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zepskies · 9 months

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Devour Me - Part 1

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

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

AN: This is a two-part sequel to “Midnight Espresso!” I would read that one first before you dive into this one. (It’s fun, I promise!)

Word Count: 3,800 Tags/Warnings: Supernatural shenanigans, tiny bit of body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluffy fluff, and a cliffhanger...

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: "A Takeover"

When Dean asked you to move in with him, he really didn’t think it would come to this.

Clearing a nightstand for you, half of the dresser, a section of his closet. Those things are reasonable.

But this is a total takeover, he thinks, as he surveys the sheer amount of crap you’ve brought into his room.

Mind you, despite this still being a bunker, the décor is nice. You brought in sturdy, but stylish wicker baskets for his pile of cassettes (and your CDs) next to the TV, filing bins for the haphazard shuffle of papers on his desk, installed dark wood shelves on the wall for his various weapons and your collection of books.

But he’d had his music organized—not alphabetically or chronologically, but by his own personal rankings of awesomeness. Now they’re all shuffled together by band name.

Plus, he likes having his shotgun on the floor by the bed, within reach, not three feet above his head. And where the fuck is his collection of…magazines?

The point is, every time he looks for something, you’ve put it in a different place. Not to mention the damn bathroom (don’t get him started on all your shea butter lotions, makeup brushes, frilly-smelling soaps, and the army of hair products now taking up space in his cabinets and drawers).

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out where the hell his cassette of Zeppelin IV is, when you breeze into the room he now shares with you. You’re dewy with sweat in a Guns & Roses shirt and some yoga pants you reserve for cleaning.

And that’s another thing. You’re more anal than Sam about having the bunker smelling like Pine Sol. However, as you’ve expressed before (after nagging him to pick up his dirty, and occasionally bloody clothes from the floor), while you like a clean house, you are not in fact the maid.

“Hey, baby. Can you fold these for me?” you request. “I need a shower.”

He raises a brow as you dump a new basket of fresh laundry onto the bed. It looks like you washed your clothes mixed in with his, which he actually doesn’t mind. He fishes out one of your red, lacey thongs with a hint of a smile. He bought you these last week, and they already have a tear. (His fault.)

“By the way, next time you move one of my things, mind leaving me a post-it note or something?” he dryly remarks. “It’s like a scavenger hunt in my own damn room.”

You pop your head out of the bathroom, though he can tell by your bare shoulders that you’ve already gotten undressed. Your mouth is quirked at the corner.

“It’s called organization,” you tease. “Apparently a foreign concept to you.”

You disappear back into the bathroom, giving Dean the privacy he needs to grumble almost inaudibly to himself. But then he hears your voice behind the door.

“Oh, by the way. Your vintage collection of smut is in the bottom of your nightstand,” you call out. “That 1996 edition of Busty Asian Beauties is particularly classy.”

Dean hears the wryness in your tone, and his face actually heats up in embarrassment. He frowns at the bathroom door, his jaw tensing, but he takes a breath. Deciding to let it go with a roll of his shoulders, he puts on the TV to catch up on Dr. Sexy M.D. He also neglects the task you gave him, just for a little while.

When you’re still in the bathroom an hour later, Dean starts to get curious about what the hell you’re doing in there. The shower isn’t even running anymore.

That’s when he hears the hairdryer go on.

He knows he’ll never be able to concentrate on his show with all that noise. So with a sigh, he clicks off the TV and eyes the pile of laundry. You probably cleaned the whole freaking bunker this morning. Despite his annoyance, he figures folding your clothes along with his own is the least he can do.

Dean scoops up the pile back into the basket and takes it elsewhere.

He finds his brother at the kitchen table and joins him with his basket. Sam’s gaze raises from his laptop to meet his brother’s grumpy face. He watches in mild curiosity as Dean plops down across from him and dutifully begins folding one of your shirts.

“You okay?” Sam hazards the question.

“Fucking peachy,” Dean replies. “Looking for a new case?”

“Yeah. Nothing yet.” Though Sam raises a brow when Dean all but tosses one of your girly sundresses on the table after it’s folded. (It’s yellow, and it happens to be his favorite on you.)

“Everything all right?” Sam asks.

Dean glances up, finds his brother’s knowing eyes, and doesn’t have it in him to lie. He lets go of a breath, as well as one of his undershirts to rub at his forehead.

“She’s nosey, Sam. She’s all up in my business.”

“Your girlfriend?” Sam clarifies, with raised brows. “Of six months.”

“Yeah, that one,” Dean quips, with all due sarcasm. “Ever since she moved in, she’s been going through everything, moving my crap every which way, making it so I can’t find a damn thing.”

Sam’s mouth edges at a smile.

“I’m tellin’ you, Sam, she’s damn near taken over,” Dean insists.

“You done?” Sam teases. Dean just leans in, like he’s about to level his brother with a secret.

“Matter of fact, she locks herself in the bathroom for like, forever. I just heard the hairdryer go on, meaning another hour at least. What the fuck is she doing in there, getting ready for prom?”

Sam finally has to chuckle. “Clearly it’s been a long time since you’ve lived with a woman, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “Right.”

“And she’s actually been a big help in cleaning up around here,” Sam says, with a growing smirk. “Which is, quite literally, a refreshing change.”

Dean snorts at that.

“Of course, you’re happy,” he says. “A new damn dish rack turns you on.”

Sam shoots him a wan look. “The question is, are you happy?”

That manages to take Dean by surprise. He hesitates to answer…

But he’s saved when he hears someone approaching. He knows it’s you because he can smell the mix of your floral soap and coconutty shampoo; it’s a scent that often lingers on your pillow and has unconsciously infiltrated Dean’s nose.

His reply to Sam dies on his tongue when he sees you.

“Hey,” you greet both men, all bright and smiley with your hair in wild curls down your back.

A lot of the time you keep your hair straight or loose and wavy, so it’s rare for Dean to see your natural look. It’s a good one for you, he thinks. Along with those jean shorts hugging your curvy hips, and the V-neck top you’re wearing, which offers a nice peek of cleavage.

Your hand falls on his shoulder, with your thumb stroking his neck. You then brush that hand across his back as you pass by on your way to the kitchen. If possible, you’ve become even more touchy since you two got together.

Dean holds fast to your hand, stopping you in your path.

“So that’s what you were working on in there,” he remarks. “Thought I was gonna need to break out the fire extinguisher.”

You grin in amusement and do a little twirl under his hand, shaking out your curls a little.

“You like?” you ask. Dean tugs you back over. He reaches out and fingers at the soft ends of your hair.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Looks real nice,” Sam adds.

“Why, thank you.” Your smile is contagious, and Dean can’t help reciprocating. You drop a hand on his shoulder again.

“I know you’re our resident Gordon Ramsay, but I kinda feel like cooking today,” you say. “Is Cas coming home anytime soon?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he called this morning. Probably dropping back in tonight.”

You nod. “Good! I’ll make plenty then…oh, wait, he doesn’t eat.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sam asks.

“Well, I know you guys haven’t had much Cuban food, so I thought you might like to try some ropa vieja,” you reply. Sam’s brows knit together.

“Old clothes?” he translates. His two years of high school Spanish can give him that much.

“Yeah! But it’s basically shredded beef with onions, garlic, tomato sauce, and a bunch of other good stuff,” you explain. Then your eyes brighten. “Oh! And I can make my grandma’s famous black beans, white rice, some bread with crushed garlic and olive oil…”

By the time you finish listing the things you plan on making, Dean is already salivating.

Later that evening, when Dean actually gets to sample said food, he’s eaten enough for three men in the span of forty-five minutes.

“Jesus, man. Going for a record on indigestion?” Sam cautions him, despite his amusement.

Dean pointedly ignores his brother to look over at you. After he swallows another forkful of beef stew, he says, “Not for nothin’, this is probably the second-best meal of my entire life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You giggle. “What’s number one?”

“Diner called Slammies in Alabama. Best fucking pie on Earth,” he easily recalls. “Double applewood bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, brick oven pizza. Bar none.”

Sam inclines his head, remembering the food coma he and Dean had that night. They’d hit the rock-hard pillows at the motel and slept like they’d been on an all-night bender.

“But this is like, right there,” Dean says to you, leveling his hand up by his head.

“Well, let’s see if this moves the needle,” you reply as you get up from your seat. You answer the question in his eyes. “Forgot something, hold on.”

But before you can leave the table, Dean reaches over and takes your hand.

“Thanks, sweetheart. For all of this. I mean it,” he says.

A soft, genuine smile grows across your face. You lean down and press a tender kiss below his hairline, stroking his cheek before you go.

Dean quirks a smile. It’s taken him time to get used to how open you are with your affections, but he likes it. All of it. Every time you reach for him, touch him, brush against him, intentionally or not. He always has.

Though he has to resist embarrassment when he notices the way his brother is watching him. Sam raises a brow, smiling that irritating smile of his.

“Oh, yeah. You’re not happy at all,” he intones.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dean says defensively. But he perks up when you return. Maybe you’re bringing more garlic bread.

Instead, you’re holding a tin pan.

“What’cha got there?” he asks.

“Dessert,” you announce. It’s a Cuban flan: creamy, rich custard with a consistency smoother than cheesecake, and thicker than pudding.

You haven’t even sat back down yet when Dean carves himself a generous slice. He moans when a large forkful melts in his mouth. You start to blush as you watch him with crossed arms and a hand over your smile. You don’t know whether to be amused or flattered.

Sam watches his brother stuff his face with a subtle shake of his head.

“You’re enabling him,” he tells you. You shrug, but then you rest your hands on both Sam and Dean’s shoulders.

“Now I have someone to cook for,” you say. You have tears in your eyes, but you quickly blink and try to turn away. Frowning, Dean takes your hand.

“Hey, where you going?” he says, and aims to pull you into his lap. You hesitate, knowing you’re not going to be able to squeeze between him and the table.

“It’s okay, these hips don’t fit,” you chuckle wryly, with a sniffle. But Dean just backs his chair up from the table a bit to make room.

“What’re you talking about? You fit right here,” he says firmly, and he tugs you down. This is the one thing Dean has tried his damndest to break you out of—that self-deprecating streak of yours.

You finally accept being guided into his lap, where you indeed fit snugly across his thighs. His arm comes around the front to hold you close by your hip, while his other hand rests comfortingly on your back.

Looking up into his eyes, you draw enough courage to be honest.

“I was mostly raised by my grandma,” you begin to explain. Your father wasn’t ready to be one, and so wasn’t in the picture. Your mother died when you were in high school. So when your grandmother also passed away a few years ago…

Well, you’ve been alone for a while.

You sniff and wipe at your face, but your eyes close as Dean’s lips press above your brow. When you next open your eyes and cautiously look between the brothers, Sam’s sympathy warms you.

“If it isn’t obvious, you have a home here,” he says. “We can never replace what you’ve lost, but…we’re your family too.”

You know that Dean feels the same way by the way he brushes the tears from your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip.

"You're right where you need to be," he says, with a hand squeezing your hip. His sincerity is in his even tone, in the firmness in his eyes.

You’re able to smile a bit.

“Ah…I’m interrupting, aren’t I?”

The three of you turn to the kitchen doorway, where Castiel stands awkwardly. He clearly senses emotional tension, but it breaks the moment you turn to him with a tearful laugh.

“Hey, Cas. Have you ever eaten ‘old clothes?’” you ask.

His puzzled expression is absolutely priceless.

When Sam finds a possible hunt in Hope, Indiana, Castiel agrees to go with you all. It’s a small, corn-fed town in the middle of nowhere, and five people have gone missing over the course of a year.

The latest is a nine-year-old kid named Andy Campbell. That alone upsets you; if you have one weakness, it’s for kids.

“Local farmers have been reporting dead cattle too, drained of blood,” Sam says from the passenger seat in the Impala. “I’m thinking vampires trying to keep a low profile.”

