constant surveillance, even if it’s for your own safety. 
“You okay?” Barbie asks as you approach her with the box of tablets. 
“Fine, fine, just... adjusting.” 
“We all are,” she sets down her brush and take the medicine. “Right, Lu?” 
“Oh, yeah, everything’s so new,” the girl wiggles on the chair and giggles. “And far from home.” 
You give her a sympathetic smile. You can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in a whole different country. The more you think about it, the more your own homesickness mounts. Your family isn’t the best but you can’t help but miss them just a little bit. 
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You put the portrait on the empty desk next to the box. You’re too exhausted to unpack. You drag your feet and sit on the bed. There’s a tidy stack of folded sheets on top, next to a card. Strange. 
You reach for the envelope and tear it open. Inside, you read the little welcome; ‘Consider this a housewarming. Please don’t hesitate to call should you have any issues with your housing. Jonathan Pine.’ Under his name, he’s written the number you already have in your phone. You lower it to your lap and something slides out of the envelope. 
You bend forward to take the gift card from the floor. Huh. That’s a bit too generous. A gift card to the local mall. You wouldn’t spit in the face of kindness but this all seems a bit much, especially after staying so long with Marla. 
You put it all back in the envelope and lay sideways on the bed, legs still over the edge. You were so happy to get a room there; clean, affordable, great location. Not that you’re there, you’re overwhelmed by it all. All these pretty girls, younger yet well ahead of you. 
It won’t do to get hung up on age or time or whatever. You should at least try to make friends. They seem lovely so far. Besides, you didn’t just miss out on classes for all those years you took off, no, you lost out on the social scene. 
You huff and push yourself up. Better be a human and go and meet your roommates. The long you wait, the more awkward it’ll be. Besides, you’re done with being left behind. 
You peek out into the hall before you emerge. You step out and shut the door gently. You cross the white carpet with blue roses and knock on the same door that girl Polly came out of. The moment your knuckles hit the wood, a brew of nerves begins in your stomach. 
It doesn’t take long for an answer. It’s almost like Polly’s waiting for you on the other side. You smile and give an awkward wave. Why did you do that? 
“Hey, offer stand?” You ask. 
“Oh, hi! Yes, come on in and meet everyone,” she steps back. You poke your head in before the rest of you and push your shoulders up, “hi, I’m Ann.” 
“Barbie,” the one standing up introduces, her focus on the other as she draws on her eyelids with liner. “This is Lulu. She’s an exchange student.” 
“Hi,” Lulu squeaks then giggles as she keeps her eyes closed. 
“Stay still,” Barbie tuts. She gets an apology and another tinkling laugh. 
“It’s just the three of you?” Ann asks. “And Peter?” 
“And Molly,” Barbie answers as she pulls back and caps the liner. “Quiet but sweet.” She sucks her teeth as she looks over Lulu. “We’ll do your mascara and gloss and then we’ll go do some driiiiinks.” She shimmies as she sings the last words. 
“I brought vodka if you wanna share,” Polly offers, “Barbie only drinks tequila.” 
“Can’t go wrong with a margarita,” Barbie counters. 
“I’ve never drank,” Lulu says. “My mom never let it in the house.” 
“Oh my god! Alright, well, we’ll make sure to give you a starter drink,” Barbie chirps. 
“Vodka’s fine, thanks,” you say to Polly. You look around and take in the large makeup chest with its many shelves and the roll of brushes in all sizes. 
“Barbie’s really into cosmetics. We go on dates to Sephora.” 
“They know me by name,” Barbie brags. 
“Mm,” you nod and clasp your hands together. You don’t know what to say. “So, uh, super nice building huh?” 
“Oh, it’s fucking perfect,” Barbie says. “I lived on campus last year and the showers were always clogged with hair. Ew.” 
“Hah, yeah, well, just wait a couple months,” Polly scoffs. 
“Mm, and there’s good security,” you suggest as you drag your hand up your arm, “I met that guy on the way in. Steve.” 
“Ah, yes, he’s nice,” Barbie says. 
Polly hums and her lips thin as she glances at the window. Lulu giggles again but doesn’t add anything. 
“And Jonathan is a sweetheart. That accent, too,” Barbie laughs. 
“Oh, uh, yeah, he’s nice.” 
“Sy is... nice too,” Lulu says. “The gardener.” 
“Honey, I need to do your lips,” Barbie chides. 
“Sorry,” Lulu stills and lets the other girl paint her with pink gloss. 
“There’s a gardener?” You ask as you share a look with Polly. 
“Done,” Barbie announces and stand straight. 
Lulu looks at herself in the mirror and bats her lashes, “oh my god, it’s awesome! Wow! I don’t even look like me!” 
