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almostempty · 4 months ago

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too good to be true

(frankie morales x f!reader) | wc: 10k | other fics | Ao3

summary: frankie, a regular at your coffee shop, is there for you when your boyfriend joel breaks up with you and disappears practically overnight. despite not knowing each other long, frankie just seems to be perfect for you and you fall hard and fast

song inspo: can’t take my eyes off of you

warnings/tags: explicit smut, dark!frankie, stalker!frankie, dubcon, lies, deceit, coffee shop au gone wrong, bad bf Joel, abandonment issues, anxiety, breakup grief, sex to avoid processing emotions (yay!), face fucking, masturbation, crying, love bombing (aka emotional abuse), frankie doesn’t have a job bc he nefariously acquired a large cash settlement from his return trip to the jungle– or maybe he has a military pension idk don’t ask questions, revenge porn, jealousy, delusional reader, no y/n, unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction so it’s free to imagine it raw; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; likely many mistakes and i accept that

update: i gave this a re-read bc i wanted it to be fresh before i carry on with part 2, and was paralyzed by the typos (kill me). the story hasn’t changed, but i’ve done some heavy editing to hopefully improve some of the flow and impact in certain scenes (there’s probably still mistakes)

You don’t remember meeting Frankie for the first time—only the feeling. How he slipped into your mind before your alarm even rang. How you sprung out of bed in the dark, already thinking of him. You remember the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you caught yourself grinning and waving at him before he’d even made it across the cafe to the counter.

Once he started visiting your coffee shop, he quickly became your favorite regular. He had an enticing mix of confidence and calm. Always polite. Always kind. Once you learned his order–dark roast in a for-here mug–you’d have it poured just as he approached the register.

He’d thank you with his deep morning voice and a smile that made his eyes crinkle before he’d slink away to find a table. He came in at the same time every morning, a man of routine, right when your rush would hit. Everything demanded your immediate attention–the screaming steam wand, the line that formed at the register, the whirring coffee grinder. Frenzied as it was, you’d sink into your own routine. A flow state, slinging drinks and greeting regulars as they trickled in with their suits and shiny hair.

It made the shift pass quickly, but you never had a quiet moment to start a conversation with the one man you looked forward to seeing. It wasn’t too busy to sneak glances at him though. Sometimes, he’d scroll through his phone, and you’d steal a moment to take in his features—wondering what, exactly, people read in a cafe before sunrise. Other times it was like he knew you were looking, his eyes would flit up, matching your gaze before you could play it off.

You would’ve denied it at the time–but when he caught you watching, the way he smiled back, unafraid to hold eye contact–it gave you butterflies. You wouldn’t acknowledge the meaning in that or admit to the daydreams that he sparked. It wasn’t anything real! And besides, there was nothing to it. You weren’t single, or looking. He was just a good looking guy that seemed to have manners and a pleasant attitude.

And, for some reason, that was refreshing. It wasn’t like you had time to get to know him anyway. There was never time for more than a quick good morning, or have a good day when he’d leave his empty mug at the end of the counter.

Until it changed.

He started slipping in the front door in the quiet dark of the morning, while the espresso machines were still warming up and you were stocking the display with fresh pastries. You’d slide the mug toward him and he’d stay at the counter while you finished setting up. His curls were still damp from his post-workout shower and you’d let your eyes linger on his neck, his shoulders, his arms between tasks or his eyes, his nose, and his lips between questions.

The conversation between you flowed so easily you’d find yourself buzzing around the cafe before you’d even had a sip of your own coffee. He’d share as you worked, giving you plenty to absorb as you cleaned and prepped. You learned about when he moved to town, how he lives in another neighborhood but kept coming back for the coffee and the atmosphere.

You learned that he’s single. Ex-military.

You laughed, flashing him a grin. “That explains everything,” you quipped.

“Everything?” he asked.

“You know,” you waved your hand at him like it was obvious, but he waited patiently for an explanation. “The routine? Up to workout at the asscrack of dawn, getting your coffee before half the city gets up for work. The manners and the whole...” You trail off before completing the end of that sentence.

Frankie tilted his head, something playful and knowing in his eyes. “I’ll concede to most of that, but my mamá raised me to have manners long before the military.”

As the mornings passed you learned more. Not just from what he shared, but from your own observations. He remembers details. He asks follow-up questions on Monday mornings about the weekend plans you shared on Friday.

Did you and your boyfriend see that movie you were thinking about?

Did you get to sleep in like you’d hoped?

Did he take you to the farmer’s market?

Did he like the recipe you wanted to try out?

It was sweet.

And infuriating.

Your stomach twisted. A man you barely knew remembered your plans, your throwaway comments, your interests. He saw you. He wanted to know you. The realization sank like lead, heavy in your chest, lingering long after he left.

In your heart, you knew it wasn’t intentional, but it stung when he’d ask about your plans. Every time you had to come up with an excuse for why they never happened. Poking holes in your relationship. And shining a spotlight on the disappointments that you’d been trying to sweep under the rug.

You carried that discomfort around like a parasite. It ate at you while you poured lattes and cleaned the ice machine. It soured your mood as you ran errands and walked home. And finally, it spilled over into your relationship.

As ugly as it was, you almost appreciated Frankie for picking at the wounds—forcing you to finally confront the truth with your boyfriend. Joel had been drifting away and you were afraid to acknowledge it. As if saying it outloud would make it true. But it already was real. The closer you tried to get, the farther Joel would run—emotionally. Well, maybe in other ways too.

He was slowly disappearing. Staying late at work instead of coming to yours, cancelling on your weekend plans, always too tired to fuck, generally just a bad-tempered brick wall rather than a boyfriend. All things considered, you thought addressing him directly would be the final nail in the coffin—but it wasn’t.

After some long and serious conversations that left you both exhausted at work the next few days, you’d come up with some strategies to reconnect. He’d agreed with you, acknowledging his own avoidance, and claiming he wanted to make changes.

It was working, too. You scheduled date nights. You sent flirty texts during the day—even if neither of you had time to respond right away. You assured him you’d rather see him for only an hour between him getting home late and you having to go to bed early than not seeing him at all.

On those nights, when he had long days that made his whole body ache, you’d give him a back massage. Straddling his ass, rubbing down his shoulder blades, kneading circles with your thumbs, and savoring the view of his broad back and the heat of his body beneath you.

It was meditative. Your touch dissolved his tension and his presence soothed your anxieties. Sometimes the rhythm and pressure would elicit low groans of pleasure from Joel. Each time it would ladle heat in your core. You’d do everything to find out what sounds he’d make for you.

Some nights, you’d keep going until you lulled him to sleep. But on your favorite nights, he’d roll onto his back, keeping you on top, watching you ride him until you were both slick with sweat and in need of a shower.

It’s those tender moments that make it hurt so deep now. Like the pain seeped all the way to your bones, threaded through all your muscles, and numbed your nervous system.

It makes you nauseous. Cycling through rage, shame, and something bleak and endless.

To know after everything that Joel could throw you away like this. That he didn’t even care enough to have a face-to-face conversation about it with you. He couldn’t give you closure. Just leaving you a note. A piece of paper. Here’s your memo letting you know he no longer requires your services. Barely longer than a postcard. He realized he can’t do it anymore. He can’t be a part of your life. He can’t do just friends. He’s sorry.

Fucking coward.

The letter is flimsy in your hand as you scan the words for the thousandth time. You’ve got it down by heart at this point, you re-read it just to confirm that it’s real. That you aren’t insane–or at least that you didn’t make up the note—or the whole relationship.

With a deep sigh, you slip the folded paper back into your apron pocket. It fits neatly. Your token. A reminder that this hell is your reality.

The tiled floor is unforgiving as you trudge back toward the front counter, plastering on your best customer service smile.

And of course. It’s fucking Frankie.

The wrinkle between his brow deepens before he makes it to the register. Are you that easy to read? You’re never going to survive this shift. You turn away from him, pouring the coffee in a daze until it nearly overflows. You dump the mug out and get a whole new one, forcing yourself to stop the tap before it’s a burn hazard. With one more blink you pray you’ve mustered enough strength to survive this interaction without another breakdown.

“Hey,” Frankie starts softly, as if he might spook you. “You doing okay?” Stupid big brown eyes. Just like Joel’s. They make you weak. You can’t be weak. Pulling your shoulders back you search for a defensive–no, confident–stance.

“Why? Do I look like shit today?”

“No, never,” he tries to reassure you. Unfazed by your prickly questions.

You swallow down a grimace. He’s too kind to you. Too good.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself, pushing the mug toward him. “I just mean, I would be surprised. I feel like shit.” The words come out grumbly and you drag a hand over your face annoyed with yourself.

“I take it he’s still gone then?”

Your head feels heavy as you nod back in agreement. It’s too much to see the concern in his round eyes; you linger on his mouth instead. It feels like a safer place to stare. Until it shifts into a frown.

“You deserve better, you know.” His voice is quiet. A confession only meant for you and his coffee to hear.

“Sure,” you sigh. Maybe he’s right. You deserve someone that could look you in the eye when they break up with you. Who could explain with more than a few scribbled sentences why they’d block you and disappear like a fucking ghost. Everytime you run through it, the details feel colder and colder. Harsher and crueler. Maybe you never really knew Joel at all. Not if he could do this to you.

Your still swollen face burns when your eyes begin to well up again. Anger flashes in your eyes—you’re so sick of the emotional whiplash. The lights in the cafe blur. Your pulse pounds, erratic and sharp. Questions race through your mind.

Were there signs the whole time that you missed?

Was it something you did?

Will you ever know?