“Sounds about right, if a bit sloppy,” Dean remarks. They are in the Midwest though. If this is a coven, or even a rogue vamp who’s been here a while, maybe they got lazy. “So what, police station first? Get any details they might’ve missed.”

“I want to talk to the kid’s mom,” you say. It earns Dean’s gaze at you in the rearview mirror. “We can get the last time she saw him, where he went missing, anything she might’ve held back from the police.”

He nods and shares a glance with Sam. “I’ll go with her. You and Cas scope out the station.”

The angel has gotten better at pretending to be a Fed, but not by much. Sam agrees, even though Dean sees in his face that he’d rather be taking his brother. Dean tempers a smile and keeps driving to the closest motel in this dusty town.

You don a sensible pantsuit to match Dean’s Fed suit, along with your badges: Agents Buckingham and Nicks.

When Andy’s mom, Rachel Campbell, opens the door of her modest home to you and Dean, he lets you take the lead. You’re good at this part, connecting with the victims and getting them to talk. He sometimes worries about you though—that your soft, sympathetic heart will get the best of you.

“How long has Andy been missing?” you ask, accepting a cup of tea from the woman.

Rachel is around your age, maybe a few years older. She looks run down, a shell of a human as she looks at the carpet rather than at you or Dean. You can’t know exactly how she feels, but you have a vivid imagination.

And from the various pictures of her and Andy on the wall, just the two of them, you deduce that she’s a single mother. Just like your mom had been.

“Almost four months,” she admits. “The police station doesn’t even return my calls anymore.”

That upsets you, but you keep a lid on your emotions to focus on the woman in front of you.

“Andy’s father, he’s not around?” Dean asks. Rachel shakes her head, confirming your suspicions.

“No, we split up shortly after he was born,” she replies, her tone tired and resigned. “I was at work. I uh, I work at a doctor’s office. Andy was supposed to come home on the bus, like any other day…but he never did.”

She sucks in a shaky breath as the beginnings of tears make her eyes red and glassy.

“His school couldn’t tell me why he wasn’t on the bus. But one of his friends said he was late getting out of class, so he must’ve tried to walk home. Even though he knew he could call me when that happens…anyway, somebody must’ve grabbed him.”

Rachel looks away as a tear streams down her cheek, followed by another. You feel your throat tighten with a sympathetic burn behind your eyes, but you keep it at bay long enough to set down your tea. You reach out and lay a hand on the woman’s hand. She meets your steady gaze.

“I promise, we’ll find your son,” you tell her.

“What?” you ask Dean as the two of you leave the small house, walking back to the Impala in the driveway. You just know there’s something up with him by the stoic look on his face. It isn’t so stoic to you.

He waits until the two of you are in the car before he levels you with a raised brow.

“Look, I know you want to find this kid. I do too,” he says. “But watch out about making promises you can’t keep.”

You frown back at him. “What’s better, letting that poor woman have no hope at all?”

In his mind, Dean thinks it’s worse to give her false hope. But he sees how stubborn you’re getting, so he doesn’t push it. The fact that you care about people like Rachel is part of what drew him to you in the first place, but there’s a line, he thinks. A point where you can care too much.

When you two eventually meet up with Sam and Castiel, they’ve been able to confirm from the body of a recent Jane Doe, with a row of lethal bite marks on her wrist, that this is definitely a vamp case.

After narrowing down where each of the victims were taken, the four of you sketch out a perimeter of where the monsters could likely be hiding. It’s Dean who finds the old barn on the verge of a corn field, about three miles away from the school where Andy was taken.

You all wait until high noon the next day to scope it out. Looking into the front windows is useless; all evidence points to an empty home.

The back of the barn is another story. Cracking the barn door open reveals a large storage area, where a nest of vampires are sleeping in their beds. Some are coupled off, but you note a few on single beds.

Then, your eyes narrow on the humans sleeping piled together in the corner—three women, a young man, and Andy Campbell on a twin-sized bed of his own.

Dean carefully closes the barn door, and the four of you regroup back to the Impala.

“It’s a bigger nest than we thought,” Sam says, though he keeps his voice quiet. Dean is already opening the trunk for his favorite machete.

“First, let’s get those humans out,” he says. You agree with a nod when he hands you a weapon.

Dean shoots you a wink. “This one’s Brenda.”

“What happened to Lucille?” you ask, taking the knife from him.

“That’s the bat wrapped in barbed wire. Matter of fact, I should break her out.”

Dean reaches into the trunk and pulls out the blood-stained bat. He rubs the handle fondly.

“Ahh, Dad loved this thing.”

You sidle up next to him and glance over wryly. “You want some alone time with your big stick, there?”

Dean flashes you a smirk, giving you a long once over in your form-fitting shirt and jeans. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to join me, sweetheart.”

You snort in response, bumping into his side with your hip. Dean teasingly bounces one of your curls in your face. You smile and swat his hand away.

Sam subtly rolls his eyes, despite a small smile as he shares a look with Cas.

“All right. Can we go, please?” Sam says in amusement. Castiel awkwardly straps on a machete to his belt. He doesn’t believe he’ll need it, but Sam and Dean are always prepared. He wants to be as well.

You’re ready to go, but Dean holds you back by your shoulder. You look up at him curiously.

“Hey, follow our lead on this one, okay?” he asks.

You sense that he’s hedging at something more specific with that request.

“What do you mean?”

“The kid. I know you wanna beeline for him the second we get in there, but hold off,” Dean says. His gaze is serious. “He could be turned.”

He got a good look inside, the same as you. The kid was lying on a bed while the other humans were chained up on the floor. Still, you shoot him an incredulous look.

“Why would they turn a kid?” you ask. “They have the others.”

“Yeah, and they were chained up. Why not him?” Dean asks, imploring you to think logically. He shares a look with Sam, who silently agrees. You look between the brothers with pursed lips.

“Maybe they don’t give a fuck, because they’re cocky assholes,” you retort. And you walk past them to head back towards the barn.

The brothers and the angel share one last look, with Dean letting out a subtle breath before he follows you.

You creep back into the barn, as quiet as possible through the room of snoring vampires. The brothers and Castiel go to the sleepy women in the corner. They look dirty and malnourished, wearing threadbare clothing. Sam feels the pulse of the man prone on the floor, but he’s already dead.

When one of the girls wakes with a whimper, Dean holds his finger to his lips, warning them all wordlessly to be quiet. He looks over and doesn’t find you next to him. He nearly curses out loud when he sees you heading for Andy’s bed across the room.

Meanwhile, you touch the little boy’s shoulder and shake him a little. He wakes with a small sound of reluctance, but you shush him gently.

“Andy?” You grasp his shoulders. He nods, though his blonde brows are furrowed with confusion.

“Who…who are you?” he asks. He rubs at his sleepy brown eyes.

“I’m here to help,” you reply in a whisper. “I’m going to get you back to your mom, okay?”

After a moment, he nods and lets you pick him up into your arms. You hazard looking over across the room, and you find Dean’s annoyed gaze. Despite the uncomfortable churning in your belly, you ignore him for now and head for the back door.

You’re only able to take a few steps when you feel a hand wrap tightly in your hair and pull it away from your neck, just for rows of several razor-sharp teeth to sink into your neck.

AN: 😬 ...Sorry. If you don't know me by now, I love a cliffhanger. But how'd you like Dean getting used to sharing his space? (And having someone to occasionally put him on his toes.)

Part 2 will feature a good old fashioned "you should've listened to me" fight, some angst, some making up, some salsa dancing, and a healthy dose of smutty smut.

Next Time:

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

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

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

You truly become incensed at that.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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tenderheliotrope · 2 months

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watched a man wash his clothes with Pine Sol today and that's why you should also teach your son how to do laundry

#tender says stuff #tales from the laundromat

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emmashouldbewriting · 1 year

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She (Vogue) works with Fairy - a cleaning company here, think washing up liquid and washing machine detergent pods - and she does their TV advert for the detergent pods.

hehehehe sounds like Vogue Williams is your Pine Sol lady.

Americans will get this. Pine Sol is an all-purpose household cleaner and disinfectant (so think washing up liquid, laundry detergent, mop soap, carpet shampoo, bathroom cleaner). The spokeswoman for their commercials is a very energetic and enthusiastic. She has this whole other career outside of Pine Sol, but all most people recognize her and her voice from Pine Sol.

And personally, I can't walk by a Pine Sol display without hearing this lady's voice say "I love the power of Pine Sol!" (Which is the product's famous tagline.)

Haha yes!! That's pretty much it. Since she's Irish too it's kind of really catchy with the way she says it 🤪

It's cute though. I don't find them problematic at all and quite like them, for people who are sort of on my celebrity peripheral. Their kids are adorable.

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artoutoftheblue · 9 months

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While I did try asking my sister yesterday to not ask me to help her clean the laundry room because it was her idea to clean it, and I think that if she wanted to do it and I did not, then I shouldn't have to. Though it wasnt just because of that, but dust and the smell of pine sol makes me sick. And guess who is sick right now.

#blue rants

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annaphoenix1994 · 1 year

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Masterlist:

Light the Match

"How you gonna feed the fire, and expect not to get burned? Is this not what you desire?"

"Light the Match" by Saturate

October 31st, 2022 -- 9 a.m.

Irritated with the stupid reminder of Halloween ahead, Joan poured half a box of detergent into the washing machine. As she dumped another round of laundry into the machine, she noticed that Corey's shirt and pants were again covered in grime. The same filthy condition as they'd been in the previous morning. She had hoped the dark stains were dirt and not blood dried to the point of abstraction, but she forced the thought from her mind nonetheless.

"Corey, open up!" She ordered as she tried to get into his room. He had locked the door. "We do not lock doors in this house! You know the rules! Why are you breaking them?"

Joan heard the bedsprings recoil as Corey sat up and approached. He barely opened the door and decided to speak to his mother through the crack.

"Your clothes are filthy, again! Tell your mother what you are doing! Where were you last night? Did she make you sleep on the floor?"

Corey stared at his mother but said nothing.

"Were you with that girl? Huh? The one you text with? Allyson? Is that where you were?"

Corey remained silent.

"Say something! Say something to your mother, who waits on you hand and foot. The one person who takes care of you and keeps you safe. The only person who cares about you."

"You keep me safe, Momma?" He shot back. "Then where have you been?"

Joan didn't pursue her line of questioning any further. "When you are gone, I worry. I worry so much. And your mother does not like to worry."

"Then let me ask you something," He scoffed. "If you don't like me keeping secrets, then why do you keep secrets from me?"

"Excuse me?"

He arched a brow at her, "You know what I'm talking about."

Joan shook her head.

"Who's my dad, Momma?" He said quietly, coming to the realization that Ronald was not his father.

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew the answer but was too flustered with the question to even reply. She and Corey shared a look of silence before her shoulders shuddered from Ronald's sudden voice from the bottom of the stairs. "Joan, someone is at the door to see you."

"Who is it?" Joan barked as she now dismissed herself to walk downstairs, picking up the laundry basket of clean clothes to sit on the kitchen table.

"It's Laurie Strode." Ronald told her as he used oven mitts to carry his piping hot box of Lean Cuisine to the TV tray in the living room, where Judge Judy played on the television.

"Laurie Strode? What the heck does she want?"

"She wants to talk to you." He told her.

Joan approached the door and found Laurie standing in the small entryway.

"Yeah? What the heck do you want?" Joan had no patience for Laurie Strode.

"Hi," Laurie greeted her warmly. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

"About what?" Joan scoffed.

"About your son."

"Corey?" Joan looked Laurie up and down before begrudgingly letting her in.

Laurie then moved into the living room. The smell of Pine-Sol, microwaved alfredo, and old carpet hung in the room.

Joan stepped into the kitchen and poured a cup of vanilla strawberry tea. She offered Laurie nothing. Then she returned to the dining room and folded the clothes from the basket. She kept her back to Laurie, refusing to acknowledge her presence any more than she had to.