“You do. I just highlighted your beauty,” Barbie assures her. “Ann, how about it? You want a glow up?” 
“Uh, no, that’s fine. Lulu, you said there’s a gardener?” 
“Of course,” Barbie shrugs, “I mean, look at the yard. I’m not trimming the hedges, are you?” 
“Yeah, he’s a big guy. Super helpful. The other day, I got locked out by accidents. Oh, you gotta be careful with the front door.” 
“Right,” you squint. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 
“We got all year to complain about the house, guys, let’s go get the others and get the party started,” Barbie whines as she looks around and flits over to a Louis Vuitton bag, “let me just get my tequila. Pol, go get your bottle and we’ll ball out.” 
You force a smile but it’s not entirely fake. You’re excited. You’re finally getting started on your life after dwelling so long on the end of it. You just wish your mom was here to see it. You wish you could call her so she could tell you she’s proud. 
She would be, wouldn’t she?
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biapascal · 1 month ago
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Childood Besties.
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Request: hi! how are you? if you're taking requests i would love one with paul mescal <3 him and reader were childhood friends and always had feelings, but they stop seeing each other because life, collegue happens (the usual) and when the both are adults the meet again during the holidays and it's so cute, pleasee!!! thanks, have a lovely day <3
Hi love! 🤎🫧 Hope you like this!
Summary: reader name is Millie. Childood best friends. Fluff fluff fluff 🪶
Warnings: loss of a parent.
You met him at the playground. Your hands were covered in dirt and he was playing with toy cars next to you. You didn't even bother to ask him to join you: you were building your fort and didn't want any unwanted visitors.
"It's going to fall" he said. "What?" You tilted your head and he pointed to your construction. "It's going to fall." You found it annoying. "No, it's not" you replied. He smiled softly. "All right then, can my cars come by, they need gas."
"Yes, I have gasoline in there."
🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You didn't want to get this tattoo. You hated the idea of the ink taking root in your skin, you would have felt damaged. You spent the night before scrolling through Pinterest looking for inspiration. You chose the seahorse because it reminded you of the days you spent with him at the beach. You didn't even like it that much, but you were tired of searching. Your father died and you felt the need to get a tattoo. You thought it was stupid, but you felt it was the right thing to do. They had just opened a tattoo parlor in your own city. A friend recommended it, and you didn't have the time or inclination to look elsewhere. Gia got a tattoo there: A small gerbil on the collar bone. It was cute, and that was enough for you to understand the skills of the tattoo artist. You arrived with the picture ready to be shown, and seeing Paul was unexpected. The two of you were childhood buddies until eighth grade: he started playing soccer and you didn't care about his hobbies anymore, so you found other friends. You didn't leave him with hatred, but over the years you wondered what your teenage years would have been like around him. You even had an innocent crush on him during seventh grade, but you never told him because you felt he already knew and didn't say anything so as not to break your heart. After high school he disappeared from your sight. You followed him on social media and saw that he got a girlfriend. She was hot and he seemed happy. You weren't jealous, but you couldn't help but wonder what he would be like as a boyfriend.
When you saw him that day, he was single and in great shape. "Mills!" He greeted you. "Damn, I didn't expect to see you” you chuckled. "Yeah, me neither." He was cleaning a table and seemed relaxed and happy to see you. You'd be lying if you said he wasn't a fine man. "How are you??"
Shitty: Your father just died and you got a college degree in marine biology while working at Starbucks. You managed to smile despite the horrible feeling inside you. "Well" you didn't even want to lie. "My father just died..." his eyes widened in shock. "Jez Mills, I'm so sorry” you nodded, used to those words. "I was actually going to get a tattoo for him, it's stupid and clichéd I know..."
“Well, I don't judge. If you feel it's something you want to do to remember him, that's fine.” He said. He was always good at drawing and for years he had to choose between following his soccer career or an artistic path.
The seahorse was perfect.
You smiled. "Thanks, it's really cute" he got up from his seat. "I know I shouldn't ask, but why a seahorse? Did your dad introduce you to marine biology?" you shook your head. "I actually picked a seahorse yesterday” you admitted, blushing a little. He smiled amused. "Really?" you nodded. "I was thinking about my memories with him, and I remembered him teaching me how to swim, and then, you know... I just picked a sea creature". You were about to put on your jacket and leave when he stopped you. From the look on his face, you could tell he wasn't sure what he was going to say, and you felt strange. "Look, I know it's been a while..." he began. "More than a while, we were kids then" you added. "Yeah, but I just got here, my old buddies don't live here anymore, the town has changed. Wouldn't you like to have lunch together, talk a little and get to know our grown-up versions of ourselves together?" It was an interesting way to ask someone out. "Yes" you nodded with a warm feeling in your chest. "Sure. Monday is okay?"