“Hey,” Frankie murmurs, “breathe.”

It’s soft, but the timbre of his voice draws your attention.

“Breathe,” you repeat.

He places a hand on his stomach, modeling deep, slow breaths. Willing away the sobs, you copy him with only a few shudders interrupting the rhythm. The fresh coffee wafts into your nose, earthy and rich. Frankie’s broad chest looks solid, expanding steadily like he’s some kind of breathing guru robot. The thought makes you laugh, but the laugh almost cracks into another sob when everything rushes back in at once.

“Fuck,” you curse at yourself. “I’m sorry, I must seem pathetic. Or crazy.” You suck in a shaky breath, trying not to have a complete breakdown in front of a customer.

Frankie doesn’t waver. He assures you that he doesn’t think you’re losing it and you believe him.

Somehow, you get through the rest of the morning. And the next. Day by day, you crawl through the week. Fighting everything inside of you that wants to scream and decay in bed for the rest of your life. By the end of the week, all you’ve got left to cling to is that it’s your last shift before the weekend. It’s all you’ve got to keep your feet moving and your fake chipper morning greetings.

There’s no way you could do this another day. Dragging yourself through the motions like an undead barista. It’s survival. On edge, fragile and raw. You can finish this shift and then you’re free to spend the weekend indulging in your worst ideas. Wallowing, ugly crying, binge eating, anything.

Everything nearly comes apart when Frankie shows up with flowers for you.

It’s too much. Too sweet. Why does he care?

Your brows furrow, unreasonably skeptical of a kind gesture. You start to process what he’s saying to you through the fog. He wanted you to have something to cheer you up over the weekend.

It’s thoughtful. It’s an overwhelming gesture.

He thinks of you? He worries about you?

Then a sick voice slithers into your mind. Frankie makes it seem so easy. To notice you. To care. To make your life better. He makes you wonder if you aren’t hard to love.

The realizations hit like falling dominos. Too fast to stop. Too late to change course.

Frankie notices the way your eyes shine, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He apologizes, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to take them. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.”

The fear dies in your throat.

“They’re lovely, really.” Your eyes are round and wet as you blink sweetly at him. “Thank you.” You give him your warmest smile through your misty eyes.

You take the flowers home after your shift. They fit perfectly in the crystal vase that was collecting dust on your window sill.

You move them to the kitchen table where you can see them from your living room too.

And you stare at them all weekend.

Your favorite flowers. How did he know?

You stare and stare until they don’t look real anymore. And all you can think of is Frankie.

His reliable nature. His thoughtfulness. His kindness.

The qualities you thought you had found in Joel.

You let yourself embrace your agony for the weekend. Determined to make it through at least the first stage of grief. As if you can allot a number of hours to it and just check it off your list. Brute forcing yourself through the wreckage trying to re-emerge unscathed.

Your friends send texts checking in on you. Gratitude flickers in your chest but you don’t have the capacity to respond. To fake it or, worse, to be real. It feels wrong, but even though you can’t fathom the idea of talking to a friend, you’re drawn to the thought of Frankie. Knowing you’ll see him Monday morning. That he’ll check in, too.

And he does.

Dependable as ever, he shows up in the cover of darkness. You greet each other with raspy morning voices. The first words of the day, murmured just between you. It feels intimate. Special. Like something that belongs only to the two of you.

The thought sends warmth curling in your chest. You smile genuinely, for the first time in days.

You keep going to work.

Frankie keeps showing up.

The world keeps turning.

Soon you get to the point where you can fall asleep without having to exhaust yourself completely. Some mornings Frankie’s jokes make your ribs shake with laughter and some of the suffocating weight sloughs off of your chest. Rest begins to heal you. Frankie’s charm brightens your darkest days.

One afternoon, you’re dropping an armful of grocery bags onto the counter and your heart squeezes with an ache. The flowers Frankie gave you are starting to wilt. With one twitch of your hand and a shake of your head, you hesitate. You aren’t ready to toss them out. Convinced they’ve got another day in them, at least.

You sweep the fallen petals and pollen into your hand, then spin the vase to find the best angle left. The flowers may be fading, but Frankie’s presence has taken root in your mind and only grows stronger.

You lay in bed making mental notes. A joke about a show you both watch. A story from your walk home. A question you meant to ask but forgot—because you got distracted.

By things that shouldn’t be distracting. But are. The shape of his bottom lip. The curve where his neck meets his shoulder. The way his hands look wrapped around his coffee mug, fingers slow and steady, like he’s holding something delicate.

The way he smiles—wide enough to show his dimples—when you bicker over movies or the best takeout spot in town. You replay it. Again. And again.

You smile at your ceiling, telling yourself it’s harmless appreciation. Lying to yourself when you hope he finds his way into your dreams.

The next morning, your jaw drops–stunned. Fresh flowers. Frankie stands on the other side of the counter, holding them out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s as if he knew. Like he heard through the grapevine that you hesitated to throw the old ones out. That you weren’t ready to let them go. That you didn’t want to lose the evidence of what he gave you

You squint at him, making a playful accusation. “How did you know?”

“It’s been a week,” he shrugs. “Figured it was time to refresh.”

A week. It feels like it’s only been a day, and at the same time, it feels like a whole month has passed.

It helps.

The following week is much of the same. Morning chats with Frankie. Busy shifts with rushes and endless cleaning tasks. Running errands, trying to keep in touch with friends, trying to keep yourself too busy and distracted to fall back into the sharp pain of loss. Of coming home to an empty apartment. Of waking up alone. Of the way Joel erased himself so completely from your life, you have to find tangible reminders that he was ever real.

You stop hoping Joel will show up with an apology. Stop waiting for a text. He won’t even hear you out—won’t answer a single question. You let go of the idea that any of this was a mistake.

There’s still a hole rotting in your heart, but if you stay busy enough, you can ignore it. Mostly.

You stick to your plan, steadfast that time will heal your wounds. Days pass, and you find yourself once again asking Frankie what he has planned for the day. But this time, he hesitates.

Frankie tells you he’ll be out of town for a few days. You aren’t sure why, but it feels like he jammed his fingers into that hole in your heart when he tells you. Don’t abandon me. Please.

He must see right through you.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “I know it’s only a few days, but I was thinking I don’t want to miss out on your remarkably accurate reality TV predictions. You take the napkin with his number written on it. How old-fashioned. It makes your heart flutter. “Keep me updated.”

You swallow the butterflies and turn the energy into a smirk. “You’re so going to regret this,” you tease.

You feel lit from within, glowing and floaty for the rest of your shift. Getting the hot regular’s number gives you a rush. It’s not like he asked you on a date or anything, but still, it feels good to have someone want to keep talking to you.

Until you clock out and immediately start spiraling. Should you text him now just to give him your number? Wish him a safe trip? Play it cool and wait until tomorrow morning? Or maybe he’s busy in the morning? Shit. You never even asked what his trip was for.

……

It’s early afternoon when Frankie’s phone buzzes. He smirks. Your shift must have just ended.

You: it’s me! You: figured it’s only fair you get my number now, too

Frankie: Hey you :)

You: hey :) You: i hope the trip goes well

Frankie: Thanks, it’ll be better now.

You: how come?

He thought it would take longer. Thought you’d make him wait. You’re already reaching for him.

Frankie: Well, I just got this pretty girl’s number. Now I’ve got her updates to look forward to.

He exhales, stretching out on his couch. Maybe he didn’t need the ruse at all. You don’t need the absence to suck you in any deeper; you’re already moving on. Good.

He scans the apartment—bare walls, empty space. He needs to fix that. Needs to make it a place you’ll want to stay.

He checks the notes hidden in his phone of places you shop, your favorite color, the way your apartment is decorated. He already knows what you want. What you need. With that thought, he drifts off, satisfied, into a long nap.

He doesn’t wake until his evening alarm goes off, checking his phone to see what reality show you’re going to be glued to tonight. MILF manor. Who comes up with these? He rolls his eyes, stretching, yawning, and traipsing across his apartment to find some cold pizza in the fridge.

Holding one slice between his teeth and the other in one hand, he debates whether he should take a drive through your neighborhood or stay in for the night. His phone buzzes again, and he figures it’s a sign. He drops his pants near the hallway and scarfs his cold dinner as he settles back in the living room, unmuting the show and opening your messages.

You’re funny.

Sending quick-witted observations and callbacks.

You force him to pay attention. You’re sharp. If he doesn’t watch, you’ll know. You always call him out for missing the nuance. You challenge that he could predict the next winner if he paid closer attention.

When you get frustrated with him and huff about how he missed something completely obvious, he memorizes your expressions. The fire in your eyes when you’re passionate. You feel so deeply and express your emotions so freely.

He likes that about you. Funny. Smart. Bold. Passionate. Sexy.

Perfect.

He lets his mind wander as he leans back. The room glows from the light of the TV, flashing brighter and dimmer. The look on your face when he said he’d be gone for a few days pops into his mind, how your eyes flashed wide and the soft pout that tugged at your bottom lip.

You need him. It’s so clear. And you’re so perfect.

The show is just noise. Static.

He closes out of your messages. Opening up his photos. Scrolling through pictures of you. Some from social media, and some taken while you were working and unaware.

Perfect.

His eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, relaxed and comfortable as he sinks deeper into the cushion.

“Perfect lips, perfect mouth,” he mutters to himself as he sets the phone aside altogether.

It’s a simple but effective scene that plays out in his mind. A go-to fantasy since the day he first laid eyes on you.

He wedges his boxers down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. He tries to start slow, with languid strokes as he imagines the heat of your mouth sucking him deeper. The sight of you looking up at him with your lips stretched around him.