Laurie's eyes discreetly searched the home, careful not to call attention to her suspicions. But outside of Ronald watching Judge Judy and the bizarre collection of rabbit figurines crammed into the curiosa cabinet, nothing stood out to Laurie.

Laurie picked up one of the rabbit sculptures and looked it over. Joan heard it slide off of the cabinet, and she tensed as if she heard someone scratching their nails over a chalkboard. She had strict rules about her figurines and grabbing one from the shelf with a direct violation. She had always been this way -- the figurine rule birthing while in the confines of Smith's Grove. Except for glass figurines, she made them out of napkins.

"What is it you want to know about Corey?" Joan asked as she made a stack of Corey's briefs and placed them in Laurie's view. Laurie wondered if she did it intentionally. "Has he done something bad? I don't understand why you're here." She added.

"He's seeing my granddaughter." Laurie said, averting her eyes from Corey's underwear.

"I know that. You don't think I know that already? Sheesh."

Laurie continued, "Well, I introduced them and I just wanted to meet you and introduce myself."

"I know who you are," Joan scoffed. "Everybody in Haddonfield knows who you are."

Laurie tried to maintain a calm disposition, but Joan made it difficult.

"Your granddaughter should be so lucky to be with a boy like Corey. He's handsome, he's sensitive, I don't like when he stays out all night with girls," she put a little extra attitude on the word girls, "but he can do what he wants." Joan said as she grew angrier about the intrusion.

"It's just that I want to make sure he's got the right support," Laurie told her sympathetically. "There's a good therapist I've talked to. She did wonders for me, and I know that he's had... difficulties. I'm just afraid of how they might manifest. WHat if he hurts someone he loves?"

"Loves? Now they're in love?" Joan snapped. "What do you know, Ms. Strode?! What the heck are you even talking about?"

Laurie sighed and regrouped. "I'm talking about your son, Mrs. Cunningham.

Joan made a mocking smile, and her face bobbed up and down spastically, unable to control her escalating wrath. "You know what, Ms. Strode? This town turned against my boy after that terrible accident with the Allen boy. And in any other situation, they would have felt for him and let him heal. They would have supported and cared for him, but because your boogeyman disappeared, they needed a new one, and they turned on Corey. You are a part of this, and I don't very much like you entering my home and picking up my things! Got it?"

Laurie carefully put the figurine down. "Got it."

"And now I think it's time for you to leave."

Laurie looked at Ronald in the next room. His attention remained on the TV. She knew he was miserable. He hadn't given the slightest acknowledgment to their argument. "I said, I think it's time for you to leave." Joan repeated.

Laurie sensed something and turned to the staircase. When she turned back, Corey appeared beside Joan. Staring at Laurie with his black eyes. "So nice to see you again, Laurie." He said coldly. His sudden and unnerving appearance startled Laurie.

She moved to the door to get away. "It was nice to see you too." She whispered.

Laurie left the home, and in a fit of rage, Joan grabbed the rabbit figurine Laurie had touched from the shelf and smashed it on the ground. "Look what you made me do!" Joan screamed out.

Laurie stood on the front porch for a moment, collecting herself. Feeling more certain about her suspicions. She crossed the lawn to her truck and looked back to the house. The downstairs windows had unnatural darkness to them, but Laurie could see one thing through the glass: Corey. Watching her from inside the house. His chest moved in and out as he breathed heavily.

She acknowledged his presence and then she got into her truck and drove the fuck away from there.

Corey remained at the window as Laurie disappeared from his view. He didn't move. Not even when Joan passed by with his fresh laundry.

"I don't approve. Can you hear me? I don't approve of any of this one little bit, buster."

Corey's eyes stayed outside the window. Upstairs he could hear Joan slamming his dresser drawers as she put his clothes away.

"Are you listening to your mother? I don't want you seeing that girl!" Joan screamed from his room.

Corey stayed silent at the window. Watching.

Joan stomped back downstairs and saw the pale, emotionless mask in Corey's hand. Pretending to be Michael Myers for Halloween? Absolutely not! "What the heck is this?" She snarled, ripping it from his grip, rubbing her thumb and index finger together to rid the clump of the mask's hair from her hands. It was singed hair -- like it had been in a fire. She walked away with the mask, taking another look at its features before tossing it into the kitchen trash can. "Not in this house!"

Corey had been watching her from over his shoulder. Big fucking mistake.

"Corey, I don't know what's gotten into you, but I do not like it," Joan yelled while proceeding to fold Ronald's laundry. "All this secrecy. Sneaking behind your mother's back. Locking me out. This is not the way I raised you! Laurie Strode." Joan blew a raspberry.

"Oh, boy."

"Joan, I will see you when I'm home from work." Ronald said as he grabbed his keys. Joan didn't respond.

"You are supposed to tell your mother everything! Everything!"

Joan then marched to where Corey stood, growing angrier at his silence. "What the heck are you doing there at the window? What are you looking at? What's gotten into you? Say something! Is this behavior because of that girl? Is that it?"

Corey remained frozen in place. Joan then looked at his hand and saw the blood on the bandage. "Corey, come away from that window and let me clean your injury."

Joan went back to the laundry, expecting him to follow her. "Corey, I am speaking to you!" she shook her head and huffed. "This is very disappointing. I am very disappointed in this behavior."

Corey didn't hear her words. He just stood in place at the window. As if hypnotically drawn there. Feeling an uncontrollable intention swelling inside him. An intention so dark and so violent that it would not let him move until he'd adequately disguised his humanity.

Corey remained in that position until Joan walked back upstairs with Ronald's laundry, walking into the kitchen to remove Michael's mask from the trash, holding it up in front of him as he saw his own eyes within the pits of the mask like it was calling him to put it on. Grabbing his motorcycle keys from the table that sat next to the front door, he left knowing his coveralls and work boots were at the junkyard... waiting...

Allyson drove to work deliriously, having not slept the entire night. Things moved dreamlike past her window. Scattered trick-or-treaters went from home to home in broad daylight, searching for candy. Daylight trick-or-treating had become a more common Halloween sight in Haddonfield since the Michael Myers massacre. Many believed the boogeyman only existed after the sun went down.

Halloween decorations hung lazily on storefronts, not for any festive reason but just because that's what you did, even in a town like Haddonfield. It seemed like everybody in the town had turned into a zombie, mindlessly moving in one direction because they didn't know how to go any other way. Trying to ignore the bloody history that poisoned the soil. The history that you could smell from miles away. You could not escape the ominous dread that came with Halloween in Haddonfield each year. But still, people tried.

On her way in, Allyson noticed a bird picking at some food. She didn't think much about it until she got closer and realized that the bird's meal was the fresh carcass of a flattened squirrel. The bird picked at the squirrel's head and pulled long strings of red meat out of its body. Even the animal world seemed more vicious on Halloween.

Aside from her anger towards Laurie which she still was yet to confront her about, Allyson walked into a total shitshow when she entered the clinic. The phone rang off the hook, disgruntled patients clamored in the waiting room, and the nurses scrambled to keep up with the unusually crazy lunch hour. "Happy Halloween," Epstein, the stoned nurse, sarcastically told Allyson as he strolled into the exam room. "It's gonna be a fun one."

Allyson put her purse down and looked at the check-in list.

"Yeah, it's fun today." Stephanie, the newest receptionist, said as she picked up the phone.

"What happened?" Allyson asked.

"Dr. Mathis is MIA, and so is Deb. Nobody can get ahold of them. Lydia thinks they eloped." Stephanie said before unmuting the phone. "Haddonfield Memorial, can you please hold?"

Allyson took over the intake. She was nowhere near as rattled as the other nurses frantically trying to attend to the stranded patients filling the waiting room. Not because Allyson had a cooler head or could handle the pressure any better, but because she just didn't care anymore. And each time another patient snapped at her, she cared a little less. All she could think about was Corey and their new world --

"Allyson, line three," Stephanie told her as another call came in.

She forced a nod of acknowledgment, assuming that it was going to be Laurie in her paranoid state again to warn her about Michael's return every year since the massacre. Preparing to hear Laurie's testament over the phone, she took a deep breath before answering. "This is Allyson, how can I--"

"Allyson --"

Allyson immediately detected the distress in Corey's voice. "What is it?"

"I need to see you."

"Now?"

"Tonight. Meet me at nine o'clock. At the diner."

"What's the matter?"

"It's your grandmother. We have to leave, Allyson. We have to leave tonight."

"What? What did she do?"

You have no idea... Corey paused, breathing on the other end.

"What did she do?" Allyson repeated.

"She threatened me."

"What?"

"She wants me dead."

"Huh? Corey, what are you talking about?"

"We need to give back what is his before he kills me first. Then we need to leave, Allyson."

"Give back to who?"

"Michael's daughter."

"Wha-? You have his daughter?"

Corey hung up.

"Corey? Corey?"

Allyson tried his number from her personal phone, but he didn't pick up.

#michael myers #og michael myers #james jude courtney #peepaw myers #michaelmyers #h40michael #halloween2018

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exhaustedstripper · 11 months

Text

Nobody told me that you fucking died.

It occurred to me, as I deep cleaned my car in between sessions of scrubbing my kitchen floor with piping hot splashes of Pine Sol water - that I was avoiding thinking about this.

I washed every ounce of laundry in my home.

I filled two Goodwill bags.

One dry clean bag.

One IKEA sized "sell it" bag.

I scrubbed my toilet, vacuumed, did the dishes - I was running out of things to clean and re-organize.

Because when you popped into my head yesterday morning, and I wondered how your cross-country run was going, I looked you up. Although I was used to going months on end, up to a year at a time of not hearing from you - usually by Summer you made an appearance.

In recent years, we tried to re-create the tortured artist conversations that had bonded us in the first place. The rays of the sun would strong-arm their way through the slats of the patio roof that graced the smoking section of the bar we worked at. We would argue about which Tom Waits album was best, salted with sweat while we knocked back whiskey creations that always featured egg whites and cherries. We promised to quite smoking after the summer cleared up - and despite the fact that American Spirit Blues allowed me to taste you whenever I wanted - I managed to keep my promise.

You did not keep yours.

But then, you never did. Always needing to find yourself or so you claimed. I never asked why the deepest part of you was to be found in between another woman's thighs.

One of the last things you said to me, I can't pinpoint the exact phrase but the sentiment was this:

You had always wondered about us. You believe we could have been great. You thought about it enough to never really let go.

I felt the same.

The problem was, we never felt the same at the same time.

The first time you kissed me, I hated you. Hastily stolen while we anxiously waited in the least romantic spot humanly possible - the bathroom line of a dive bar. I need to reiterate that you very much stole that kiss. It wasn't that I didn't want to know what it felt like to kiss you. I just wanted it to happen differently. You ruined our first kiss not just with the setting and manner, but because your girlfriend was at that party. I could paint her impossibly big blue eyes, the way they looked at us.

You broke her heart - and then you blamed me. You ran back to the party while I opted to actually use the bathroom. I needed to process as much as I needed to pee. I returned to the party, hoping to forget what had happened, but all eyes were on me. I was branded a home wrecker because you didn't want to look like a piece of shit.

It's okay though - we were both pieces of shit. We were the kind of messy, supercharged, dysfunctional passion that made being a piece of shit bearable. There was no reason to hide exactly who we were - we simply weren't ashamed yet.

Our meetings were sparse the last few years. I held my cool the last time, despite fuming inside.

You had a girlfriend, one you said it was over with. Shortly after, you admitted that it was not over. I felt the familiar pattern sink in as you assured me that she knew you were meeting with me.

This too, was wrong. She did not know you were meeting a woman. She probably never knew I existed at all. You put us both in danger that day. It was no secret that she was prone to violent outbursts when off her meds, which she had recently decided she did not need.

Years after the various forms of intimacy, disfunction, and situationships that made up our story - you were pulling the same old shit.

I don't know how I feel yet, knowing you are gone. I never know what to do when someone who caused me pain passes away. I cared for you, I did. I write this today because I cared. However, caring does not take away the truth.