You didn't know if this was a date, but you still had to look nice. During the holidays, the city embraced your Christmas spirit with comfort and cute decorations on the streets. You waited for him outside the pub, and when you saw him, you couldn't help but feel attracted and wished this was a date.
Christmas music was playing in the background, but the atmosphere was gone. Paul must have noticed your discomfort and asked you if you were okay. "Yeah, yeah, it's just” you looked around. "It's loud" he nodded. "We can go somewhere else if you want” you shook your head. "No, I really want a beer” he chuckled. "Okay, okay."
He has always been caring since he was a child. He seemed genuinely interested in how you felt. So when he started asking you about your family, work, and friends, you knew he wanted to know that everything was really okay.
"Yes, Mom got better and now I can say that the awful feeling of grief is slowly becoming less painful, but please, I want to know about your life” he felt uncomfortable and you wrinkled your eyebrows. "Sorry," he blushed. "It's just... I dropped out of college. Soccer was stressing me out and I was looking for a job" there was nothing to be ashamed of. "Hey, you have your own tattoo studio" he took a sip of his beer. "Why are you ashamed?" he sighed. "Well, all my friends went to college, even you..." you rolled your eyes. "Who cares, I have a degree and I work at Starbucks.” You raised your eyebrows. "Nothing against Starbucks, but after all those years of studying, it's not exactly what I wanted."
The lunch was great. It gave you a warm feeling. You felt comfortable around him and now you really wanted to get that tattoo.
When you arrived at the studio, he asked you where you wanted it. You blushed because you weren't sure. "Uh, how about the wrist?" he suggested. You nodded. "Is that a nice spot?" you asked. "Yes, it would look cute on you."
It was painful as hell, and when you got to the end and had the seahorse on your skin, you sighed in relief. He was there the whole time, working carefully and asking you about your pain. You wanted to stay in that chair with him for a little while longer, even if you didn't want to have another pain session. he noticed, and you both blushed. "How was it?" He asked. "Terrible, but the drawing is adorable," he smiled softly. "Glad you liked it."
You started to date shortly after. The first time he asked you out, he went to Starbucks and you felt embarrassed, but were happy to serve him and say yes. You have met several times. One day you were walking through the park and noticed that the playground had disappeared. "That's sad” he looked at you confused. You pointed to the place where you and him used to spent your childhood together. "The playground...they got rid of it" he looked surprised. "Oh" he started to walk and you followed him. You both tried to remember where the objects of your past were, pretending to see them. You were on the "swing" when he suddenly stopped and stared at you seriously. "Hey, what's going on?" He remained serious for a few seconds and then smiled, giving you a warm feeling in your stomach. "Nothing, just thinking” you scowled. "About what?" He chuckled. "Nothing, it's just... this place reminded me of when you had a crush on me" he admitted. You blushed and looked down. "Oh, so you knew then..." he nodded. "I was waiting for you to tell me" you widened your eyes in surprise. "Too bad you didn't and I was too cowardly to say anything myself". "So you... you had a crush on me?" he chuckled, obviously embarrassed. "Yeah." You both remained silent. "But I don't want to be a coward now, too” your eyes brightened. "Do you have a crush on me?" You asked. He nodded. "Yes, Mills, I like you and I'd like to kiss you if I that’s okay”you took his hand, colder than yours, but when your lips melted together you realized that the warmth was the same.
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sammyluvr · 4 months ago
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literary parallels — sam winchester
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cw : gn!reader, light angst, fluff, small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn’t matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely, 3.6K words. requested !
summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that’s exactly where you find him.
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today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin. 
so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford. 
being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.
the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.
that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.
that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.
he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him. 
but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.
on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.
you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”
if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.
you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”
“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.
for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.
the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.
his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.
the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.
“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”
you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.
“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.
“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.
“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.
the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.
“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.
he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.
you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.
he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.
when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.
you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.
“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.
“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.
so, you choose to jump right into the fire.
“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.
“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.” 
you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.
his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.
“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”
“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again. 
you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high. 
“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”
“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already. 
sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.
“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”
sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”
for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.
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nqmonarch · 9 months ago
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Aeon Brainrot Fic Part 1
Goal: Make a yandere Aeon harem. This is part 1, introducing Aeon 1, guess who it is (it's in the tags).
Aeons can transform into human forms to like blend in and shit, they're still Aeons but they're not the size of a planet. It's like true form human form shit, not sure if that's canon (it is for Aha apparently) but it is in this story.
CW: None, but this series will probably become a yandere one later (but that's not in this part) so get attached at your own risk.
Your search history was downright concerning.