“Just perfect,” he groans to himself. He can’t hold back his urgency at the thought of you, quickly amping up the speed of his wrist and the strength of his grip. It’s minutes, or maybe seconds before his muscles are tensing and jerking as he comes to the thought of you.

It eases the tension, but he still needs you. Soon.

……

The rest of your week passes quickly.

Your head is in the clouds over your new texting buddy. You check your phone on all your breaks but send yourself into another spiral, trying to work out the balance between enthusiastic but not needy. Responding quickly, but not being too much. You don’t want to come off as crazy.

It fully absorbs your attention. The excitement and the anxiety. The rush when you get a new message and the anguish over every word you type. Rereading your messages until you get a response. Worrying yourself over your silly jokes and banter. But when he responds, it’s addictive. You’re smitten when he matches your energy or sends a flirty quip.

It makes you smile so hard your cheeks burn. You get distracted taking orders. It’s all-consuming.

………

Frankie keeps tabs on you the rest of the week. When you walk home from work, when you run errands, when you’re out with your friends. He picks up things for his apartment while you’re at work. At night, he drives down your block. He watches you watching TV. Until dark, then you diligently shut your curtains just as the last dregs of the sunset disappear.

Tonight, he lingers, still parked across the street from your apartment building. He sends another text, and his eyes flick to your curtains like you might open them back up just for him. You’re such a good girl for that, though–not letting anyone else watch.

Frankie: I’m back tomorrow. You have weekend plans?

You: that’s great! no plans for me

Frankie: You want to watch tomorrow’s episode together?

You: that would be fun!

Frankie: Perfect :)

………

You don’t know why you offered to host. Your place is a mess. Since Joel left, you’ve been letting your depression piles calcify. You shove your laundry into the washer, toss your unopened mail into a drawer, and do your best to make it look like you’re a fully functioning adult.

Something about having Frankie over has you feeling pent up.

You’re nervous. Excited. And you’re still unregulated and exhausted from the emotional devastation of Joel disappearing on you. You’ve been letting yourself sink into the distraction of making a new friend. A hot, new friend. But as helpful as the distraction is, you still haven’t really processed the pain.

Maybe it’s too soon to let yourself think about Frankie all the time. Maybe you need to really feel your misery and figure out what you missed. What you did wrong. No, even your body rejects that idea, sending a shiver of anxiety through you.

Fuck it.

You’re both single adults. There’s no rulebook that says you can’t entertain a new crush. So what’s the harm? You’re hoping that seeing Frankie in person will help you get clarity on the flirty vibe of his texts. Are they truly flirty, or are you just delusional?

You do your best to find a casual “just watching trash TV” type of outfit after your everything shower. You bought enough snacks to feed a high school football team, you know, just in case. You flutter around your space, hastily cleaning anything else you can think of, worried about details that only an evil in-law would scrutinize you for.

Despite your frenzy and feeling on edge all afternoon, the concern all seems to vanish when Frankie shows up at your door. You welcome him in and swoon a little over the fresh flowers he brought you. You still have some nerves that don’t relent, but they’re the smiley, giggly, butterfly type of nerves now.

As you get settled, it all feels surprisingly easy.

You make each other laugh. You offer your insane spread of snacks, and he settles next to you on your sofa before the episode starts. He appreciates all of your commentary and banters with you over your strongest opinions. It feels surprisingly natural to be spending time together like this. Without an espresso machine between you.

You’re taken with his presence. He balances you. Even when he debates your controversial takes and unpopular opinions, he doesn’t get worked up like you.

His calm demeanor is grounding. His nearness and steadiness relaxes you.

The stress let down makes your head feel heavy, and without thinking, you rest your temple against Frankie’s shoulder with a deep sigh. It feels comforting until you realize how forward you’re being and snap your head back up.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, scooting away. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, voice soft and low.

He’s staring at you so intently. You feel the heat in your face, embarrassed at acting so comfortable with him and self-conscious under his gaze. You still don’t really know what he wants. And you don’t want to fuck anything up. But he doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, you swear his eyes drop to your mouth before they flick back up.

“More than okay,” he adds, and your stomach flips at his honesty. “Here,” he shifts and invites you to scoot under his arm. You get comfortable, resting your head on his chest.

You try to watch the TV, but you can feel Frankie watching you. It makes you restless and unable to think clearly. You peer up at him. It’s a charged look—maybe it was obvious all along, but you hadn’t felt confident enough to put the pieces together until now.

“What?” You whisper, unable to fight the smile pulling at your mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

Uh oh. Your breath hitches, and something in you cracks. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you try to hide it, whispering thanks into his chest and looking down.

“Hey,” he tilts your chin to look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to will away the emotions that bubble up inside of you. “That’s really sweet of you.” You steady your breathing, slower and deeper. What is wrong with you? You expected something flirty. You didn’t expect something so.. heartfelt?

You slow your breathing. Frankie’s scent—clean, warm, steadying—grounds you.

But why? How does just breathing against him make you feel safe?

You can’t even think about safety. You can’t count on anyone else. What if he leaves out of nowhere, too? Your thoughts pick up, racing. Falling deeper into your anxieties. You aren’t even on a date; you shouldn’t be worried about this guy abandoning you.

Your fears eat at you, worsening your fragile state. Your body shakes gently as you try to breathe through the anxiety.

Frankie runs his hand along your back. He’s so warm, solid, and strong.

You must seem insane, your emotional flooding has you drowning now. He just keeps murmuring at you about how you’re okay, and he pulls you into his arms to give you a firm hug, regulating you. Fixing you.

When you lean back to apologize for crying on him, he shakes his head in disagreement.

“Don’t apologize,” he says it like he means it, like he won’t be taking questions or arguments. You sniffle as you do your best to accept that. “You still look beautiful,” he says, pulling you back towards him.

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Your face nestles against his neck, warmth pooling in your chest. You shouldn’t—should you?—but the way he breathes, slow and steady, so sure of you, makes you crave something grounding. Something solid. A shiver trails down your spine, and before you can second-guess, you press your lips to his neck. Frankie hums, deep and approving, fingers curling against your back.

You do it again.

The exact spot you’ve been so distracted by on so many mornings. His skin is soft and warm; you can taste your tears, wet and salty on your lips. You do it again before you freeze. What are you doing?

Frankie’s hand slips up the back of your neck, cradling your head in his warm palm. It feels like encouragement. You test your theory, pressing another gentle kiss to his jaw where his scruffy beard tickles your nose.

The TV might still be on, but all you can hear is your breathing and his. The sound of your lips against his skin. And the low-pitched noise in Frankie’s throat that urges you on. Provoking a needful fire within you. Intense and frantic. You nip at his ear before stamping open-mouthed kisses back down his neck, pulling back only to breathe hot and humid against his skin.

You hesitate, a frenzied desire has you wanting to straddle his lap and take more and more, but something makes you pause. Frankie knows. He feels your weight shifting and makes the move for you, pulling you onto his lap.

“I know,” he says as his large hands wrap around both sides of your jaw. “Keep going.” The encouragement pours over you like warm honey. Face to face, you wrap your arms around his neck. The last thread of your doubt snaps and you close the gap. Pressing your lips together. Softly for a second, before your mouths are parting and your tongues and teeth work fervently to express your desire.

Then it becomes a desperate blur, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he’s groaning into your mouth. His hands slipping under your shirt, hot against your skin, snaking back down to knead the curve of your ass while you roll your hips, grinding into his lap in search of friction.

You feel him hardening beneath you and a molten hot thrill radiates between your legs. There’s a raw quality to your movements as you bite at his lip, scratch at his shoulders, and whine with a frustrated edge.

You’re taking out all your emotional distress on him. Or, rather, you’re begging him to erase it all, to bite back harder, to use force, to dominate. You keep trying to use your body instead of words. Just teeth, nails, and needy writhing. Anything sharp, forceful, rough. An offering.

Tears still roll down your cheeks, hot with anger, anguish, and everything you can’t name. You aren’t interested in exploring your emotions. You need something more visceral.

You sit back, hands shooting towards Frankie’s belt, chasing more, when he stops you in your tracks. His hand possessively grips below your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

Your cunt throbs at the look on his face. The soft, gentle Frankie is gone. His face is hard and dangerous as he studies you. For some reason that makes you want him even more.

His fingers dig into your cheek eliciting a sharp inhale from you, parting your lips into a small “o” shape, before he releases you. You know you’re a mess. Teary, panting, wild-eyed–but his lips curl into a sinful grin. Reflexively you tilt your pelvis, drawing the heat of your core along the ridge of his erection.

Your eyes flutter shut, chasing sensation—until Frankie’s chest shakes with a dark chuckle. Condescending. Your hips still. You blink at him. The air thickens. The rest of the room fades. Your thighs tense.

“Keep going.”

It’s a demand this time, not an affirmation or encourager. His sinister smirk is gone, replaced by a frighteningly blank stare. His carnivorous eyes drop, watching your fingers as you work open his belt and jeans.

Shit. You can tell he’s big as you trace your fingers along his cock, over his boxers, savoring the heat in your palm. The damp fabric at the tip pleases you, and you peel the waistband down to reveal the glorious vision that has you wetting your lips.

“Shit,” you repeat out loud this time. A primal, hungry need possesses you as you admire his cock. The glistening head, thick shaft, and dark patch of curls at the base. Just the sight of him is intoxicatingly masculine and dominant.

You need him in your mouth.

You slink off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs. Excitement flutters in your pussy and you feel like you’ve fallen into a trance. Your body moves faster than your mind, tugging at his jeans as he repositions at the edge of the couch.