The truth is this - you were a terrible boyfriend. You were a complicated, beautiful human being. I wanted to meet you again when you had sorted yourself out a bit - I know how hard you were trying. I am angry that I did not know you left. I am angry that I missed your funeral and the opportunity to contribute to your medical fund.

You were such a little shit, my love. Chaotic, tender, creative.

Stay golden.

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yeetmythoughts · 3 years

Text

also i really enjoy doing laundry, it’s so therapeutic it’s like clothes soup.

#i was the child to mix dirt and berries with a stick #and now i get to put clothes in a soup of soap and pine sol #two of my favorite things now #pine sol and laundry #it's so satisfying to me to just get all the dirty clothes clean #and now they get to smell like my favorite smell #aaaaaa #vent

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xrux · 2 years

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18+

you were just trying your best to survive—you, an omega who’d been clinically tagged as a ‘special case’ due to your unique pheromones. It took an unfortunate accident, an unmedicated heat, and a set of circumstances that made you realize just how helpless you were.

PAIRING. alpha!diluc x omega f!reader GENRE. smut, cafe + omegaverse!au, hurt/comfort, mutual pining WARNINGS. a/b/o dynamics, boss/employee (dubcon), some yandere themes if you squint, hopeless romantic!reader, HEATS & RUTS, brief mentions of diluc’s canon!trauma, cunnilingus, overstimulation, knotting, marking WORD COUNT. 8800+ AUTHOR'S NOTE. THIS IS LATE but this is the first time I’ve ever written a/b/o so I’m excited (AND nervous) but I had fun writing this so I hope u guys enjoy!!!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა this is my piece for the @thepetcafe’s first ever collab ♡ ++ special thanks to sol & bwi ( @serablossom ) for beta reading !

♡ NAVI ♡ MAIN M. LIST ♡ COLLAB M. LIST ♡

You were at your doctor’s, waiting in line at the counter as you tried to get refills for your heat suppressants after your backpack got stolen a week ago. You wouldn’t be allowed another refill after this, and you knew the rules too well.

Ever since you presented, your cycles had always been so unpredictable. A month-long cycle every year on paper shouldn’t be so bad, except, not only were your cycles unpredictable, they also occasionally triggered some of the worst cases of ruts in alphas. Even your pre-heat pheromones had an unusual potency to them. Needless to say, it’d caused you so much pain and trouble in the past that it became a huge burden.

After presenting, which felt like an eternity of the ritualistic month-long isolations, you met someone with a very similar case to yours—someone who was very much willing to help a fellow mate-less omega out. She gave you tips on what helps her through cycles, told you about a special laundry detergent and a specific perfume that helped mask an omega’s scent. She specifically gave you tips on how to take care of your personal needs, ironically calling it ‘the cure for the horny™’, and on top of that, she referred you to her personal doctor.

Yours was a ‘special case’ as they called it—not unheard of, but still special. Only, you couldn’t find anything remotely special about unintentionally causing someone’s instincts to go rabid that they lose all rhyme and reason, all for the sake of having a claim on you. You never wanted to go through anything like that again, especially not unaided, and so you took your miracle pills with you wherever you went.

As the pharmacist was about to hand you the bottle, she retreated for a bit, giving you a firm stare and a final word of caution. “No more refills for another year,” she uttered, making sure you heard her every word. Your tense smile told her just how careful you were gonna be as soon as you exited those doors.

Not like you had any other choice. Unless of course you’d be open to substituting these prescription pills for those really cheap over-the-counter ones that barely have an effect at all. Plus, you had just switched to a new job after spending only 4 months at your previous one. What was it again? Something about not wanting to spend another minute trying to evade the noses of your suspecting douchebag superiors.

Unfortunately, labor laws did not permit omegas-in-heat a paid leave of absence, nor a paid sick leave. You weren’t even given so much as a three-day grace period that alphas-in-rut were officially awarded to get everything under wraps.

So usually, your reason for leaving was just you… fearing for your life. But, despite all of your fears, you wanted to at least try to live normally for as long as you could. Of course, you still were fully aware of the fact that you couldn’t keep this up forever, no matter how hard you tried.

To make matters worse, you knew you’d be getting an earful from your friend when you get home.

...

“3 jobs in one year. I give this one 3 months,” said the voice on the other end of the phone call. She was so spot on, you almost dropped the bowl of mash you were mixing. In hindsight, you didn’t have to tell her what happened but you had no one else to phone when you found yourself unemployed... again.

“Amber, I told you. I’m really gonna try to push it to at least 6,” you said, hearing the doubt in your own voice as you tried to convince your friend. “And who knows? Maybe this time… it’s different.”

“It better be. Otherwise, I had to waste the last favor Charles owed me for no good reason. It’s not easy lobbying for a job-hopping omega, you know?”

And she was right. You were running out of options. You had only yourself to fend for but for someone with a poor track record, it was a wonder how you managed to sustain your lifestyle—though, you weren’t sure if you could call living in a one-bedroom apartment, eating two square meals a day, paying your bills almost always on time, and somehow managing to attend to a hobby or two a lifestyle. Everything you did was simply a means of survival.

…

“You don’t have to be so formal with us,” said the man who introduced himself as Charles. He was in the middle of preparing two very different drinks. It was a wonder how he was able to hold a conversation with you. “Also, don’t worry about the dynamics. You’re currently the only omega on our team but we don’t discriminate here. Diluc doesn’t mind so you’ll be alright.”

Some important words there. You couldn’t help but cling onto your little hopes of having a space where you finally belonged.

“Speaking of Diluc…” Not so fast. Of course something like this came with a catch, you assumed. “Better not hear ‘sir’, ‘Mr. Ragnvindr’, ‘boss’, none of those. Call him Diluc. No more, no less.”

Okay, that wasn’t all bad.

“No more, no less,” you repeated, promptly.

“As much as we’d hate to implement this, you know our laws. When it’s that time of the year, we just ask that you stay on the pill.” He sighed as he wiped the very little mess he made on the counter. This told you everyone here was probably held to that standard. ‘Slightly above-average’ work might not even cut it here.

But there it was. The progressive ‘alpha and beta dominated world’s’ boundary-setting that inevitably only came for omegas. “Roger that.”

“Oh, and don’t go anywhere near his office if he tells you not to.”

…

He asked you to wait by the employee’s lounge as you were about to officially meet with your new boss. His very brief introduction made you wonder just what kind of boss Diluc was gonna be. You were open to anything but still, you couldn’t help but be a bit nervous.

Was it this hot when I came in?

You were sweating, which was odd because everyone else seemed fine compared to you. Something in here was keeping you on edge. Must be the first day jitters, you figured. You had your trusty hanky with you to wipe the cold sweat that ran from your temples down to your neck, not missing the sweat that built up on your upper lip, keen on meeting your boss for the first time without a sweat-stache.

“____, he’s ready for you,” greeted the pretty brunette whose name tag read ‘Adelinde’.

The second you opened the door to his office, your eyes immediately trailed along the dark wood furniture and the intricate golden decorative pieces that adorned them. There was an expensive alcohol collection in one corner of the room, with books placed in every which way—some opened, some stacked— beside an owl statue that had a dark and lengthy inscription. The colorful vase seemed out of place.

There were two big windows behind thick curtains that barely let the morning light in, save for the few rays that stretched to where you stood. Your eyes blinked upon the realization that you’d been in that room for a good minute, saying absolutely nothing to the tall figure that stood behind the desk, and you couldn’t help but stare into his eyes—red ones that hardly gave off any emotion.

Only then did you realize that the employees-only sections of the place were masked in his scent, the exact same one that put you on edge ever since you got here—an intoxicating musk that strengthened the closer you got to him. He was an alpha, and this, his territory. Of fucking course he was an alpha and this was the same sick joke the universe had been playing on you ever since you showed.

The universe was that cruel because the alpha that stood in front of you was unlike any other you’d ever seen.

He was in the middle of tying his hair, hair tie secured between his sealed lips, both hands working their way around his heavy red locks. When he was good to go, he took the hair tie from his lips before telling you, “Sit.”

You didn’t know what to expect, but you certainly weren’t prepared for him to be this young, and you never would’ve guessed he’d be this tall, rugged, handsome alpha.

He came over to where you sat, looking down at you as he extended a hand. It took you a second before you came back to your senses, shaking his leather-gloved hand in return. Seemed he wasn’t planning on leveling with you by at least sitting on the chair in front of yours. It would’ve been nice if he didn’t have to make you crane your neck up, because now it was as if your words were stuck behind your throat, and it was getting so much harder to breathe properly.

And from this angle, your mind was being plagued with thoughts you didn’t want to have on your first day on the job—particularly thoughts of how loose his shirt hung on his torso, letting you revel in the dips of his slightly exposed chest.

“It’s nice to meet you, Si—Diluc.” Your heart skipped a beat when you saw how his brows almost immediately furrowed at the title, your mouth opening upon realizing how much you were drawn to the taste of his name rolling off your tongue.

“Welcome to Angel’s Share,” he deadpanned, leaning forward as he crossed his arms together.

He proceeded to kick things off with a few other house rules. You felt tense under his eyes that studied you intently, and you didn’t miss how his eyes trailed down to your lips, heat accumulating in your cheeks as you wondered if you still had that sweat-stache after all.

Any other day, any other alpha, something like this would’ve made you put your guard up. But something about him was making you a tad bit too curious to see how this would pan out, something about him made you nod obediently at his every word like a little puppy who just wanted to exceed his expectations and gain his favor.

To your dismay, your meeting was cut short when Adelinde knocked and entered Diluc’s office, asking for you. As you were about to get up from your seat, Diluc extended his hand out once more, helping you out of your seat. It was a small gesture—mundane from an outsider’s perspective but still, it was as if you wanted his every move to mean something, and you didn’t want to let go of the warm gloved hand that had yours enclasped in it. At the last second, he squeezed your hand before letting it go.

You were in for trouble.

As you got up, the handkerchief that was slightly damp with your sweat left your back pocket after getting snagged by the chair. He picked it up as he called for you, stopping you in your tracks. “You dropped your…”

He took a deep breath, and it must have been your imagination but his eyes and expression definitely changed.

You tried to take it back from him, but his grip was tight.

“Diluc?”

“On second thought… if you need anything, ask Charles,” he said, jaws locking as he handed you your handkerchief back. “Tell him I don’t want to be disturbed. Tell him to lock up tonight. I’ll be out early.”

“O-of course, Diluc,” you muttered, unable to escape the worry that clouded your chest when you wondered if it was anything you said or did. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. You just turned on the ball of your foot and left. “Excuse me.”

“____, wait.”

“Yes?” Your ears perked, the gleam in your eyes making it painfully obvious how you were being overly keen for him despite having just met him.

“Careful.”

…

‘No more refills for another year.’ You recalled the exact words of the woman who handed you your pills, the realization dawning on you that it was the gods’ way of foreshadowing things for you like a never-ending reel of the joke that is your life.

It took one slip—one blackout—one tiny little accident to flush every single pill down the sink.

In your panic, you resolved to keep everything under wraps until it was time for your next cycle—telling nobody, not even your friend in fear of even one slip of the tongue, which could make everything much worse.

You couldn’t just ask for a break when you’d barely started working there. How do you explain this to them? Things at work seemed as if you were getting settled in, too.

You felt it in your core. You woke up irritated, you’d been uncharacteristically clumsy, you had unprompted muscle pain, you had short bouts of breaking into sweat, and the need for friction between your thighs arose more often than before. All the tells were there, and you had no capacity to stop it.

Even so, you wanted to go to work. Who were you kidding? You wanted to be around him and you had your genetic makeup to curse for that.

…

Once or twice. Sometimes more.