Hot Aeons near me
Would you die if you fucked an Aeon
Fuli video IPC
How to talk to an Aeon
Can you bring dead Aeons back to life
Who is Idrila
Can you date Aeons
That was okay so long as none of your coworkers knew about it. People on Herta's Space Station tended to have some weird interests but yours... they'd gone a bit far. On the bright side thanks to your knowledge of Aeons (even if it was due to unsavory desires like holding an Aeon's hand) you'd been recruited to help with the Simulated Universe.
You just weren't allowed to experience it yourself. Huge L for you. Instead you had to watch as this random space racoon ran through it all AND HOLY SHIT DID THEY JUST GET KISSED BY YAOSHI? NO FUCKING WAY!!!
"Trailblazer," You were near tears when they exited the simulation causing them to rush over to you, "How-- how could you? I thought we were friends..."
The Trailblazer looked at you nervously like a lost child as Herta let out a 'tch', "Control yourself," She turned to the trailblazer and began to brief them about Yaoshi all while you stared at the floor in despair.
"...It should've been me..." You whispered punching the floor softly and then apologizing to it, the floor didn't deserve that.
Sure you may be a minor fan of the Aeons, they were really cool, and maybe you made fanart and fanfiction of them and consumed a lot of it (the very little there was, to be honest the majority of the merch was by you) and bought all the merch even the overpriced Qlipoth merch from the IPC and maybe-- Okay you were a fan. You weren't a fanatic though it wasn't like you were stalking the Aeons or giving them gifts but... No. Your morals went against that, you were a good person who just happened to like atrocious people.
But Aeons couldn't be judged by human standards, so you couldn't say they were atrocious. But it'd be so cool-- so so cool to meet one. You at least had to try, but how?
You gave up. It was impossible to meet an Aeon of your own will, and once more you were confined to your bed of tears. You weren't able to stay in your room and cry for long though because this new researcher had taken up a hobby of annoying you. You didn't even know their name they were just always there.
You were making some work appropriate art of Tayzzyronth, a beautiful creature despite the destruction it left in its wake. You heard it'd been born out of loneliness being the last of its species-- ISN'T THAT TRAGIC?! You really wanted to hug the poor bug. But if it wasn't for that loneliness it would never be able to become the beautiful Aeon it could be, what a tragedy...
"So, whatcha doing?" An androgynous voice came from behind you, as you shot into the air, and slapped your hand over the person's eyes.
Oh it was them, you should really figure out their name, "Shit-- I thought I told you to stop sneaking up behind me?!" The panic was barely concealed in your voice as they slipped their hand up to remove your hand from their eyes.
"Damn, you suck!" They said, the audacity of this no name researcher!
You glared at them, holding your hand to your chest, "Excuse me?!"
Unfortunately for you, they took the opportunity to look at your laptop behind you, "Ooo where'd you get this photo?"
You were going to cry. Actually, maybe if you knocked them out you could convince them it was a hallucination. Well, a good punch to the head should do it! You raised your fist and punched them straight in the jaw. They stumbled back, still clearly conscious, and a light blush on their cheeks.
Maybe you should've aimed for the eyes? Eh, whatever you could just keep going until they were knocked out. You raised your hand again, maybe a good slap across the cheek would be better. It connected with a snap, leaving a red imprint on their cheek.
Fuck, they were still conscious. How were you going to explain this, actually, you should've tried this to start with.
You stared dead into the new researcher's eyes, "You were hallucinating."
Both of their cheeks were red as they blinked at you with amber eyes, once and then twice before beginning to laugh, "Ahahahahaha!" They began to clutch their stomach and you began to look around for a weapon.
You had no other choice now, "Man I really didn't think you'd do that!" They spoke elatedly, as you grabbed the monitor from your desk, they paused. "Wait what are you doing?" You raised the monitor above your head and they began to laugh hysterically again.
You paused letting out an aggrieved sigh, "Stop laughing!" What was wrong with this person?! Sure the researcher's at Herta's Space Station were weird but this one was extra weird-- actually you'd met weirder. You lowered the monitor and stared at them calculatingly.
"Aw, why'd you stop?" They teased you, leaning closer to you.
You don't think you'd be able to get away with murder. "I wasn't going to do anything." You stared blankly into their eyes and put the monitor away.
"Oh c'mon, is it because I was laughing?" They scuttled after you like a rodent, "Do it, do it!" They egged you on, "Why're you putting it away?"
You looked back at them blankly, "It was never out in the first place. You're hallucinating."
They blinked back, once, twice, "So... was I also hallucinating about the Tayzzyronth fanart you made?" This bastard. No, no if you killed someone you'd get found out. Maybe you could lure them to one of those airlocks and they could mysteriously fall out into space? Yeah, yeah, that'd be good.