“I know,” he mutters under his breath as you wrap your hand around the smooth skin. “I know what you need,” he continues. You can only hum in response. Preoccupied by the slip of your thumb dragging a trail of precome down along the underside of his cock.

He cups the back of your head, urging you to his tip with a commanding growl. You want to pout for not getting the chance to tease and savor the moment, but you don’t have the time when he slides past your lips and hits the back of your throat.

You choke, sputtering around him and pulling back. His hand encourages you to try again and you’re eager to take it like he gives it. Refocusing on controlling your breath, you look up to see the fierceness in his eyes on his otherwise blank face. A confusing mix of warning and excitement stirs in your core, making you squirm on your knees.

The discomfort makes something flicker across his face.

You try again, determined, like you’ve got something to prove. You pull his other hand to your cheek. Please lead. You catch the start of a smirk on his face before he’s guiding you once again. It makes your mind blank; all you can do is breathe and focus on relaxing your muscles. It’s a welcome release from stress. Grounding you in the present. You can only think as fast as he can glide along your tongue.

As you build a rhythm, he verges on brutal, but when you’re rewarded with the delicious sound of Frankie groaning because of you the intensity means nothing. Your eyes water as you refuse to gag out of sheer willpower. His thumb smears your tears across your cheekbone, and he pulls you off of his cock.

He takes in your swollen lips, ragged breathing, and wet lashes like he’s committing the details to memory as you catch your breath, before he’s tapping at your cheek. You open wide for him and he rests the head of his cock on your tongue, shallowly tipping you back and forth.

Your jaw could be aching or your knees may be digging into the rug, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s much easier to meditate on the weight of his length slipping along your wet tongue. Centering yourself on that thought, your eyes flutter shut.

You wonder if this side of Frankie has always been lurking beneath the surface. Chillingly collected, but with something viscous bleeding into the edges. You wonder if maybe you’ve called to this part of him with the mayhem of your state of mind.

“Yeah,” Frankie rasps in his gravelly tone causing you to blink back up at him. You wonder if he can read your mind; if he was answering you. The hint of a smile remains on the corner of his lips when you look up, “Making you feel better already.” He’s presumptive but accurate.

You give a muffled affirmation that vibrates in your throat as he slides past your lips and you take him deep as he can be. All your senses are filled with Frankie when you inhale, when you swallow, when you blink. You give, pliant for him, trusting him with the control. You don’t care how obscene you look, tears rolling down your cheeks. You just want to hear what other sounds he might make for you. His thumb drags over your cheek again, wiping away the wet streaks.

“This is the only reason you ever cry for me.” Frankie’s voice is dripping with affection. And possession.

It makes everything foggy. The sentiment, the delivery, the authority. He doesn’t let you dwell on the unspoken commitment in his statement. Doesn’t give you the time to question him or spiral inward.

Your head swims until he pulls you up, strips you, and settles you back onto his lap. Some action movie autoplayed after your episode ended. The crashing and explosions of the chase scene in the background don’t ruin the moment, in a twisted way it’s almost a fitting soundtrack for the two of you.

You pull his shirt over his head, and time slows. The heat between you is nothing compared to his gaze. His grip on your hips is firm, guiding you closer. Dizzying.

You go entirely mindless when the head of his cock nudges your clit, gasping as it slides along your wet seam. It brings everything into focus. Greedily you reach between your bodies to guide him directly to your deplorably empty cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” your word turns to a groan as he breaches your entrance, and you tense at the stretch, holding still.

“Keep going,” he orders lowly, and you inch down until he impatiently takes control, slamming you down until you meet his hips. Your mouth hangs open at his move and the immediate fullness. His hardened look softens as your walls ripple and flex, adjusting to his size.

At least until you start moving, grinding against him, slowly at first. Then the sharp sternness returns. You’re unaware, chasing the friction as your clit rubs against the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock.

“Knew you’d be perfect,” he says it more like an I told you so to himself than praise for you, but the words affect you just the same. Your chest rises, swelling with pride, and you chase his approval instead of your pleasure.

You ride him until your thighs burn. His hands are everywhere. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, squeezing all of your soft curves, spreading your legs wider to watch where he disappears inside of you. You bounce eagerly for him, spine arching to draw his eyes to the way your tits ripple from the force of your body colliding into his.

You whine in disapproval when he interrupts you, pulling you flush against his chest, grazing his teeth along your neck. “Give it to me,” Frankie demands, his voice rough and raw, breath hot along your sweat-damp skin.

He runs his hand down your body, thumb circling your clit, adding the pressure you need. You edge closer and closer, body taut with anticipation. “Come for me,” he commands. It’s his authority, his gravelly voice rolling through you, that launches you into a shuddering release.

Frankie continues talking while you’re disoriented by the overwhelming pleasure. “For me,” he grunts through clenched teeth as your pussy contracts around him. “I know that’s what you need.” You can only moan as you cling to his broad shoulders. “Only me.”

You figure he’s just rambling until he grabs you by the jaw again, demanding you respond. Demanding you repeat it for him. And you do. With glassy eyes and you mutter his words back to him. Declaring you only come for him. That you need him.

Your words unlock something within Frankie. “Good,” he approves. “Good girl.” He praises you gruffly as he holds you steady, pounding into you with an untamed strength. You’re floating, starry-eyed and soft headed at his praise. Murmuring sentence fragments and his name, conjuring throaty grunts from Frankie until he stills, coming deep inside of you. “Only me,” he echoes and you confirm.

“Only you.”

In your unguarded state, it’s a welcome commitment. Maybe you haven’t had any real dates yet, but he knows you. He wants you. He tells you he wants to take care of you, and that feels fucking good.

You collapse against his chest, matching his breathing. The movie playing behind you reaches a tragic twist, setting the third act in motion and solidifying the protagonist's dark path. You run your tongue along the column of Frankie’s throat as the score of the film hangs unresolved on a dissonant chord. He pulls you to his lips, kissing you possessively and captivating you.

Your bodies flow, connected and attuned. In his lap, in his arms, with his tongue slipping between your lips, you feel wanted. Assured. Content to accept that he knows what you need.

And he’s unrelenting. Determined to prove it to you. Again and again.

All night. On the couch, in the shower, in your bed.

Until the night bleeds into the morning and he doesn’t disappear.

You take turns waking and watching one another sleep. Reassuring yourselves this is real.

Until the sun heats your room and you find yourself curled into his broad frame. His chest to your back as he draws his fingers down the dip and swell of your waist and hip.

“Did you mean it?” you ask, in a strikingly solemn tone for the soft setting. Breath shallow as you stare off toward the window. Not ready to turn and face him in the daylight.

“Every word.” He punctuates his affirmation with a tender kiss behind your ear. His reassurance satisfies you; warmth blooms from your chest spreading to your fingers and toes.

You spend a lazy Sunday together. Eating, laughing, fucking, and gazing at each other like lovesick teenagers. It’s too sweet to end. Instead, you become inseparable, taking turns staying at each other’s places until you have to go back.

The world feels bright again. Lighter.

He’s paid such close attention. Almost suspiciously perfect. Your favorite takeout. Your favorite movies. Fresh flowers, always.

Somehow, you can never get enough of him. You think about him all day at work, even though he still visits you every morning like clockwork. Your heart swells when he meets you at the end of your shift to walk you home.

You find yourself canceling your happy hour dates with friends to stay in with Frankie instead. Postponing and rescheduling, you’ll see them soon. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in the day to get your fill of Frankie.

You need him constantly—his mouth, his hands, his cock, anywhere, everywhere. You’re never too much. He always wants more. It's a mutual obsession. The two of you feed off each other, dark and insatiable. He frees the parts of you you’ve never let loose. Takes what he wants. Gives you what you need.

With your head in the clouds, all you can see is how much he cares about you. He texts you whenever you’re apart, picks you up after your shifts, shows you off to his friends.

You barely have to do anything for yourself. He’s always thinking of you, predicting your needs before know them yourself. He picks up your mail for you, runs errands before you get home, and stocks his apartment with all of the products you use and love so you don’t have to go home for days at a time.

Things are so good that it’s rare when something goes wrong.

But when it does, it really fucking hurts.

When you get into an argument, a real one, he doesn’t fight with you. He leaves, swiftly and without another word. He doesn’t respond to your texts or calls. It feels like you’ve been torn in half; you sob and shake alone in your bed until your alarm blares and your headache throbs.

He doesn’t respond the following day, doesn’t come in for coffee, and doesn’t show any signs of existing. You move through your shift like a hollow corpse haunting the cafe. Time drags agonizingly slowly.

Every time the door opens your eyes snap towards the entrance, hoping to see the familiar curls and broad shoulders, but it’s not him. You restart your phone just on the odd chance there’s something wrong with it. He wouldn’t abandon you. He knows that would destroy you.

The void in your chest is cold and dark. Anger simmers somewhere inside of it, but it’s not strong enough to set you off. When Frankie shows up at the end of your shift, the anger is snuffed out completely. His presence immediately erases your heartbreak, and suddenly you’re apologizing before he even gets a word out.

You have to. He has to know you wouldn’t do anything to make him leave. He can’t. He’s calm, accepting your apology and taking you home where he erases your pain. With his hands, and mouth, and cock. Until you forget what the argument was ever about, and what it felt like to watch him walk away. Until it’s back to normal.

Every day you rely on him more and more; you can’t breathe without him. But when he’s with you, everything feels easy. Right.

Not many things can throw the two of you off. Your friends seem happy enough for you, despite their questions and insistence that you come out with them more often. You get along well with Frankie’s friends. They’re quick witted and welcome you genuinely.