As much as you hated it, that was the number of times you saw him in a day. It was usually only when he came in and out, plus the rare occasions he just needed to stop by the counter. You could only wish you’d see more of him, but he seemed like a very private person. At a time like this, his punctuality should be the least of your priorities. It wouldn’t have been any of your business worrying about him if it weren’t for the things you’d been hearing from Moco and Hillie, who were two of the most active gossipers you’d ever known.

“Something tells us you had something to do with it.” It was obviously a joke, but they weren’t joking when they said this was unusual. Still, your stomach churned at the slightest possibility that it might be because of you. To make matters worse, you weren’t emotionally prepared for anything that concerned Diluc, which made it difficult for you to control your expressions. A look of worry took over your face, which only made the two regulars giggle at you for having a little crush on your own boss.

“That’s cute and all, ____, but here’s some advice,” Moco said, both of their expressions turning almost sympathetic for you after sending each other telepathic messages.

“He doesn’t go there, so you should just forget about it,” Hillie added with a look of pity on her face as if there was no other way to put it.

“I don’t go there either, don’t worry,” you said firmly to the two women, but more to yourself really, in a poor attempt to convince yourself at the same time. Still, the hurt didn’t leave the back of your throat. After all, Moco and Hillie’s words were only few among the many signs that you shouldn’t bother with any of your little budding feelings.

And who says you couldn’t admire him from afar? You thought.

Bullshit, countered another thought because who on earth does that like it’s the easiest thing in the world?

But he wasn’t totally absent. He still nodded at you whenever he was around, as if that was something to celebrate. You were surprised you could function well—if ‘well’ meant looking stiff and awkward as hell, heart beating out of your chest—during the rare occasions he stopped by to talk to Charles who was with you behind the counter. You tried to avoid his eyes that were definitely fixed on you, even as he was speaking to Charles about some admin tasks. Your heart frantically skipped so many beats when Charles said the exact words, “Don’t worry about her, she’s doing great.”

Even though Diluc couldn’t be bothered to ask you himself, he was at least asking about you.

You were exhausted by the end of today’s shift, mindlessly rummaging through your locker as you passively changed your clothes one article after another. For the hundredth time, you found yourself staring blankly ahead, wondering about what Moco and Hillie said, despite swearing over and over again that you weren’t gonna let yourself dwell on it.

I should forget about it, huh?

“Forget about what?” Startled, your musings were cut off by someone who came in unannounced and you were made aware of the fact that you’d been practically saying things out loud all this time. Looking over your shoulder, you found Diluc leaning by the door frame. You were suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you weren’t halfway done with the buttons of your shirt, instinctively clenching the two halves of your shirt together to hide your chest.

“Sorry, I… didn’t know anyone was here.”

You heard him take a few steps forward. His pace was slow, and it was a stark contrast to how fast your heart was beating. You didn’t have it in you to turn to face him now as you were practically in flames out of embarrassment for the thoughts that kept intruding in your head. Say something. Probe for answers. Break the ice. Something. ANYTHING—anything to relieve the room of the heavy feeling that you swore was one-sided.

“Say, ____.” You heard his deep husk right behind you, forcing you to take a deep breath, swallowing a chunk of saliva as you let him go on.

“D-did you need something?”

“Are you being careful like I asked you to?” He said, running the back of his gloved fingers behind you, quickly withdrawing his hand right as it was about to reach the small of your back. You held your breath when you heard the leather crumple in his hand as he balled it into a fist. He sighed. “Well?”

“Yeah, I always watch where I step,” after a deep breath, you lightly joked, elbows lowering while you slowly went on with the remaining buttons of your top. Clearly, he wasn’t here for any of the possible reasons that popped into your head. But realizing how unresponsive he’d been, you turned to look at his expression, only to find that he wasn’t laughing at your little joke.

Though you normally wouldn’t dare to ask, you went ahead with it anyway. After all, how many times was he gonna come to you like this?

“What’s all this about? You can... tell me,” you muttered, reverting your gaze back to your painfully uninteresting locker after getting caught off guard with the thought that this could be something that you two shared. Like an inside thing or a secret of some sort.

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, you felt a finger smooth your hair off your shoulder, leather tracing along both the clothed and exposed parts of your skin before he slowly went in to bury his face in the crook of your neck, taking a deep whiff of your scent. Like the little, obedient puppy you were, you craned your head back at the last contact, your own hand reaching for his own that was gingerly trailing your sides before stopping at your stomach.

You should’ve just let things take their natural course. After being touch-starved for so long, this was the first contact you had welcomed—the very first one you’d actually wanted... only to ruin it by opening your little mouth. Not like it was your fault but you just had to call out his name, didn’t you?

That alone broke whatever moment you two had. Not a minute sooner, Diluc was already shaking it off, regaining his usual composure—a skill that you could only dream of having.

“Sorry,” he said, brows furrowed and eyes refusing to meet yours, barely giving you enough time to prepare for what he said after that.

“Be careful of things like that.”

Before you knew it, your heart already sank, preventing you from saying anything further. He left you hanging, just like that, and you realized that this was probably what Moco and Hillie were talking about.

Be careful of you, you mean?

…

After your dreaded little encounter, you knew you had no other choice but to be civil with him. But for you, ‘civil’ meant that you’d be trying other—much simpler—ways to keep him happy, finally admitting that you weren’t exactly the smartest when it came to matters like this. All of it was ironic for you, an omega who’d always avoided all sorts of biologically-related confrontations, meeting someone you’d practically be willing to take anything from—even the slightest hint of affection.

Most days, ‘civil’ merely meant not getting in his way.

Today, it meant performing slightly above average at work—saying yes to every one of Charles’ requests, volunteering to do this or that in someone else’s stead, even offering to stay much longer to close up for Charles who said he was needed somewhere else.

You opened the door to Diluc’s office, eyes navigating for the keys Charles told you you needed for lock-up. But the lights were out, curtains shutting out what would’ve been a nice view of the late night scenery, and so you could barely see anything—until the light from the hallway shone on the figure by the desk and you had to take a step back. His scent was all over the place. You walked in on his bare back facing you, shoulders raised and the muscles of his back tensed while he bowed his head down, fingers digging into the dark wood, the veins on his arm prominent as his hands were propped against his desk.

Animal.

You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve let Charles take care of it, but no, you had to try and take initiative, as you had said it earlier. To make a good impression on Diluc, to have an excuse to enter his office again, to try and mask yourself in his scent the only way you thought possible. Instead, you got more than what you bargained for. You saw the primal intensity in his gaze, one that mimics a predator looking at the prey who got lured by its carnal state. But it was as if he didn’t want you there, eyes telling you that you definitely should not have been there.

“Get out.”

…

Was it too much to ask for a simple hello, a smile, or even a nod of acknowledgment? Maybe for someone like Diluc, it was. After all, you practically barged in on what was probably something he didn’t want others in on. He rarely came in after that incident, even more than his former already-scarce appearances, rarely speaking to anyone at all. To top it all off, the walls were thin enough for people like Moco and Hillie, who barely made the effort to tone down their little lunch break discussions in the employee’s lounge. That night, they saw him and then they saw you come out of the locker rooms, different kinds of alarms ringing in both your faces. At least it wasn’t that other night.

Now, he was certainly avoiding you. He made sure you knew of that when he came in the other day, speaking to Charles and Adelinde about some important matters, sending a nod to every employee-that-isn’t-you’s way. When you tried to block his way as he headed for the exit, he walked right past you, not even sparing you so much a glance.

You had no right to feel bad about it when you had intruded on something that no one was supposed to see. How were you supposed to mean anything to him now? Before you came here, this was what you wanted, right? For an alpha to completely disregard your anatomy. For an alpha to let you be. For you to be completely free from harm’s way.

Must also be your dangerously close cycle, you thought. But whether it was just your hormones acting up, or something else, the hurt was definitely there.

…

It had been a while since he acknowledged your existence. If there was anything you were grateful for, it was your ability to not let your troubles affect your work ethic—for this particular job, at least. Maybe you still hoped he’d see it as some sort of penance for what you had done.

You could say you had better days, but you couldn’t complain about today, either. Your current shift was light, mostly consisting of just manning the counter, minimal kitchen prep, and just putting up a smile for every Tom, Dick, and Harry that came in. Except, one particular Tom had been sending you looks ever since he came in. To be more specific, an alpha called Thoma. You recalled catching a whiff of him when he said his name over at the counter, not passing up the opportunity to tell you how much prettier you looked when you smiled.

He called you to his table to tell you there was something wrong with his drink, handing it back to you with a smug expression you couldn’t make anything out of. The tips of his index finger tapped rhythmically on his manspread legs, and you were particularly wary of the smile he wore despite telling you you’d messed up his order.

“Is everything okay?” He leaned in closer to the table, elbows propping before telling you, “You forgot to write your number on my cup.”

Oh.

You supposed he meant no harm. He was cute, even. This made you think of how long it’d been since you had actually been with someone.

You should bite. It’s been so long. You deserve this.

These were the thoughts that filled your little horny head, but one particular thought intruded your hormone-driven musings— the thought of Diluc finding out you went out with someone else, some random alpha despite practically threatening you to be careful. The thought of it alone bothered you so much. At a time like this. When he himself couldn’t be bothered to spare you more than just a glance or a collective greeting to the crew that included you. Even telling you outright to get out of his office. Telling the whole crew to never again come in unannounced, all the while knowing that that was directed at you, especially.

Fuck.

“I-I—sorry, it’s—shit!” Inappropriate, you were about to say, except someone accidentally elbowed the cup you were holding, spilling its contents on your apron, which unfortunately didn’t spare your shirt from getting soaked as well.

Gasps were heard all around followed by a silence that surrounded the cafe. You turned around and saw all eyes were on you.

Thoma, on the other hand, was quick to come to your rescue. From behind you, he rushed to pat your shirt dry with the napkin that was on his table. He kept at it until he got close enough to catch on your budding scent, something that was potent enough to stop his movements. You knew too well what that meant as you felt the sudden rise in your body temperature. You turned to look at him, and all of a sudden, there was a stark switch in his gaze, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire, his hands pressing harder on the small of your back and your stomach.

Your heart was in a frenzy. You found yourself in the same position you were in the last time it came unexpectedly. It had happened time and time again, and you saw no way out of this vicious cycle.

“P-please,” your voice trembled and your heart thudded in your chest. Recognizing your own panic, you unwittingly tried to talk your way out of this. “Don’t do anything, I—”

“Take your hands off her.”

The sound of his voice caused your heart to drop. You were on top of the mess that caused the two alphas to look at each other head-on, both of them menacing and unwilling to back down. Everyone else was on edge, but for the two of them, it seemed that no one else was in the room except for the three of you.

Diluc grabbed your hand, pulling you to his side without ever turning his gaze away from the blonde alpha who had just taken his supposed prey from him. But this wasn’t his territory, and he knew that too well as he was the first to lower his shoulders, averting his gaze albeit grudgingly.

It took five, maybe less, seconds of what felt like an eternity for Thoma to completely back down. “I’ll leave you to it,” he growled, taking one last threatening look at Diluc, then you, before heading towards the exit.

“Get changed,” the man beside you uttered.

What?

“My office. I have clothes in one of the closets.”

Oh.

In your attempts to process whatever the fuck just happened, you lost track of what had caused it in the first place. Still, it was heartbreaking how despite the little show he’d put on, he refused to meet your eyes even as he addressed you.

“I warned you, remember?” he growled, his breaths labored as you recognized the threats in his voice, his eyes staring directly into the now-empty chair where Thoma sat. “I told you to be careful. Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”

He did all of that, and for what? Helped you out of your little situation, and for what? At that, you broke away from his hold, trying your hardest not to look in the eyes of the people who watched you intently as you strided to his office.

Your back hit the door as soon as you closed it behind you, making you release all the breath you’d been holding throughout the two alphas’ heated exchange. You hadn’t realized you were holding back your tears as well until you welled up, choking on your own sobs.

You discarded your apron and your shirt in some corner of his office, hugging your knees close to your body as you attempted to recall the events that lead up to this point.