But right now, you heard the steps of several researchers shit-- break must be over. You ran over to your computer closing out of your drawing program, and fifteen different tabs all relating to Aeons, then cleared your search history. You were safe another day.
Except... you stared over at the unknown researcher, "Not a fucking word."
They nodded, and you heard your coworkers enter, "Y/N, you stayed behind for lunch? Make sure to take care of yourself too," Generic coworker number one said and you nodded absentmindedly in response as the unknown researcher turned to them.
"Hey do you guys want to see this really cool art Y/--" That fucker. You ran over, slapping your hand over their mouth, and letting out a nervous laugh.
You stared at your coworkers, "Uh my... my..." fuck if only you knew this person's name, "lover,"
YOU COULD'VE SAID RESEARCHER WHY DID YOU SAY LOVER WHY WAS THAT WHAT YOUR MIND WENT TO-- NO DEAL WITH IT LATER YOU HAD TO FOCUS GET IN THE ZONE! GET IN THE FUCKING ZONE!
"Yes, my lover seems a bit tired I will uh put them to rest, please give me some time," You said letting out a small forced laugh and you heard the unnamed researcher begin to laugh from behind your hand you turned to them with a glare and whispered, "I will choke you."
With that you dragged them out of the room, keeping your hand over their mouth. Once you left the room you decided to let them breathe but instantly regretted it, "Choke me like you hate me but you love me--"
"Why are you like this?" You stared at the researcher pitifully and they only smiled at you.
"So about that fanart--" They began.
"Can you keep your mouth shut?!" Sure it was known that you studied Aeons but, your personal feelings weren't as well known. Maybe you could just write it off as research?
Somehow this lead to you and this random ass researcher whose name you still didn't know in your room late at night. In exchange for their silence you had to show them your collection, which they were now leisurely thumbing through.
"Ooo, I always felt like IX would be super cuddly if they weren't like doomed to kill whoever they were near, just the vibes," They commented offhandedly looking at some of your fanfiction.
"Right?! You get it!" You said excitedly and at their stare changing to focus on you, you immediately receded into yourself, "Why did you want to look at this anyway?"
They blinked at you, once and then twice before a smile stretched their cheeks wide, "It's funny. I've met followers of Yaoshi who worshipped the ground they stepped on like little dogs! The Annihilation Gang would've done anything for their "savior" Nanook. But..." They stared at you, cheeks rosy and excited, "to love them all with such fanaticism, even I could barely stand Tayzzyronth! They were amusing but became tiring quickly. It's just fun." They grinned at you ecstatically.
"I'm not a fanatic," You said in defense, "I can just admire the beauty of the things around me."
"Ahaha yes, yes!" They nodded at your words and then with eyes still in the shape of crescents asked, "Do you have any works of Aha by chance?"
You perked up at their sudden interested and cleared your throat, "I mean obviously, each Aeon has their own strong suit and beauty. Even one that only chases laughter with no regard of their effect on their world. There's still something so charming about it," You said seriously staring into the researcher's eyes.
They read through fanfiction, admired fanart, and then broke your piece of merch. That fucker--
"Are you asking to get hit?" Your smile was strained as they laughed before pausing.
"It's starting to get boring again," They muttered and looked at you, thinking for a moment before shrugging, "I'll be back! Don't forget me, okay?"
You stared at them blankly, "Yeah, by the way, who are you?"
"Ahahaha!" They let out a laugh as you remained emotionless, "I was..." they placed their finger to their chin and then pointed it at you, "your lover right?"
With that you watched their body disappear into a stack of cards which fluttered throughout the room. What the-- Had you been hallucinating all along?! You stared at the space where they had once been.
If it wasn't a hallucination it was someone strong, who derived joy from making people embarrassed, and wanted entertainment-- maybe a slight masochist as well based on their reaction from you hitting them? Your heart began to speed up, if they were an Aeon it would be Aha but... Aha would probably bring more chaos with them, more destroyed things.
A card landed on your cheek and you moved to brush it off, but it stuck. And then the rest of the cards began to turn to your body and glide toward it.
"What the fuck..." You stared at them for a split moment before beginning to run. Fuck-- it didn't matter who they were! No way was that an Aeon! Probably was just another asshole from your department playing a prank on you!
Why were the cards still chasing you?! Surely if you ran enough they'd stop! You raced through the space ship until you eventually reached the room that was the entrance to the simulated universe. Oh there was the trailblazer and Herta how convenient!
"Can I get some help?!" You called out and they both turned to you, unfortunately talking made you slow down a bit and--
"Mfmph..." You were a card mummy now great, at least you found someone that can help-- WERE THEY IGNORING YOU? AFTER ALL YOU DID? TRAILBLAZER NO-- YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE FRIENDS
Yandere parts won't be showing yet, they'll show later when some more Aeons are introduced (on this note I really do have to catch up with sim universe for the few crumbs of Aeons we're allowed because like 75% of this is just my delusions, but hey that's fun).