They treat you like family, but it doesn’t stop Frankie’s jealousy from flaring up. If Benny smiles at you for too long or if you rest a hand on Will’s bicep when you laugh it only takes minutes before Frankie’s fingers dig into your arm and he whisks you away.

It gives you a perverse thrill every time.

When he folds you over the bathroom counter at his friend’s house. Demanding you watch in the mirror as he reminds you with a fierce snarl and devastating thrusts that you’re his. When you can still hear his friends horsing around outside, but he pounds into you with such force, you can’t quiet yourself. He slaps a hand around your mouth to silence you, growling into your ear that you’ll take it quietly, like a good girl.

Sometimes you aren’t even sure what triggers him.

Like when he fucks you against the side of his SUV in the parking lot of the trendy bar Benny had invited you both to. All you can piece together is Frankie muttering something about your dress as he yanks the top of it down letting your tits spill into the cool night air. He’s reckless and animalistic, claiming you roughly under the stars and streetlights before you can even get into the car let alone through your front door.

…..

Tonight, you both know exactly what got under his skin. Maybe not the why of it all, but he’s sure you know how he feels, and he wants to hear you say it.

It started this afternoon. He picked you up from work, like usual, and you chatted in the car as he drove to the grocery store. You sighed, tiredly as you recounted an exchange with a rude customer. Frankie pulled your hand toward his mouth kissing the delicate skin on your inner wrist.

Predictably, you light up. Like a flower turning toward the sun. Knowing your buttons doesn’t dull the intoxicating effect you have on him, though. He loves how easily you brighten for him, how it only deepens his conviction. That he is exactly where he should be. That everything he does for you is right. That he knows exactly what you need.

You led him through the aisles, chatting, doubling back for something you forgot. You darted ahead, laughing—

Frankie stopped in his tracks.

Your laughter is cut off.

“What the fuck?” Your voice was quiet, disbelieving.

Joel. Walking past you, bouquet of flowers in hand. He didn’t even look at you.

You called his name, again. Louder. He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t turn. Just kept walking, bouquet in hand, like you never existed.

Frankie grips your wrist, watching your face as emotions flicker—shock, confusion, something darker. He doesn’t give you time to process.

“We’re going,” he says.

“I didn’t know he even lived here still,” you remarked.

He doesn’t. The possessive fire tore through Frankie’s veins. “We’re. Leaving.” he commanded in a low tone that made your eyes flare wide.

“What?”

“Now.”

“We can’t ditch our groceries.”

“Nobody’s gonna stop us, baby.” He argued, as he all but carried you out the door, ushering you in a blur to his car and all the way home.

Frankie moved swiftly and silently. Wholly consumed by the need to feel you writhing underneath him and crying out his name. He needed it so viscerally, he didn’t even have time to process how he was going to deal with Joel.

Until you’re breathless and shuddering beneath him. Repeating everything he wants to hear.

“Only for you,” you repeat as you rake your nails down his shoulder blades and the plane of his back.

“Again,” he demands. You don’t know if he wants you to keep talking or to come again, but both are inevitable at this point.

“I’m yours,” you pant, wrapping your legs around him as if you could pull him any deeper inside of you. He shifts slightly, angling your hips and your cunt clenches around him pulling him devastatingly close to the edge as you moan his name.

He stills and you whine in protest as Frankie stretches past you to pick his phone up off the bedside table. “Keep going,” he orders as he points the lens at you. He needs you to say it again. He adjusts to resume his pace, snapping his hips into causing your lips to part with another moan.

“I’m yours,” you repeat, “all yours.” He gives you a dark smile as he records you. Capturing all the lewd, wet sounds as he drives his cock into you, the euphoric smile that spreads on your face, and the words you know he always wants to hear.

“Mine,” he agrees.

……

You don’t see Joel again. And you don’t have time to dwell on the encounter anyway. Frankie keeps you busy and satisfied, and even surprises you by asking you to move in with him officially. Maybe it feels soon, but you spend nearly every day together anyway and the idea delights you.

It’s an easy transition. You downsize some of your duplicate appliances, joking with him about how he must have great taste for having so many of the same products. He admits that you inspired a few of his purchases.

You settle into a routine quickly, not much changes.

Some mornings, before sunrise, as you slip out of bed for your shift, you wonder if any of this is real. If someone can really care about you this deeply. But by the time you’re showered and dressed, Frankie’s lips are on yours. Sleepy. Warm. Familiar. By the time you’re in the car, you forget the question entirely.

You let your gaze linger this morning. Trailing along his profile as he drives, admiring all the details that you used to wonder about from the other side of the counter. His neck, those arms, his hands, those lips. They’re illuminated in flashes as you pass under the streetlights.

You catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He always knows when you’re looking. He rests a hand just above your knee. He always knows what you need.

An idea takes root, and you do everything not to smile and give yourself away. It’ll take a few days to organize. He’s almost impossible to surprise.

……

By the end of the week, Frankie’s on autopilot. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweaty shirt over his head before he lopes towards the ensuite for a shower. He only makes it a few strides before he’s on edge, noticing the lights he didn’t remember leaving on. He hears your voice. Relief and confusion twist together in his chest. How did you get back here before him?

Walking into the bedroom you are a sexy surprise wrapped in red lingerie he’s never seen you wear before, but something is wrong. Your shoulders are curled inward, your cheeks are wet, and you’re hastily tying up your matching red satin robe.

He scans the room, swallowing thickly when he notices the open closet door and the missing box on the shelf.

He calls your name softly.

“What the fuck is this, Frankie?” your voice shakes. Wavering between fear and anger.

You hold up his phone. Well, his other phone. Shit.

…..

“Answer me,” you beg. Desperate to understand how you went looking for the box with fuzzy handcuffs and instead found a phone with a new message from a number you still recognized.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and when he takes you into his arms you flinch. You want to shove him off of you. Despite your hostility, your body is still drawn to his. He always knows what you need. In his arms your heart feels tethered to his, like they could merge through the proximity of your rib cages. Like they beat for each other.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Explain, please,” is all you can whisper.

“It was to keep you safe,” he starts.

“From what?”

“To protect you. Joel wasn’t good for you. He couldn’t take care of you. Not the way you deserve.”

“How would you know?” it’s still not making sense to you.

“You told me.” He’s so self-assured. Like, he’s always right. Like, he can’t even imagine why you’d be upset right now. “I did it for you,” he adds.

“Did what?” you need him to say it out loud. You need him to fix this.

“I know you thought Joel was trying, but he was only going to drag it out. Disappoint you over and over. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like for me? Having to watch you go through that?”

You don’t answer.

“I couldn’t watch. I made him an offer, but he’s a stubborn man.”

You snort quietly at that understatement. Nobody tells Joel what to do.

“I just had to find the right leverage.”

Frankie holds you so tight, you can’t wriggle around to look him in the eyes.

“He couldn’t give you what you need, not like I can. I know what you need. And, think of how fast you got over him anyway. You were mine all along.”

You’re lightheaded. From the shock of finding the evidence. From his words. From the way you believe him. You want to sit down. You tap at his arms insistently, begging against his chest, but he keeps talking. His deep voice rumbling in your ears.

“You wouldn’t have understood it then. I had to keep it from you to protect you. So we could have this. What we have now.”

He’s not listening to you. Not letting you go. You snap.

“Let go of me!”

“You have to understand first.”

“I’ll listen,” you plead. “Just let me breathe.” He lets you step back, but doesn’t release you from his grip. His hands are glued to your arms. He waits, steady and chillingly calm.

The pieces slam into place. The unanswered questions. The way Joel vanished. Oh, God.

“I thought he just left,” you whisper to yourself.

“He did,” Frankie argues.

“I thought he didn’t want me,” you continue.

“He didn’t. Not the way that I want you.”

Something cold trickles down your spine and you look at Frankie. For a moment he’s a complete stranger. Your stomach sinks and your vision spins. Slamming your eyes shut, you filter through your racing thoughts.

It wasn’t fate that led you into Frankie’s arms.

You wound up crying on his cock by design, trying to fuck away the pain of a heartbreak that wasn’t even real. You’ve fallen into a whole new life, while the man you had loved may have never stopped loving you back?

“You blackmailed Joel Miller?”

“Technically, it’s extortion.”

Your hands tremble as you grip the phone. The air feels thinner, your chest too tight. The numbers on the screen blur, but you still recognize them.

The texts. The sent video.

The video.

Your stomach lurches. Your mouth opens, but no words come out. Frankie watches you, patient, expectant. Like he’s just waiting for you to catch up.

It’s all there on the surface. Exposed between the two of you. Who Frankie really is. Cunning and competent. Devoted and dangerous. Possessive and powerful.

“It worked, until he came to town for someone’s engagement party.”

“When we saw him at the store?”

Frankie nods.

“And then you sent him the video we made that day.” The words fall from your lips as the reality sinks in.

“Hearing it from you seemed to do the trick. He knows you’re mine and you only want me.”

Frankie gives you time to study him. Absorbing the information. The gleam in his dark eyes. The same eyes from when he would visit you at work. Just as fierce and just as earnest.

You’ve always known him for his true self. He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you. And he knew you needed him.

“And you did it… for us.”

“For you.”

You can see it plainly on his face. He’d do it again and again to have you. Because you’re his. It’s all you ever wanted. It has to be wrong, but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done for you.

You push him onto the bed, straddling him without a second thought. Instinct. Need. He’s already hard beneath you.

"You’re sick," you whisper, breath hot against his skin.

Frankie grins. "You make me fucking crazy."

Your mouths collide, hungry, desperate, perfect.