It was a fucking pre-heat. Something as mundane-sounding as that shouldn’t affect you to this extent, but it did. You couldn’t possibly stay to see what would happen if you started your actual cycle.

Your crying was cut short when you caught a whiff of something that came from one of Diluc’s drawers. Without instructing it, your body acted on its own accord, weight transferring from one foot to the other as you scurried off to find out what it was.

It was a used sweater—his sweater. And it was definitely not what Diluc was talking about when he told you to get changed.

You were here again, you realized. The same place where Diluc didn’t want you to be until he told you otherwise. Your mind was unable to process anything further than that, especially when you had no other thoughts except for the intoxicating scent that came from his sweater, rubbing the soft garment across your cheek. Suddenly, you felt weak in the knees, forcing you to take the nearby couch as you felt it come—the added smell of your nectar on top of the burning sensation pooling at your core, and you all but fought the urge to pleasure yourself in the same space that likely wasn’t meant for the likes of you to soil. Then came the tears again. You had no way to handle this alone, but you couldn’t ask for help from anyone anymore.

You couldn’t trust your body even more, especially now that it constantly grieved over your neglect of its primal needs. Your body was literally begging for scraps of affection from someone who outright made you feel unwelcome, and despite that, your body tingled over the possibility of him wanting you for you. He could barge in here any minute now and you’d happily offer yourself up to him. But not if you could help it.

Before anything else happened, you wore what you could and ran for the back exit, running past the handful of employees who immediately threw their head backs at the stench you were giving off. You had to get away from this place and your heart sank for how soon it took for you to break, but you couldn’t look back. If that was the case, why did you have to take his sweater with you?

…

You never showed your face again at work. You ignored every single call that came your way. You were fucking AWOL despite it only being over two months since you started. At this point, you had neither the wits nor the drive to even think about what you were gonna do once all of this is over.

To say this was a bad cycle was an understatement. This was by far the longest heat you’d ever had, and by far the most difficult to control. Two weeks in and it didn’t even feel like it had neared its peak. Nothing seemed to work—not porn, not every single toy you owned, not humping yourself dry on your pillow. You supposed this was because it was the first heat you’d had after medicating for so long. It was no surprise your first unmedicated heat post was at an all-time high.

The only source of relief you had was the piece of clothing you took as a memento of your short-lived hope. Of course, it was Diluc’s sweater that was outstretched and wrung with crescents left by your fingernails, despite trying your absolute best to treat it with care as if it were your own lifeline. Unfortunately, scents inevitably dissipated over time. That should’ve been a good thing, because one day you would have nothing left to be reminded of him. Except, you dreaded the mere thought of that.

The faint scent was enough to make your orgasms at the very least tolerable, enough to the point where you were able to calm for about a solid half-hour until the need to cum arose again. But the lingering scent wasn’t enough to satisfy the uncomfortable coil within your core, temperature rising the more you held onto the garment.

Your eyes were burning, vision blurred with your own tears from the overthinking when you suddenly heard a rhythmic knocking on your door. Although you had since made it your resolve to stay holed up, miserable in your apartment, ignoring every sign of life outside your creaky walls, the knocking was persistent enough to get you on your feet. You didn’t bother to cover yourself up properly, instead opting to use your comforter as a makeshift gown.

“Woah,” said the man standing outside your door, icy blue eyes widening before he involuntarily took a step back as soon as you opened your door.

“Sorry, didn’t mean for that to come off rudely.” He chuckled after what sounded to be an honest yet insincere apology if you’d ever heard one. “The name’s Kaeya.”

A beta, one of the lucky ones, and a pretty one at that.

“I—what’re you…”

“If you’ve got any questions, feel free to shoot ‘em along the way. Now hurry and take whatever you need.”

Someone was clearly getting the wrong idea. If you were to guess, he likely didn’t understand the gravity of your own situation, what with you hiding your bare burning body behind the thick comforter you’d been holed up in for the last two weeks. Whether he didn’t understand or he simply didn’t care had no bearing whatsoever. The situation was strange no matter how you tried to look at it and you weren’t stupid enough to believe some random stranger.

“Relax, I won’t hurt you.” Kaeya seemed to pick up on your resolve, taking a deep breath before giving out a few more details on why he insisted on kidnapping you. “I came here for you because of that guy, now he owes me… guy’s none other than the young master himself, Diluc,” he snickered.

Questions popped in your head left and right but before you could come up with answers to any of them, Kaeya already grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you. Before you knew it, he was wrapping your comforter tight around you, arm circling your weak body, hands holding your elbows up as he guided you towards the exit, heading to his car.

He warned away any unsuspecting eyes that came your way. Blue eyes threatening and aura too menacing for someone with make-up that was supposed to be the more ‘neutral’ of the types. Curious thing was, everything he did seemed almost too natural for him, as if it were routine. But you didn’t think to ask questions. Save them for another time, perhaps? After all, you had enough problems of your own.

“Oh, just—try to uhm... hold out until we get there.” As if that advice was of any use to you.

…

“That old thing’s still there?” You probably shouldn’t have brought it up but you needed to distract yourself from your perverse needs. Kaeya’s face scrunched up into a cringe, his grip on the wheel tightening briefly. But he was probably internally thrilled to hear about the ‘weird-looking’ vase in Diluc’s office. To even be able to talk about Diluc with someone else was a release you never knew you needed. Kaeya was just disgustingly proud to talk about why he gave that vase to Diluc in the first place saying it was like a ‘welcome back’ thing, but it was another story for another time. And finally, some things about Diluc were adding up.

“I knew something about it was amiss,” you thoughtlessly muttered, making Kaeya laugh through his nose.

“In my defense, I never asked him to put it there,” he said, raising a brow as he looked at you through the rear view mirror. It wasn’t hard to say that they had a sort of love/hate bond, and on some level it felt familial. At least, that’s what you gathered from the way he talked about Diluc. That aside, thinking about Diluc being somewhat of a sentimental person—or even just imagining hanging out with the two of them on a regular day, seeing firsthand what Diluc was like with his close circle—made you stare directly into space, wondering if you would ever get a shot at knowing him on that level.

Kaeya sighed when you went quiet all of a sudden. “You should be resting.”

You were holed up in your little blanket fort-slash-wrap in the backseat of his car, unapologetic despite how your stench practically became his car’s makeshift air freshener, but he never once acted like it bothered him. Apart from Diluc’s interior design choices, you hadn’t talked about anything else in the past half-hour ride. It was very clear that Kaeya knew not to ask any questions even if he wanted to. If anything, he was letting you get comfortable with the pace of your own setting.

“Diluc… how is he?” you finally had the courage to ask. Looking at his expression in the mirror, you saw some hesitation on his face. At this point, you didn’t care whatever answer he gave you. Whatever it was, you just needed to know.

“Barely holding up, I think.” He spoke gently as he tried to give you the news. “No one’s actually seen him in days. Been in isolation, same as you.”

“I-is that true?”

“Listen, princess, I don’t know your whole… situation….” He gestured, and your eyes could only widen in disbelief. “... but, Diluc isn’t the type to do something like this. You see…” Still iffy, he explained, “He’s not exactly happy about losing control, doesn’t exactly like losing himself to urges. Man’s got a whole other thing going on.Might be because of what happened to our father, you see—”

Our father? He stopped for a brief moment, icy blues catching your reaction on the rear view mirror, chuckling as he spoke, “Yeah, it’s complicated.”

Throughout the remainder of the ride, Kaeya didn’t get into detail about what happened to their father, only that their father was a proud alpha like any other. Over time, he got greedy—losing himself to his insatiable hunger, and that ultimately led him down a dark path. His death was something that really affected Diluc, which also caused his and Kaeya’s relationship to fall out in the past.

So many questions. You wondered where to even begin. But, it was only then that you realized you were too caught up in your own mess that you never once bothered to know if Diluc had anything going on. All the hurt was soon replaced by the feeling of guilt and worry over the possibility of Diluc hurting all this time.

Selfish.

Loathsome.

Self-absorbed.

These were all the thoughts that plagued your head—the words that reverberated inside your head, lulling you back into a deep sleep.

…

Warm, you thought. The sheets felt warm against your already-warm body. It didn’t make sense, but it was like waking up to a warm embrace after countless days of drowning in a pool of your own misery. These weren’t the sheets you left with. This was someone else’s. The bed and the pillows were someone else’s. The only thing familiar was the all-around scent, now more pronounced than the worn-out piece of clothing you held onto for the past few weeks.

The realization hit you fast when a heavy weight transferred to the other side of the bed—you were in Diluc’s bedroom.

For some reason, you felt relieved when you realized that his room carried the same aesthetic as his office. As soon as you turned to look at him, everything came gushing into your consciousness like a tide, and with it came the tears—everything from the locker room incident, Thoma, your disappearance, Kaeya, the car ride, the story about their father, and finally, the sight of him.

Diluc’s eyes were heavy, his skin pale, hair slightly disheveled. ‘Is this what he’s like behind closed doors?’ You wondered. Loose sweater—exactly like the one he wore the first time you met—and pajama pants, underneath a satin robe. You loved it. You should be ashamed of your thoughts, because even in the aftermath of his misery, he never looked so beautiful.

You leaped out of his sheets into his arms, catching him by surprise. You didn’t care that you were naked or that your tears stained his shirt, nor did it matter to you how much you reeked of burnt marmalade. He didn’t seem to mind either, else he wouldn’t be welcoming your enthusiasm by locking his arms around your waist.

“D-Diluc, I’m… I—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Under his breath, he said, pulling slightly away as red empathetic eyes studied you.

“Y-you… don’t hate me anymore?” You hiccupped, not missing how Diluc held back a chuckle as he wiped your tears with his thumb.

“Never did, ___,”

You didn’t know who initiated it, but you knew both of you wanted this. The gap between the two of you was gone in an instant. You’d wanted to taste him for so long, you’d deny it but at some point you were afraid that all the buildup might disappoint you in the end. But the way Diluc devoured your mouth made you insanely curious about what other things he was good at.

You grinded against his erection, clawing at his sweater, leaving traces of your nectar across his pants as you let him explore your mouth. After all this time—months of being touch-starved forced you to want him to pick up the pace. No, you needed him inside you as soon as possible. But Diluc wanted to take his time with you, ignoring your eagerness to get things going.

“Easy, princess. You’re much too good for that.” He pulled away, and your heart sank despite knowing he wasn’t gonna go anywhere. How could he be so calm at a moment like this?

Your chest heaved at the rate of your heavy breaths, watching and waiting for him to finish taking off his clothes so excruciatingly slow. Not like he was teasing you or anything. He was only trying to figure out what he wanted to do to you first.

The sight of his sizable member springing out of his waistband knocked the breath out of your lungs. You knew you were staring, but you couldn’t help it. Your eyes trailed from the tip of his cock, the prominent vein along his length, down to his balls. You never never noticed it before, but his bare thighs looked so much stronger too. You bit on your finger, unable to fathom the pain you’d have to take to get used to his size, but you wanted anything he could give you.

“Don’t give me that look,” he uttered as he gathered the precum that dripped from the head of his cock, stroking the loose skin wet with a few pumps. “Might not be able to hold back,” he said in a tone deeper than his usual.

You felt yourself practically leaking, now finding out that the warmth in the pit of your stomach could get much more intense. Your fingers instinctively found your clit, but Diluc didn’t like that, brows furrowing as if he was telling you to be patient.

“P-please don’t make me wait long,” you whined, eyes shining in your protest, once again like an adorable little puppy waiting to be fed, making Diluc’s eyes hazier with lust, a light smirk staying permanent on his face.

He gently pushed you flat on your back, making you realize that the weight of his hands alone could hurt you if he wanted to. He was holding himself back so much for you, and you wondered how painful that was for him.

“I-I can take it all, I promise.”

He knelt on the floor, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, hot breath fanning across your exposed and drenched cunt. “You sure?”