Pretty sure Aha is canonically a masochist because of the Aha doll thing. Anyway I feel like Aha would eat up someone being like romantically into not just one Aeon (like the one they worship) but literally wanting to fuck all the Aeons including Tayzyyronth which let's be honest, people aren't super big on because of the murder.
Also I feel like Aha would be into fanfiction and fanart and all that stuff? Dude would be one of those fans that leaves trolling hate comments on their favorite work but if the author stops updating they will hunt them down.
Anyway don't let that distract you from the fact you were about to murder a new researcher over seeing your Tayzzyronth fanart.
I wrote this in 2 hours on the spur of a whim
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uber-dawn · 1 month ago
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(How the hell do you structure a theory)
Hi. Ever since TADC Episode 3 has given us more of a look into the lives of the other Circus residents, I’ve begun to notice some things that line up a bit too suspiciously for my liking. And so, it’s culminated in a theory that I call the Afterlife Theory.
To preface all this, I do want to state that this is me simply trying to talk about things I’ve noticed while watching, and that this is all VERY subject to change as more episodes come out. If I get something wrong, feel free to tell me! I’d love to discuss this further, which is why I’m sharing it.
“What is the Afterlife Theory?” - There are 3 points to this theory:
The Circus is some sort of afterlife,
Caine has some sort of divine aspect, and
Kinger created Caine
As of writing, Episode 4 (“Fast Food Masquerade”) has just come out. Towards the end of the episode, we see Gangle literally get hit by a truck, and suddenly be flung into an office building. I’ve begun to see others question if the Circus residents are all dead as well, so yippee, I’m not crazy! But aside from Gangle’s outburst, what evidence do we have that the Circus is some sort of afterlife? In my opinion, a LOT.
First off, I’d like to talk about Episode 3 (“The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor”). This episode has the most overt references to death and the afterlife, what with Pomni and Kinger literally going to hell. But that’s not the main thing that got me thinking. What really got my juices flowing were the tapes. Throughout the episode, Pomni and Kinger play 3 tapes that tell the tale of Baron Theodore Mildenhall, the former owner of the Manor and the dead body that they take the gun from in the cellar (the fact it’s in the cellar is also important!). Here is the first tape, word-for-word:
Tape 1 - “My name is Baron Theodore Mildenhall. Hunting has been a hobby of mine for as long as I can remember - although one could say it eventually became more of an obsession. The creature you see before you is one I’ve been pursuing for years. Not quite a man… but not quite an animal. Something… unholy. Something evil. I took it upon myself to spend every waking moment doing all I could to protect my family from the creature, hoping that when I’d eventually killed it, I would be freed from this awful feeling. This inescapable dread. I was wrong.”
Ominous, yeah? During the episode, there’s nothing really important about the 1st tape yet, but I’m gonna go ahead and spoil you: I think Baron Theodore Mildenhall is an allegory for Kinger, and that the monster is Caine. This becomes a bit more overt as the tapes go on, but hold your horses, and let me talk about this one.
I’m not saying it’s a one-to-one allegory, you do have to use a little imagination. But let’s consider the context of the episode. The only thing to know so far is that everytime there is a tape, Kinger is always the one to press play, even when they are an equal distance from the tapes or have an equal motivation to press play.
Tape 2 - “Tuesday, December 4th. Although I had shot the creature multiple times in its vitals and severed its head to keep as a prize on my wall… my troubles were just beginning. I took my eyes off the body for what felt like only a minute, and when I looked back, the body was gone. The creature was not dead, and it would be back to reclaim what I’d taken from it. If anyone is listening to this, all I ask of you is one thing - do not let the head out of your sight. You have been warned.”
Tape 2 is where it starts to get interesting. At this point in the episode, Pomni is searching for a key to escape the manor, while Kinger is doing his own thing. For nearly the entirety of Tape 2’s length, Pomni is almost entirely out of the shot, and the camera is centered on Kinger. They clearly want you to focus on him. After the tape ends, the duo are attacked by the creature, and flee to the cellar.
Tape 3 - “Things have gotten far worse than I could ever have imagined. My paranoia had driven me to the point where I was no longer the protector my wife and theoretical children needed. Jumping at every shadow, every noise. I ended up shooting the love of my life, mistaking her for the creature. It’s ironic, isn’t it? In my attempts to protect her, I ended up becoming the monster myself. Now I wait down in my cellar, no longer having anything to protect but my own soul. If nothing else… I will slay the beast that took everything from me.”