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40 tags for folks who seemed interested when i shared a lil wip about it (aka no worries tags)

@hoelaris @punkseyes @ace-turned-confused @magneticecstasy @lotusbxtch

@bitchesuntitled

@baronessvonglitter

@thundermartini @milla-frenchy

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #ppcu fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

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nataliawolff · 2 months ago

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I am not a wealthy woman, but quite the contrary, I could perhaps say that I am a poor woman. I got used to living in a simple and austere way, although I would definitely like to have more cash flow so that I could give myself more luxuries and improve some things that I lack. I am not complaining, I am just sharing that information. The lack of money sometimes prevents me from doing things that I like, such as going to the movies or having a few beers or simply going shopping and buying myself a nice short skirt, some boots, some beautiful high heels. But I learned to save a little to give myself those little luxuries from time to time.

#transgender #trans #transgirl #trans woman #trans model #trans beauty #cute tgirl #tgirl #tgirl babe #trans pride #transsexual #lgbtia #lgbt pride #lgbtiq #lgbtq #mtf girl #maletofemale #beautiful model #mtf trans

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thebluester2020 · 7 months ago

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[ZZZ] "How To Recieve An A+ In Housekeeping!"

Summary: Attempting to get a job in Victorian Housekeeping Co. is a very strenuous process! One must show a wide variety of skills, good vocabulary, and excellent manners— all three were skills that you were failing at but, luckily the leader of the company had the perfect method to teach you these skills and it all starts with a program! Warning(s): Dom! Lycaon / Sub! Reader, Brat-Taming [Reader's a bit mouthy at best tbh] Spanking, Slight Edging, Cum Denial [Kinda? Lycaon encourages reader not to cum but doesn't do anything to enforce it tbh], Lycian being gentlemanly as hell. (Feel free to tell me if I missed anything!) Side Note(s): I won't say I am/am not a furry. But I will say that my taste in dudes will always favor them where they're stoic and serious but have a secret soft side. Respectfully, those types of men make me want to do the sexy splits on them.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this <33

"Your manners are terrible"

When those words left the wolfman's mouth sternly as you sat before him, only a desk separating the two of you, you could've sworn you felt a metaphorical anvil drop into your stomach. You had been job-hunting for a couple of weeks now, after your last gang had disbanded due to the leader getting caught up with the law. You no longer had a steady flow of cash (albeit a little illegal ) coming in!

From gang member to attempted housemaid...it was laughable. Even to you.

And clearly, the leader of the Victorian Housekeeping company thought so too from the way he looked at your resume with a strict gaze once more before resuming looking at you. You were fully expectant of another harsh sentence to slip from his sharp-toothed youth until...you heard a heavy sigh escape him.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, the very room seeming to react to the movement by the way the single light above you two flickered. His then he huffed. "There is a way to improve to improve your manners, however, you'll be learning from me personally."

You gasped. "Really?! Thank you so much, man!"

His ear twitched at the casual "man" you threw his way. "...Sir or mister is a more proper way of speaking to your male superiors."

You cleared your throat and uttered a 'sorry'. "The program will be for three weeks. Each week will be dedicated to a specific set of manners that you are to master if you wish to join the company."

"Which are?" You responded.

"The first week will be vocabulary, communication with clients, and the correct words to address people by," As Lyacon said this, he opened a drawer on his side before pulling out a piece of paper and sliding it to you. You slowly began to read over the paper, one that seemed like a contract of sorts as the wolf continued to talk.

"The second week will simply focus on posture."

You scoffed as your eyes flicked back up to his. "Posture? Ain't that just walkin'?"

"Proper posture is harder to achieve than one may assume Ms. Y/N." He said. "The third week will be—"

The sudden clearing of his throat made him stop immediately, your face suddenly but quickly turning red as you reached a section on the paper that caught your eye.

Complete submission is expected by those who train under Von Lycaon, especially those he offers "favors" to.

"F-Favors...?"

"Favors hint towards a sexual nature, if I'm to assume that was the inquiry to your question?"

In your former gang, you had heard about Von Lycaon and the whole attitude of the white wolfman. He was a pinnacle of perfection in seemingly everything he did! There didn't seem to be a single thing he half-assed, to put it crudely, and what's more? He didn't get distracted. So...for a document to suggest that he wanted submission during sex?

You didn't know if it was shocking or expected.

"I didn't expect the Lycaon to need a document to garner sex." You said.

A rare chuckle left him. "I don't," He answered. "But everyone learns quicker and better when praise and pleasure is included, correct? This is merely a suggestion for you to learn faster. You are more than welcome to opt out of this."

"And if I accept?" Upon that question, the corners of Lycaon's mouth curled up slightly as he slowly leaned in until you could just barely feel his breath.

"Then you will learn fast. On my honor, I promise you."

You should've said no to this optional part of the program. All you needed was a job and Lycaon made it clear that there was a sexless version of the program where you'd simply learn the old-fashioned way! No pleasure or sex included but...as your eyes steadily trailed over the thiren, you couldn't deny he was a handsome individual. It wouldn't be unpleasant in the slightest to have benefits while completing your training under him. And as you steadily came to that conclusion, your thighs beginning to clench underneath the desk.

The thiren briefly sniffed at the air before he closed his eyes and exhaled. He was as still as a statue for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and offered you a pen from his breast pocket.

"I didn't give you an official answer—"

"Your scent gave me a suggestion." His raspy voice in combination with the sudden feral look in his eyes...you all too quickly shooed away any doubts you may have had before you began to sign away on the line at the bottom of the paper. And once you did, sliding the paper gently back to the wolf, he read over it briefly before he folded it neatly and placed it back into a drawer.

"We shall begin Monday," Lycaon said. "Please be prompt and on-time, I don't tolerate tardiness."

"Yeah, yeah." You scoffed.

And thus, your training as a potential housemaid for the Victorian Housekeeping Company has officially begun.

. . .

| Week One |

You had slept in, you had forgotten to set a timer over the weekend, too engrossed with the fact that you had basically agreed to have sex with Lycaon during your three-week training! The second you arrived home, it was a struggle to not touch yourself to the thought of what he looked like underneath his kept-together appearance.

You imagined he'd be soft to the touch judging by how much fur he had.

Would he be firm with his gaze, demanding you to be perfect even in the heat of the moment? Or would be he gentle and accommodating with you?

No matter how much your body cried out for you to indulge yourself a little, you saved it until you experienced it for yourself.

But right now, as your head was bowed down in apology to the wolfman for making him wait over forty minutes to your first day. You had a strong feeling you wouldn't be experiencing anything pleasurable today. "Once again dude, I am SO sorry!" You said.

"I forgot to set a timer, then I wanted to stop and get some breakfast along the way—"

"Stop," He snapped his jaws with a growl seeming to bubble just underneath the surface, the sight of his fangs making you shudder out of fear and...the slightest hint of excitement.

"First appearances are important, the most important out of any interaction and you sullied it on your first day of training? How do you expect to work for the company with such a flippant attitude?"

"I said sorry—"

"Sorry does not cut it Ms. Y/N. Excusing being a minute or two late is another matter but forty? Punishment is the only fitting way to solve such blatant disregard for other people's time." At those chilling words, Lycaon took a single step toward you before he took your chin into his hand, his eyes scanning over your nervous form with a critical gaze before he eventually sighed.

"I have a punishment in mind, please see to it that you are undressed in my office within' five minutes, and be on time."

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers before you huffed defiantly. "I'm not doing that!" You yelled.

His ear flicked, to him? You sounded like an impudent child, screaming and doing anything to get out of being scolded by their parent. "No?" He tilted his head.

"No!"

A wolfish smirk crept onto his face. "Every minute you stand here is an additional minute to your punishment Ms. Y/N. Do take care to remember that."

And so, there you stood.

| + | + | + |

You wouldn't be able to claim that he wasn't patient for the entire duration you had a fit about being punished on the first day of training. For about ten whole minutes, you stood there staring at the thiren until you eventually got bored and decided that "your punishment wouldn't be that bad" and simply went to his office!

You sat on a black couch and waited and when Lycaon came in?

The way he so quickly got his hands on you felt like you were being thrown around by an uncouth beast, a complete switch from the gentlemanly wolf you were talking to just a few minutes ago.

Slap! "Count." He ordered.

"O-One—Ah!"

He tutted his lips with a shake of his head as his hand slapped against your ass again, your maid uniform tugged up to your midsection as he pinned your hands down with his free hand. "Proper communication is most effective when you're speaking clearly Ms. Y/N...also, it's "one, sir"."

Another slap against your red behind rang out in the air, your body jerking forward a little at the movement. "At this rate, you'll never reach fifty." He sighed.

"W-Wait...!" You begged. "J-Just give me a break...so I can c-catch my breath—" When he slowly inched his hand upward again, your eyes widened as you quickly remembered your manners. "S-Sir! J-Just let me catch my breath...please."

If your eyes weren't blurry with tears, your mind getting fuzzier and fuzzier as you tried to ignore the ache in your cunt. You could've sworn you saw his tail move a little. After a minute, however, a sharp gasp left your swollen lips when you felt a finger graze against your sex, the featherlight touch making you shudder as you whipped your head around to look at the Lycaon.

Unconsciously, his tongue poked out to sweep against his upper set of canines as he focused on how your slick oozed out from your pussy so shamelessly. But at the same time? He figured he shouldn't have been shocked at the lewd sight, his keen hearing didn't miss the way a tiny moan would escape your lips at each slap. It was as if you wanted him to keep going and didn't want your punishment to end anytime soon.

Such behavior wasn't befitting of a potential future employee at the company. "Are you done recuperating? If so, then let us continue."