Before you could answer his painfully rhetorical question, he ran his nose across your wet folds, making you hiss at the sudden surge of pleasure, but it was gone too quickly. “Please, Diluc,” you breathed.

He kissed your inner thigh in response, both hands caressing your legs in place as he continued to trail slow and sloppy kisses along your thigh down to your folds. His eyes were locked on yours the whole time, even as he ran his lower lip across your wet folds, his lower teeth slightly grazing your clit before nipping at the bud with one pop, leaving your cunt one last sloppy kiss.

He barely did anything to you, and yet your knees trembled in delight. You fought the urge to pleasure yourself, clawing away at his white silk sheets instead. “D-diluc… can’t wait any longer.”

“You sure you can take this?” It sounded more like an answer than it was a question. Before you could say anything, he slowly inserted two digits into your slippery hole, curling his fingers upward, finding your g-spot as his thumb drew circles on your clit.

Euphoric was the feeling of his fingers exploring your velvet walls, and it made you crave more and more of whatever belonged to him to be inside you.

“How ‘bout this?” he asked, pumping you with a third digit, fingers expanding inside your walls. He was stretching you out so good but not nearly enough, you felt, still desperately wanting a taste of his cock inside you.

As if it couldn’t get any better, his thumb was replaced by his tongue, flicking & stroking at your sensitive bud, lips nipping roughly at your clit, all while his fingers continued to fuck you.

“D-diluc!” you cried out, body arching into his touch, lower body wriggling over the spike of pleasure in your core. His free hand tried to pin you down, wrapping an arm around your thigh, unwilling to keep away from your cunt even for just a second.

Right as you bucked your hips upward, indicating how close you were to cumming, he wriggled his tongue aggressively, fingers wantonly pumping in and out of you at a much faster pace.

“Hhaaa!” you cried, leaving your mouth open as you let him eat and stuff you through your orgasm, your body uncontrollably shaking as you felt tears prickle your eyes.

He stood up, eyes a deeper shade of red with a gaze that watched you as if you looked so irresistible to him. Your core immediately felt his absence. You needed more, purring in protest, and mouthing ‘please’ to get him to pick up the pace.

From where you lay down, you could see how hard he was. His cock throbbed, tip leaking with precum as he stroked himself only twice, just to lube his shaft.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he uttered.

“But don’t stop, okay?” you pleaded.

He laid on you on all fours, eyes staring at yours intently as he aligned himself at your opening. His cock rubbed along your stomach first, length running across your folds, making you take a deep breath. His face was so close to yours now that his tip was right where your hole was.

His pace was menacing, to say the least. He brought either of your legs up, making them hook on his arms. He gave you a kiss, a soft one at that, planting more on your cheeks, on your neck, before closing the gap and deepening the kiss.

“Mm!” you moaned into his mouth as he slid his cock slowly into you with such ease, girth stretching you wide, giving you a sharp pain that made you tear up, but it was a pain that you welcomed.

You couldn’t help but pull away from his kiss, craning your neck up to release your moans as he went deeper into you. Your walls clenched at the lewd sound of his cock penetrating you, pain slowly turning into bouts of pleasure as he gradually increased his pace one pump after another.

He captured your lips once more, kisses leaving a trail of saliva after he went for your neck, sucking and nipping at a sensitive spot that was sure to bruise come tomorrow.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you murmured, moans becoming breathy and high pitched when Diluc started pumping into you balls deep, hitting your cervix, the tip of his cock almost leaving your pussy before ramming into you again, fucking you even as you felt the gush of your second climax.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—mmmhh,” you whimpered. He continued to roll his hips, fucking you through your orgasm, making tears prickle your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Love the sounds you make, princess,” he said, voice low and filled with lust, as he exited you to flip you over.

You gripped onto the sheets, face down and ass raised. Your legs were wide open as his hips swiftly slammed against your ass, strong hands keeping you still as the head of his cock rammed into your cervix. His stamina was ruthless. Diluc’s hand made its way to your pussy, calloused fingers playing roughly with your clit, making you cuss a long and breathy mewl, your voice muffled by the sheets the lower half of your face was buried in.

Three? No—four times, you came. Your head was hazy, throbbing core still hot and coming undone from your last orgasm by the time he was already set to fuck the next one out of you.

Just when you thought he was nearing his own climax, he pulled you up, burying his face in your scent, one hand cupping your breast, the other circling an arm around your waist, holding you up as he fucked you from behind.

“Make me yours, p-please,” you whimpered, his nose trailing from your neck up to the back of your head.

“Say that again,” he whispered, planting a quick kiss on the shell of your ear.

“Make me yours.”

He roughly bucked his hips, a couple of pumps being the last before he stuffed your insides white as he came. He breathed against your ear, chest heaving against your back as his hand soothed your stomach. His knot was about to come, but you didn’t budge.

“You wanna take this, love?”

You breathed a sigh of relief at the term of endearment, hand making its way to his large one that was on your stomach. When you said you wanted all of him, you meant every word.

“I do.”

He parted your hair, trailing soft and slow kisses along your neck. About the same time as you felt him lock inside you, he bit into your scent glands, making you crane your neck up, eyes shut as you kept yourself from wincing from the pain.

You felt relieved—like you were safe in his keep, as if there was no other place to be.

Strong arms enveloped you, breaking your trance as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, telling you with every ounce of assurance,

“You’re mine.”

#diluc x reader #diluc smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #tw a/b/o #tw omegaverse #tw dubcon #tw yandere #!love letters #!holic #!diluc #!collabs

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cptsdstudyblr · 3 years

Text

So you moved out and have no idea how to keep your home clean? Home Cleaning Crash Course

What cleaning supplies do I actually need?

Tools:

Broom, mini-broom, and dustpan

Mop (get a real mop, not a Swiffer)

Vacuum (if you have carpet)

Microfiber cloths

Dish sponges

Scouring pad

Products:

All-purpose cleaner

Disinfecting/antibacterial cleaner

Mop fluid (Pine-Sol works for most mops)

Glass cleaner

Toilet-bowl cleaner

Shower/tub cleaner

Dish soap

Furniture cleaner/wood cleaner

Miscellaneous:

Trash bags (to fit all your trash cans), recycling bags

What do I need to do when?

Disclaimer: This is a suggestion. Feel free to modify it to your needs. I am both chronically ill and mentally ill, so I regularly modify my cleaning plans to be more accessible to me. Just do your best and it will work out :)

Multiple times a day:

Handwash dishes

Wipe kitchen counter with an all-purpose cleaner and microfiber cloth (immediately after cooking)

Wipe kitchen sink with a soapy sponge (immediately after washing dishes)

Rinse bathroom sink with water (immediately after brushing teeth)

Some people prefer to tidy up multiple times a day/as they go

Always disinfect your kitchen thoroughly using an antibacterial or disinfectant cleaner after cooking raw meat or fish to avoid foodborne illness.

Once a day:

Load/unload the dishwasher

Put away dishes

Wipe kitchen sink, counter, and stove with an all-purpose cleaner and a microfiber cloth

Clean bathroom sink and counter with an all-purpose cleaner (or even just soap)

Some people prefer to do one big tidy once a day

Make your bed and fix any pillows and blankets throughout the house

Replace your dirty towels and sponges

Check the mail

1-2 times a week:

Take out any trash that contains food waste or period waste

Clean your dining table using either glass or furniture/wood cleaner and a microfiber cloth

Disinfect your sink, counter, and stove using an antibacterial or disinfectant cleaner.

Fix any spaces that need to be organized, but get disorganized over time

Wipe your heavily-trafficked furniture with a microfiber cloth and use a cleaner on any surfaces you feel need it

Clean your floors (sweep, mop, and vacuum)

Clean your tub/shower and your toilet

Do laundry - the three categories I usually do are towels (kitchen and bathroom), sheets/blankets, and clothes, but you may have more or less categories

Water any plants you need to

Take out the trash/recycling

1-2 times a month:

Clean your appliances (mostly as needed, but don't let it get really bad or it will be so much harder to clean)

Clean out expired food from your fridge and pantry

Wash your shower curtain

Clean your shower drain so that it doesn't get clogged (you may need to do this more often if you have long hair)

Dust your less heavily-trafficked furniture with a microfiber cloth

Wipe your door handles and light switches with a disinfecting or antibacterial cleaner

Clean your garbage cans

Occasionally:

Change your air filter (if you have AC or heating)

Dust your non-furniture items such as ceiling fans and blinds

Clean your windows

Vacuum under your furniture

#adulting #life skills #mental health #mental illness #cptsd #ptsd #anxiety #depression #cleaning #neurodivergent #cleaning tips

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slash4slashers · 3 years

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what i think the OM brothers + dateables smell like (minus luke)

lucifer

strong stinky old man cologne

and too much of it

the type of cologne that you get a whiff of and instantly want to gag

you will know when when mf has been somewhere bc its the first thing you smell

stank ass #1 😒

mammon

he smells good

like good deodorant

exhibit a

or pine car freshener

because sometimes he falls asleep in his car (bc i said so)

leviathan

mans stinks

smells like axe 🤢

stank ass #2

i don’t think your a yucky otaku

i think your a stinky otaku

he sleeps in a bathtub but can’t take time to bathe 😖

satan

cat nip 100%

pussy magnet

how do you think he attracts so much pus- cats

asmodeus

pink chiffon from pink

pretty smell for a pretty demon <3

beelzebub

whatever he just ate

belphegor

gain lavender laundry detergent

or the devildom equivalent to that 🤷🏾‍♀️

and drool

sir your breathe is stinky

go brush your teeth :(

diavolo

fresh pine

and paper

old man >:( <333

barbatos

earl gray tea

thats it

simeon

he would definitely smell like vanilla or chocolate chip cookies

solomon

he would definitely smell like old paper

and mens 3-in-one soap 😣

sol just because its 3-in-one doesn’t mean that you should use it 🤕🔫

#obey me: shall we date?#obey me headcannons #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me barbatos #obey me scenarios #.moni-writes #moni-sama #obey me asmo #obey me satan

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thatsongonyourradio · 2 years

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Well it's freezing but the sun is out! I slept like a rock last night. Today I am shoveling snow, playing frisbee with my dog, cleaning (ah, the smell of laundry soap and lemon Pine-Sol!) and relaxing. Later fiance and I are going to watch a movie and I might buy us some drinks 🍷

I am restarting my HIIT/jump rope/daily stretching routine but i am baby stepping it back in and letting myself have no expectations for myself so that it stays fun. I feel better mentally when i do this, for sure :) trying to get fiance on board to do some of it with me but hes not that interested haha hes more of a gym person, while I prefer things I can do outside!

#personal #weekend #me #snow #ice tea #hiit

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indomitablemegnolia · 2 years

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So, Sunday is my birthday... I am older than sin, but I like to make myself a cake... I have a few that are hmmm, but looking for wow... if you have suggestions...

Anyways...

A think I am tinkering with...

A bead of sweat slowly slides down over my left eye, I can’t even muster the will to raise my hand so wipe it away; it ran down drifting along the edge of my blue textured mask, it ran the entire edge where it congregated with its kin at the black piping of the mask that hung from my ears, encasing the bottom half of my face; covering from below my eyes over my nose mouth to under my chin; for the hour that I had been sitting watching my laundry rinse, drain, spin, repeat, has had the same effect on my soul. I flash to a week ago when I washed my last load at home; I took a sort of pride in my efforts and the symmetry of the simple actions; it was a small white load, no bleach, just baking soda and lemon juice; my single set of bright white sheets seeming to washing perfectly, but then spin cycle hit; well, the machine looked like a scene out of a war movie, wash basket ricocheting from side to side then through the side, then through the wall. Since that day it has been like collecting pieces of a puzzle and trying to reconstruct it; I am surprised that repairing a hole though the wall now qualifies as the easy part of this resurrection, even bending the sides back into shape. I have never credited myself as an appliance repairman, but now I suppose you can call me Maytag. I have always been the one to fix all the problems in the house, now here I am beaten, out of money for parts, the washer is all in one piece; the outside shell looking like someone took a hammer to it, I thought I could put some nice wood paneling on the outside and dress it up; the new parts that I could afford all installed but the wash basket the second most expensive part on the washer and because the balance ring is an integrated part of the wash basket filled with water to counter the motion still is battered back and forth in the spin as that was the problem all along.