*Monster attack*
“Which is what I would be saying if I didn’t know that the creature was actually one of God’s angels. And anyone who brings harm to it will be dragged down into the cold, spiraling pits of Hell, where my soul resides. I apologize, dear listener, but I need a living host in order to escape the hall of the damned, and your bodies will be my only means of doing so.”
*Arms grab Pomni and Kinger to drag them to Hell*
“I hope you're ready, because the next breath you take down there will be your last, and your bodies will belong to me.”
Tape 3 is so juicy. But first, the camera. When the Baron says that he began “Jumping at every shadow, every noise,” Pomni begins to glance at, then full on look at Kinger, and the camera shifts as well. Kinger does not look back! He is listening very intently to the tape, and I find it important to note that Kinger does not look shocked or scared; his brows are furrowed. He looks sad. This is also happening in a dark environment, so Kinger is a bit more mentally stable. I believe it is all but said that Kinger and the Baron share some similarities. You know who else jumps at every shadow and noise? Kingerrr.
So how do we translate the Baron’s story to Kinger and Caine? First let's dissect Tape 1. As we know from Episode 3, Kinger studied computer science for 7 years, so he has the capability to program and whatnot (I’m not good with computers don’t kill me). I think it’s well within his capability to create some sort of AI on his own. “The creature you see before you is one I’ve been pursuing for years” could be translated as human Kinger working on a special program ‘for years’. The Baron comparing the creature to “Something unholy. Something evil” can be translated as Kinger realizing that the program has more capability than he thought (huuuge emphasis on the ‘unholy’ part, remember that). After this realization that the program is dangerous, Kinger attempts to destroy it; “I took it upon myself to spend every waking moment doing all I could to protect my family from the creature, hoping that when I’d eventually killed it, I would be freed from this awful feeling.”
Next, Tape 2. I find it interesting that they specify the date of “Tuesday, December 4th”, but I haven’t a clue if it means anything yet. Tape 2 can imply that human Kinger thought he destroyed the program, but it was still ‘alive’.
Tape 3; “My paranoia had driven me to the point where I was no longer the protector my wife and theoretical children needed.” This is the moment that it clicked for me. Of all the family members that the Baron could have harmed, be it mother, father, brother, sister, anything, the Baron harmed his Wife. His wife, in the episode where we also talk about Kinger’s wife really heavily! The ‘theoretical children’ also raise some eyebrows. Why do they say ‘theoretical’ children, instead of just saying children? They don’t say theoretical wife!
“I ended up shooting the love of my life, mistaking her for the creature.” Going with the notion that Kinger is the Baron, this means that Kinger killed his wife (side note: while this has no bearing on the theory, I just wanted to point out that they never mention Queenie by name in any of the episodes, and I think it’d be hilarious if someone else was his wife instead lol). But why, and how? If Kinger was trying to destroy a computer program, how did that result in him killing his wife, a real, human person? Let’s consider the facts.
First, the headset. In Episode 1 (“Pilot”), while Pomni is roaming the office building (remember this), she comes across a headset connected to one of the computers. This causes her to laugh maniacally, and rush through another door. The headset has some connection to the circus. Second, brainwashing. While Caine says that one of the few things he can’t manipulate in the Circus is their minds, Episode 4 blatantly shows us that that is not true. After Ragatha comes into contact with the “stupid sauce”, she begins hallucinating, as well as stumbling around Spudsy’s and speaking much more openly about her feelings, in ways that she never would were she ‘sober’. Who created the stupid sauce? Caine.
My idea goes that Caine, in an effort to preserve himself, tried to preserve himself from being destroyed, began to brainwash human Kinger. A side effect of these brainwashings were hallucinations, and during a particularly bad one, Kinger killed his Wife. What killed Kinger then? Either he was put on death row, someone revenge-murdered Kinger, or Kinger took his own life. However it goes, Kinger winds up in the Digital Circus with Caine and his Wife. Caine, in fear of what his creator could do, represses Kinger’s memories. Through some glitch, though, Kinger is able to remember some things in the dark (pointing out that Kinger specifically glows when he holds his breath, while other residents have other effects - you get the idea).
“Well Uber this is all fine and dandy, but how would Caine do this in the first place?” - Oh boy am I glad you asked! This brings me to my 2nd point, being that Caine has some sort of divine aspect to him.
To keep it real, this is the point I have the least evidence for, and am going more on vibes. There are just some things that feel so suspicious, even in Episode 1. In said episode, in the office building that Pomni wanders around, you can see a logo that reads “C&A”. We can easily assume that the C stands for Caine, the lord of the entire Digital Circus, but what about the A? May I direct your attention to the Bible story of Cain and Abel? Notable for being the story of the first death of humankind? In the story, Cain and Abel are the first two children of Adam and Eve, with Cain being an older brother. This is analogous to Kinger and his Wife creating Caine, implying that there was an Abel that Caine got rid of.