"W-Wait..." You begged. "J-Just a little time- Ah!"

"Now, now—" He pressed his hand down on your wrists a little more, lightly pinching at your thigh with the tip of his claws to calm your squirming. "—If you focus and count Ms. Y/N then your punishment will be over very soon, please remain focused."

After a final warning, he was quick to resume his smacks against your ass. The pain and pleasure eventually blurring into one another enough for your brain to somehow find a way to "center" itself. And, after around twenty minutes...Lycaon finally released you from your bent-over position over his lap and got up.

A lingering rebelliousness in the back of your head wanted to curse out the wolf as he stood, fixing his cuffs until they were neat again as if he wasn't rocking a blatant boner in his trousers! Yet as your mouth began to open as he walked further away...it quickly shut when he started walking back to you after grabbing something from a bookshelf behind his desk.

"What is that?" You asked.

"Aloe cream, it should help with the burn and any burning sensations."

Oh, you thought.

How...nice of him.

At your silence, his head tilted as he sat down next to you. "Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, y-yeah...I just wasn't expecting aftercare." You blushed.

"Your work would be even more affected if I didn't do this, I wouldn't want that." Suddenly, your heart skipped a beat.

. . .

| Week Two |

You didn't want to admit it to yourself at the time but you knew full well as to why your heart skipped a beat that day. At first, you tried to joke and claim that you were a masochist starting to bloom! Von Lycaon was handsome, yes but you knew how to distinguish between work and personal lives! Besides, you wanted money more than you did romance and if the latter interfered with your money...you weren't in any shape or form interested in it.

But, at the second week's coming, this week focused on posture if your memory served correctly. You couldn't lie or joke to yourself anymore.

You developed a crush on your future boss.

And it grew harder and harder to deny that fact in your...current position. Naked aside from your short black heels, you were standing right in front of Lycaon with his pants pulled down just enough to reveal his leaking dick. The tip seemed to turn increasingly into an angrier red as you continued to stay frozen in place. "Are you uncomfortable?" Lycaon's words snapped you out of your thoughts before you shook your head.

"N-No sir! It's just..." You went quiet for a second. "How...how is this going to teach me posture?"

"If you would come closer, I will show you." Like a siren's song, the beckoning of his clawed finger made you take small steps forward until you were finally in front of him. "I'll be letting you take control of me for some time," You could've sworn you caught a smirk on his lips at his words. "If you manage to fuck me until I cum with the correct posture then consider your training done, and welcome to your new job as a new maid to the Victorian Housekeeping company. I'll be generous and not even include the third week of training."

"But—" As his hand found its way to your hips, he gently tugged you forward until he slowly maneuvered you to straddle him on his lap, his cock throbbing against your stomach as beads of sweat started to appear at the back of your neck. He reached the middle of your stomach, easily! And that wasn't even considering his girth. "—If your posture fails, you will unfortunately stick to the original training program. And I must warn you, most do not manage to get through week three."

You jumped a little when you felt Lycaon's hand move down to your pussy. "What are you doing?" You voiced out shakily, your clit throbbing at Lycaon's touch as one finger alone was enough to cover your entire clit.

"Preparing you of course," He said with an "obviously" tone. "No matter how much I can smell your eagerness in the air—" A sharp moan escaped your lips when his finger started to slowly move, your cheeks burning at the fact you let out such a noise from such little stimulation. "—I doubt you will be able to fully take me without a little prep."

"Y-You..." You bit your tongue to keep a curse from flying out, your hands quickly moving to his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself and not lose yourself too quickly to the pleasure. A task that you were quickly failing at as you felt a knot slowly begin to form in the pit of your stomach, scorching hot tears brimming your eyes as a single line of drool fell from the corner of your lips.

And Lycaon was enjoying every second of it.

If he were to be honest with himself.

He didn't want you to succeed this time.

After having so much fun with you last week, he would say that he had gotten a bit greedy. As entertaining as it was to tame your bratty behavior and mold it into something more palpable as someone who would be interacting with clients often, it was torture all the same to him to not shut you up with his cock instead! It wasn't enough to rut into his hand at the end of every day, heated pants leaving his lips as his tongue lulled out of his mouth like some common dog begging for a slip of meat.

To say that it was unbecoming of him to set you up for failure was an understatement, rubbing your needy bud until you nearly squirted on him wouldn't make you last very long when you were actually seated on his cock. And as cruel as it was for him to say...how unbecoming and un-gentlemanly it was...

He was so fucking eager for you to fail.

"S-Sir..." His ears perked to your whining as your head fell his chest, his ears then moving to the sound of lewd squelching coming from your pussy. "Please...I-I'm so close..." You whined.

He allowed himself to play with you a minute longer until...he took his finger away.

He struggled to withhold a laugh at your state, your eyes seeming to be confused and stuck between wanting to glare angrily at him or beggingly like a wanton whore for him to continue. "Don't look like that," He said. "If I were to make you cum now, you would be too shaky to fuck me."

You were too shaky now.

But, you'd first kiss the seat of a toilet lid before admitting defeat.

"I-I won't fail this..." You said with determination, although breathlessly.

His tail wagged ever so slightly at your determination. "We shall see," He responded before he relaxed against the couch with a deep sigh. "Please begin at your leisure Ms. Y/N." When you took him into your hand, you felt a surge of confidence at Lycaon's not-so-quiet sharp inhale of breath. You prayed that he was just as needy as you because as you lined him up to your entrance and started to slid him into you, every inch that sunk further into you made your mouth gap wider and wider until you were certain you looked like a gasping fish.

He rubbed against your walls so nicely too, his girth stretching you out just enough to where it made you drool as it touched spots inside of you that you hadn't had a clue existed until today!

"F-Fuckkkkk..." You moaned out once you were fully seated on him.

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, desperately trying to ignore that burning feeling in your core as you began to move.

"Shit." Oh, how you just wanted to just shove a hand over his snout to keep him from letting out such sexy noises. His raspy voice and the way his thumbs rubbed encouraging circles into your hips...it wasn't good for you. You'd cum faster at this rate.

"Faster," Lycaon suddenly ordered, opening one of his red eyes to look at you.

"I...I can't- Oh!" Your words caught in your throat when he suddenly fucked up into you. A squeal nearly leaving your throat as you shut your eyes tightly to try and force back that urge to cum.

"Disobeying a superior now Ms. Y/N?" One of his hands slowly dragged up your back before it gently shoved you forward a little. Immediately, you fixed your posture although you nearly fell back over a couple of times. "You should watch yourself, my type of punishment for this act won't be very fun."

You doubted that.

But, as your hands tightened on his shoulders and you fucked yourself more quicker onto him. Tears started to flow down your cheeks more easily as you couldn't deny the burning feeling in your stomach anymore, how the way Lycaon's dick throbbed inside of you and pressed against your most sensitive spots...the urge to beg him for the chance to cum, just once was on the tip of your tongue but you tried to stay focused. "Oh my God..." He moaned deeply.

"Fuckkk..."

"A-Are you close?" You whined.

He scoffed. "Not even close," You felt your hopes nearly crash and shatter at those words. "But...your pussy feels so good on my cock," He praised, his tail thumping against the couch unabashedly as he stared up at you with hooded eyes and a feral gaze. "Perhaps, instead of a maid, you should be my personal breeding toy."

His smirk grew when he felt your pussy tighten around his cock.

"Yeah?" He asked. "You like that?"

You shook your head, shutting your eyes tightly as if not seeing him would help your situation anyway. However, as you felt a furred hand cup the side of your face, the feeling of breaths hitting your face. Your eyes slowly cracked open to the wolf thiren's face right in front of yours, panting and moaning with little to no shame before he smiled. "So pretty like this Y/N..." He said before his leaned down to begin pressing kisses to the side of your neck.

Briefly, the thought of whether or not this was a part of the training flashed in the front of your mind. But...as quick as it came, it was gone. You wanted to believe that...he wasn't following some manual when it came to his actions, that they were meant just for you and you alone. "You're so wet, making so much noise...I think I was right in my earlier suggestion hm? Maybe you will do better as my toy."

You shook your head. "Don't lie." He lightly nipped your shoulder, the sharp sudden pain being just what you needed to throw you over the edge before...Lycaon's ears moved to the sound of gushing and the feeling of wetness splashing against his pants and a bit of his thighs.

Without a second thought, his fingers shot down to gather some of your cum onto his fingers before he tasted you, a groan rumbling out as he almost shocked himself with how fast he got hard again. But before he could mention it, much less suggest it, when Lycaon returned his gaze to you. He saw you passed out against his chest, the very sight making him laugh ever so quietly before he sighed.

He supposed he was feeling a touch bit generous...he expected you to cum within seconds of fucking yourself onto his cock but it took you longer than that! To the point, he actually began to worry about cumming first or not! Although he had a mind not to be, he decided to be generous and forgiving seeing as you fucked him until the point of total exhaustion on your point.

He'd give you a passing A+ for effort.

#zzz #zzzero #zenless zone zero #zenlesszonezero #von lycaon #von lycaon smut #zzz von lycaon #zzz lycaon #von lycaon x reader #von lycaon zzz #von lycaon zenless zone zero #lycaon smut #zzz smut #zenless zone zero smut #zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #smut writing

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xzaddyzanakinx · 10 months ago

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Twelve: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, domesticity kink, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, semi-public, bondage, blindfolds, biting/slapping/spanking, squirting, cumming untouched, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, murder/blood/gore/drugs(referenced), knife, GEN. SMUT[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is so full of himself that he’s somehow tricked himself into a bit of emotional maturity, Anakin has blooming bromance, post murder sex spree [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Date

August 27th continued.