That washer is now a perfect syllogy for my life and the world in general; internal strife, pulling, pushing, exploding, brutality; protests, screaming, some saying better angels, others looking for trouble, and still some just saying hooray for our signs. I am done; I want none of it; I am tired, like Langston Hughes tired, "I am tired of waiting. Aren't you? Waiting for the world to become good and beautiful and kind?" I just see worse and worse. I am done, I am exhausted tired, beaten, broke, and now, out of clothes. I am desperate for anything that might help dull the shock of the entire world screaming and my soul joining them.

So, to the laundromat I go; and such a classy place with pink stucco crumbling off of the facade established in 1944, the pot hole intrenched parking lot looked rather down trodden, but the machines were clean, newer than twelve years ago; the inside grounds were clean smelling daily of new pine sol and ammonia; the machines worked well and I was nearly completely out of clothes; so much so that I had to wear my single pair flouncy pretty, sexy panties black satin with embroidery and ruffles on the back that tend to be itchy and crawl; though admittedly their age and the fact that they were never designed to stay on for an entire day I owe my kudos, but god it was making my misery compounded. Apparently, my being rather particular about my laundry lends to the fact that it must be me who gets to do it. Thank Hades, God of this heated frappe of misery, that I am here on a Monday morning, I was the only soul lost in this morass.

In the last years I have seen more than my fair share of man's inhumanity to man; disease, death, poverty, violence and strife; billionaires becoming trillionaires (numbers in my estimation well beyond imaginary due to the over abundance of zeros) due to said sickness and death; I now know that it is futile to even hope for that good, beautiful, kind world... I just long for one person, stranger if it must be, to hug me, pressed and trusted to their chest, breathing in their detergent and shampoo, letting the oxytocin do its work. I sighed, like that is ever going to happen; with the necessary six foot distance required to survive and the fact I am nearly apoplectic when someone I know touches me; there is no chance that that would ever happen

Alas, so here I sit watching the world through the little round window on the front of the machine; the laundry, colors, textures, sloshing back and forth, everything so familiar and so foreign; there goes my favourite Captain America blue panties, my pink undershirt, my beloved little red pot holders; all in a stainless steel washer that was not mine; even the water was not mine; though I brought my own borax, baking soda, hydrogen peroxide and lemon juice, my nose was still assaulted by the horrible, acrid perfumed detergent procured from the vending machine that thank Hades was not mine; I lost myself in a mire of self-indulged self-pity, the flavour of which is something like the red dye #5 of cheap grocery store fruit punch doled out at birthday parties as a kid and drinking orange juice after using Listerine; the soulful blues piping through my ear buds effectively blocking me off from the outside world in my own damp nightmare.

I blinked, this was like a scene from a Tennessee Williams play where the air was hot and wet and stagnant, the only difference in a Williams play it was always pregnant with possibility; here, there is no such thing; buckets of sweat accumulated along my jeans cutoffs waistband hanging loosely at my hips, after it coursed down my back plastering my thin black cotton wifebeater, that said "Try everything once" to my skin like wallpaper in the airless craked and catered walls of the airless laundromat; I pulled the hem of my wifebeater, tucking it up under the bottom elastic of my bra, exposing my midriff to what locally is referred to as fresh air; beads of sweat slid down my belly and the new exposed flesh worshipped the moving air across its surface, as unsightly as it may be; in this Dante’s inferno I now don't care who saw my scars; my face and neck, mask filling with water to the point I felt that I was on the inside of that porthole, trapped, beating my fists against the tempered glass about to go into rinse cycle.

I hated my reflection in the window, the tinsel in my hair and the genetic portends of the Magnum PI mustache if my grandmother and aunts was any indication of my future; I was beyond pale, hideously so, eyes sad, but I liked my mask, something felt right about it; my age, my luck, my hope, my health heaped on my sweaty shoulders; I kicked at the base of the washer. As my one, good friend said of me and I have to agree as it was obvious, I am wrechedly old and a horrible prude; still, rather a sucker punch, as all I said was that I didn’t think that there really enough time in a day to incorporate as much fuckery as most TV shows depict these days or they sacrifice quality. Blah, I looked at my rather haggard reflection in the glass, but what would I know? When was the last time hands that weren’t layered in latex had dared to touch this breathing corpse? Right now, I hated the air that touched me; like Fitzgerald I was tired, "I was so very tired with nothing and everything, with the world and all that had laid themselves upon my shoulders to bear." Though I would suppose it would be fair to say without proper diagnosis that I was completely and utterly depressed and there was no salvation for my meager soul; Lord, Fate could sure kick a girl when she was down; I pause, girl, not so much, but I am sure old crone might work. I want to rest; I want to breathe soft and easy, quietly again; or if not easy have a damn good reason for ragged and raging breaths.

Trying desperately to shake loose the yoke that Fates Goliath had placed on my shoulders to drag the heavy pall, like Django, was my coffin; I walked to stand in front of the huge industrial fan which was the only motion in the air. I pressed my face into the torrent of air, pulling the neck of my shirt to get some motion across my suffocating skin. Prude my ass, here I stood dressed in nearly nothing which is way too much for this heat; wearing my ‘Fuck me’ panties; kiss my ass Christina, my cutoffs sagging so much they show when I reach my arms up and it’s so hot and humid I don’t care.

As a kid humidity always disgusted me, I supposed that moisture in the air came from the conglomeration of other people’s sweat and body odour; it still kind of grossed me out, but living in the south basically solidified the assumption, also validating a Sartre quote… “hell is other people." Distracting myself with the music which always seems to balm my soul, I moved my hips to Howlin’ Wolf singing Evil; I closed my eyes conjuring the possible audience he originally sang it to; in broken dark warehouses, stale beer and cheap tobacco coating the air, a hundred people all piled in to hear, moving against each other, living it. I swiveled my hips and stretched my arms high, moving to the driving rhythm.

A gust of cool air visited my skin making every little hair stand on end deliciously titillated; my eyes flew open, the scent of an expensive cologne, leather and a light tobacco flavour filled my sense; where the hell would cool air come from on a day like this? I slowly roll my head the direction of the door, and my breath caught; suddenly I was consumed by a pair dark shadowed eyes over a black mask; he walked in with a regimented strut, his back straight, shoulders squared; a humbling presence his seabag duffle over one shoulder and his black helmet under his other arm; his walk smooth, his black leather jacket hugged his wide, squared shoulders, my hands shook as I dropped them, he walked to the washer just to the left of mine; Howlin’ Wolf did one half chorus more and the music faded. Ripple, pop, hiss, of a song rendered from vinyl, sound of a sold soul, “Last fair deal, gone;” Robert Johnsons haunting single guitar and voice chimed in my ears; 'what would it take? To barter your soul?' He seemed to ask me directly; I shrugged, temptation was calling. He seemed to walk straight at me; he stopped about ten feet away from me

Now, that was what I was thinking about, quite a fun and delicious way to make my breath uneven; sets his seabag down with a thud; he stretches his arms up, craining his back, his jacket riding up showing his soft underbelly, with soft trail of light fuzz. I felt the cool air that surrounded him as he past; the curl to his black hair, caught the rivulets of sweat, light played like little diamonds as they course down the curls to just past his ears, then dripping to the floor; his skin sun kissed to a cocoa, a dusting of scruff on his chin and cheeks. I watched his every fluid move, he pulled his wallet out of his boot, shuffling through pulling out a $20; oh, that delicious walk, he took his mask off, his lips perfect, kissable... kissable, gah, who am I kidding those were the lips kisses dream of; His black eyes deep, black abysses; no delineation between iris and pupil.

He opened his seabag and dumped it into the washer next to mine; shaking everything out; from his gait and well worn seabag, I guessed Marine. Shrugging out of his butter soft jacket he folded it in half laying it over the bench, his black t-shirt hugged his skin like a dream; he was long lean muscle, not rippling Schwarzenegger muscle, but taught senew; he seemed to be on a hunt. The movement of muscle under smooth skin deliciously intoxicating.

He changed his twenty, quarters rained down in the machine like a jackpot; he was well above six foot, I would guess six-five; guessing about two hundred eighteen pounds; I was impressed he fit all twenty dollars of quarters into a single fist, goddamn; what else could those large hands do to eager skin; those delicious wide knuckled fingers caressing, groaping, gripping intimate hungry places, as old and prudish as I may be, my mind reeled in erotic visions, my legs shook.

He gripped the shoulder hem of his right sleeve with his left hand, pulling it in a swift motion over his head; gods the man moved like water no wasted motions. His body hard and lean, long steel ropes danced under skin; he had a scars and more than a few tattoos, all adding to his story; the image of detailed dragon across his shoulders rhythmically flexing under pale hands griping nail digging in, pushing through an existing round puckered scar; reading his scars told of a hard survival. The mental onslaught of vivid sensual, sexual scenes, images played in my mind.

Oh, my imagination had me blushing, the images and implications; it took me long moments to reconcile that I was not hallucinating; he kicked off his well worn tactical boots; he stepped first on the one socks toe pulling it mostly off; raising his foot to his knee, he pulled it, tossing it in the load; repeating the same with the other foot; he lined his boots and seabag under the opening of his washer. It was as if he had no idea he was not alone in the laundromat; my mouth dry, I licked my lips; god he was deliciously beautiful, I was having trouble believing this was real; but yes, he slowly stood back up, the muscles in his back moving in perfect cooperation under the lighter cinnamon colored skin, covered in burn scars looking like they emerge coverd partly with tattooed with flames curling from the dragons llips; a tattooed claw digging in to a round puckered scar that that to be a bullet wound that passed just blow his shoulder blade; what looked like knife wounds sprinked; one perfectly round pucker scar through the left shoulder; his effortlessly graceful hands popped the buttons on his Levi's, and began lowering them; emptying his pockets into his sea bag, removing his leather belt rolling it tucking it in the bag as well; he then shimmied lightly pulling his legs out of the jeans; long thick powerful legs; a large chunk of muscle missing from the inside back area of one thigh.

The mind being the wonderful thing it is mine stranger than most I quietly cataloged ever texture, motion, everything down to the smallest detail, to reproduce in prose; he sighed stretching as he threw the jeans in the wash; he bent at his hips; his chiseled from granite rump pressed it the sky,, large lovely hands sifted through quickly as if taking inventory; his hands moved sure and graceful, and god yes, looking at them, I think he can do amazing things with those hands. He loads the soap, adding the quarters, he starts his load; he craining his back, pulling his arms high above his head; twisting touching his toes; he stood to his full hight; god he was gloriously constructed; I silently thanked which ever god was responsible; with no shirt and sans pants lord his skin shimmered in the light, glossy with sweat, magnificent.

My mind again flashed with raw scenes of how we could both get that deliciously glossed in sweat. Goodness I shook, running my hands down the sides of my cutoffs; he turns after the water starts running and I swear to god he winked at me as he walked past me to the restroom in just his navy blue boxer briefs; I closed my eyes collecting myself, inwardly shaking my head at myself; no one looking like that man would wink at this; I looked down at myself; god knows I am beyond a pity case, clenching my eyes.

He emerged long minutes later looking cooler, cleaner, smelling of the softsoap they kept in the very clean restrooms, in tight black boxes briefs; his divine wet tousled hair lightly curled around his ears; he looked directly at me he smiled. I jumped looking away, drying my palms on my cutoffs; I swear I heard him chuckle. I close my eyes I am sure I had made a complete fool of myself. I sigh as delicious cool water sprinkles over me; it felt like heaven.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose @writernotwaiting @pedeka @anastasiaoftheironwood ... I know seems glowing but I don't know

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