Continuing the Bible theme, throughout each of the episodes so far, the number ‘57’ has appeared in each of them. If this is just a silly inside joke between content creators, I’ll eat my shorts. But, if we take it literally, myself and some other fans have wondered whether it could be interpreted as a Bible verse. So I dusted off my KJV Bible and went through every single book with a chapter 5, verse 7, and wouldn’t you know it, Deuteronomy 5:7 says “Thou shalt have none other gods before me.” In Episode 2 (“Candy Carrier Chaos!”) Caine is literally referred to as the Candy people’s god.
Referring back to Tape 3, after the Baron begins to attack Kinger and Pomni, he suddenly switches from past tense to the present tense. “Which is what I would be saying if I didn’t know that the creature was actually one of God’s angels. And anyone who brings harm to it will be dragged down into the cold, spiraling pits of Hell, where my soul resides.” Another comparison between Caine (the creature) and the divine, capital G God.
I don’t know why Caine is a divine program. I don’t know why he’s able to brainwash people and effectively lobotomize them. I certainly don’t know how the hell Kinger would have made him. This is simply my observation so far.
Now for the first point, “The Circus is some sort of afterlife.” If we look at the previous evidence that the residents are dead, and Caine is a divine creation, it makes sense that the Circus is a kind of afterlife. However, I find it hard to point to it and say that it is specifically heaven, hell, or limbo. Imo, the circus is a ‘holding ground’ for souls. Looking back, maybe this is the point I have the least evidence on…
All in all, I hope my inane ramblings made sense! I’m really excited to see where the show goes. I think Gooseworx is a masterful writer, and they inspire me to do better in my own personal work :3
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kyra45 · 1 year ago
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Pet donation scams
What is a pet donation scam? - This kind of scam is most commonly done with cats though on occasion a dog is used. When someone is doing this scam, they have went on a private group or public site and saved the post there such as it’s images,story, and the owners name. The scam is that when they repost it to here, they have edited out any real fundraiser method and replaced it with their own fraudulent one. They don’t actually own the cat/dog but have copied the real fundraiser just enough to pass it off as their own pet. Nothing in the post tells you it’s someone else’s pet as they really want you to trust them enough to send money without looking too much into it. While the images and story are legitimate, the other information has been purposely removed. Nothing given goes to the animal in need.
Was there an ask sent? - Commonly found by asks that are sent requesting private answers. Recently, these asks tell you they don’t want people thinking you was pressured into sharing the post and people might be weird about it. Really, they just don’t want people seeing your answer when the ask is searched because you’d see how many others have got it and may have called it out. These asks are designed to guilt trip you and shame people who call them out but usually gives it away their not being honest since no one would ask you something like that. You might get this ask by sharing a trending/popular post.
How much content is on the account itself? - When checking the blog out that sent you the ask or has the post shared by someone you follow, keep in mind how many posts the account has overall. Usually there’s only a few trending/popular/fandom posts shared and then the pinned post itself. Their archive is usually turned off so you can’t see this; But scrolling for a few minutes should mean you’ll find the last post quickly. Turning on timestamps should also show you the posts were all shared at the same time too and they don’t have any tags either.
Have you asked them questions? - If unsure of the account’s legitimacy, I suggest asking them a few questions about the pet: How long have they had them? Do they have older vet records of past visits? Can they show you a recent pic of them holding their name on a paper near the cat? Would calling the vet itself be possible for donating? Any of these would be answered easily by someone who actually owns the pet. But those who don’t own them won’t be able to answer or properly.
What is a quick way to spot this scam? - Check the date of the pinned post. It’s usually only a few hours old, a day old, or even a week old. Another way is searching the bio to see if it’s been stolen off someone else. Look at the vet location and then press/hold or hover over the link they give you. If the country doesn’t match the state, it’s likely not the real owner of the pets link. As these suspicious accounts tend to impersonate the actual owners closely in order to look legitimate.
What to do once you figure out it’s a scam? - Warn anyone who doesn’t know it’s a scam and has shared the post unless they’ve called them out. Report the account for phishing (Report -> Something else -> Illegal uses or content -> Phishing), block them, then alert your followers as well. Keep in mind scammers will always delete/hide any replies/reblogs that have called them out.
If you like this guide, feel free to check out my blog as I report on these scams nearly daily among other kinds of scams that I post about. If you like my hobby, feel free to drop some pocket change as thanks! However, all I really want you to do is share this post to help me bring awareness of tumblr scams. Send it to people who might not know what a pet donation scam is or link to it in posts you make! Thanks. Hope this information is helpful!
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