Anakin climbed through his living room window and shut it behind him, happily humming to himself as he shut and locked it behind him. He spread out two trash bags on the floor after rolling up the rug to get it out of his way.

Armed with a pair of scissors and a few gallon ziploc bags he went to work on the clothes he’d been wearing. Thankfully, he had enough sense to buy jeans and a hoodie from the Goodwill. He can’t fuck you in the clothes he killed a man in, that’s just gross. So he chopped up the fabric in little squares while watching an episode of Narcos for the irony of it.

He planned to drive around the city tomorrow and dump the remnants of his clothes down every sewer grate he could. He already said goodbye to his third favorite butterfly knife, having shoved it into a culvert on his way home. As well as his throwaway sneakers which he chucked into the murky water of the deep river that flowed beneath the bridge he trekked across to get home- the long way.

Anakin was a good citizen, he knew he couldn’t flush the drugs. He couldn’t dispose of them in the trash, he definitely couldn’t keep them, so he did what every responsible person would do: dumped them in the medical wastes slot at the CVS.

The cash on the other hand… over $2,000. That- that he could definitely keep.

With his mind cleared, soiled clothes squared away, and plan in place; he hit the shower and reveled in the faint metallic scent of blood that trickled down the drain. Mentally adding ‘new loofah’ to his to-do list, he scrubbed away at his skin with dawn dishsoap until he felt like his skin was screaming for him to stop. Then he used his favorite smell-good cedar soap, enjoying the steam of the scalding water pelting his back as he rinsed himself clean.

Diary Entry: August 28th

I feel GOOD. I feel better, I feel fresh.

My worries went down the drain along with every scrap of evidence I created. Have you ever felt such a clear and palpable mental reset? I haven’t.

I haven’t had a single negative thought since my visit with Joel. It’s all been rainbows and shittin’ unicorns, I know what it’s like to live completely carefree now. I could go the rest of my life and suffer through whatever disaster life throws our way and do it with a fucking smile.

Gods I just love you. I love you so much.

You’re perfect. I don’t know how the hell you do it princess but you’ve found every possible way to improve my life and you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time! It’s like you know exactly what I need without ever speaking it aloud. You just let the pieces fall into place.

It was your idea to DoorDash the pizza, your choice to wear that slutty pajama set I love so much, your sunshiny predisposition that drew his attention and the bangin’ body that held it. Without that, all of it, I’d still be wallowing in the throes of despair at my untimely death via withering away.

But here I am, having a damn good day!

The only thing that would make it better is me fucking you like a jackrabbit on his third 5hr Energy. However, I love you and as much as I’d like to fuck you within an inch of your life, I will not. I have a hand that works perfectly fine and a plethora of porn starring you that I can drool over until I’ve sated myself enough to act like a semi-normal human.

How will I broach the subject of my unrequited love today? I don’t know. Am I worried about it? Hell no. I have faith in my goddess to deliver what I’m worthy of.

How will I look you in the eye after my late night escapade? With a fucking smile.

Date

August 28th

You traded texts back and forth with Anakin all morning. Something had crawled under his skin and bit him with venomous lust, he’d sent you pretty pictures of his weeping cock, cum dribbling out and down the back of his hand. He’d texted, described in delicate detail what he’d like to do to you with the most vile and disgusting words to caress that sick little minx that lived inside your stomach.

He had you clenching around nothing, gushing slick behind the counter at the diner. Blushing deep, dusty rose petal red across your cheeks and creeping up under your shirt collar. You felt hot, your hands sweaty and mind flustered beyond belief. You hadn’t felt this sexually frustrated since Ghost had stopped torturing you in your sleep.

You were nervous and bashful around customers as if they could see straight through your polite voice and put together appearance. Underneath the confidence that you reserved for waiting tables was a deprived and thoroughly soaked cunt that controlled your every waking thought.

“Princess?” Anakin’s deep gravelly bedroom voice floated over the Formica countertop and wrapped you up in a warm embrace.

You looked up and saw the face of a desperate man. His pretty blue eyes had been completely swallowed up by his lust… love blown pupils. His normally calming cloud of energy was replaced by a jittery, buzzing storm of bottled up euphoria. He couldn’t wait to pop the cork and share it with you.

“Vigo?” Anakin’s voice cracked, his smile only growing bigger when your coworker popped his head around the kitchen door frame. “I’m stealing her.”

“Hey, you gotta clock out!” He shouted after you as Anakin gripped your wrist and whisked you out to his car. Vigo was already on his way to the time cards, punching it in for you to save himself the worry of you forgetting.

“Anakin what’s gotten into you?” You panted, trying to catch your breath while Anakin licked into your mouth and sucked the tip of your tongue. Kissing you as messily as he could short of drowning you via spit swap.

“Woke up missing you.” He groaned, nuzzling your breasts. His nose nudging the valley while he rubbed his cheeks against the swell, pushing them together with his splayed hands.

“Can’t help it.” He breathed out, biting your sensitive flesh through the fabric of your shirt.

“Ani.” You moaned, tugging his head away gently. “You already gave me a massive hickey.” He chuckled as you reminded him of the purplish bruise you’d attempted to cover with makeup.

“True.” He nodded, nipping you again anyway. “You could stand to have a few more though.”

“Shit, not now.” You shook your head and bucked up your hips, wiggling out of your jeans.

“Damn, that’s what I like to see sweetheart.” Anakin growled, smacking your ass lightly as he laid down in the back seat. “C’mere baby let me see my pussy.”

You giggled, complying and gingerly hovering over his mouth only to earn a frustrated groan from him.

“Goddamnit. I-I’ve never seen you this wet.” His eyebrows furrowed together as he looked up at you, his enlarged pupils snapping a mental picture of how beautiful you were from your position above him where you belonged.

Both hands suddenly gripped your hips and pulled you down on top of his face. He held on tightly, keeping you in place despite your concerns of suffocating him.

“Don’t care.” He moaned, thrusting his tongue up and swirling it around inside your entrance, the bridge of his nose rubbing your clit as he guided your hips to ride his face. “I’d be dying the happiest man on earth.”

“Oh my god.” You sucked in a sharp inhale, your palm smacking the headrest while your fingers hurt from the force of your grip on it.

“Mhmmmm.” You could feel his smug grin beneath you, even in this position he was able to establish dominance with just that crooked smirk and hard look to his eyes.

“Anakin…” moaning, you reached down to play with his hair, his mouth pulling your clit between his teeth to suck harshly, flicking his tongue at a fast pace in hopes to bring you to orgasm quickly. “Anakin please… s-slow.”

“Uh uh.” He shook his head with a chuckle, digging his fingertips into the fat of your ass.

“My pussy… my rules.” He mumbled, the words muffled and nearly incoherent.

He slurped and sucked, dragging his tongue in long stripes up your center, dipping the tip into your hole each time it passed over. He’d never eaten you so desperately, never had he sent you spiraling into orgasm this quickly. Heat traveled from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears, your hole quivering around his tongue darting in to lick up your cum.

“Ani- Anakin enough.” You whined, trying to get up but he just brought you back down and laved at you with just as much fervor.

“Please no… hurts.” You hiccuped, sensitive beyond belief and not ready for more in the slightest.

“Shhhh.” Anakin laughed, nibbling on your clit carefully, he slipped one hand beneath you, palm side up.

He tapped your hip and let you raise up for a moment to catch your breath, lasting less than a few seconds before he was one-armed manhandling you back over his face.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch baby.” He whispered, stroking your folds gently before prodding at your entrance.

“Oh sweet lord-“ he moaned loudly, watching your greedy pussy sink down on his fingers from below, your hole fluttering around the two digits.

“You’re so wet.” He whimpered, gazing up at you like you’d hung the moon just for him.

“All this for me?” He asked softly, as if he weren’t really sure what your answer would be.

“All for you Ani.” You nodded, brushing your knuckles across his cheek while he started pumping his finger inside slowly, stretching you out to take a third.

“Jesus, I don’t know what I wanna do.” He groaned, “I wish I could touch you all over all at once.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up for you to see the fruits of his labor, the creamy slick coated his fingers, stringing them together when he pulled them apart. He barely grazed your bottom lip with it before sucking it hungrily from his fingers.

“Goddamnit.” He moaned, pulling you back down with such force that you lost your balance and accidentally unlocked the car door, you giggled and quickly corrected your mistake, Anakin chiding you from below.

“Clumsy little brat.” He grinned, kneading your ass cheeks roughly.

His tone might’ve been playful but the look in his eyes was nothing short of predatory. He lapped at your glistening folds with the enthusiasm of a wildcat on a fresh kill, by the end of it he’d be sucking the bones dry.

Anakin hummed at the taste of you, groaning, babbling nonsense more to your cunt than to you:

“Tastes so good.”

“So pink and pretty for me.”

“Poor pussy just missed me so much huh? Is that why she’s crying?”

He switched up suddenly and had you frozen in place, your jaw dropped open as you let out a choked sob, tilting your head back to look at the car’s ceiling. He’d bit down on your raw and sore clit, peeling back the hood to tortuously bully it with kitten licks all while sucking as hard as he possibly could. It was too much, so much, all at once.

You were already so sensitive, you had already begged him to stop, now you had no words left, just pitiful whimpers as you bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Your legs quivered uncontrollably as goosebumps pricked your flesh, every hair standing on end as Anakin literally sucked you dry as you’d jokingly predicted.

He drew out a long and reedy noise from the depths of your chest, clawing it’s way through the fire in your lungs and past the torn skin on your lip. Creamy cum gushed from your core, coating his chin and neck.

The main course, what he was really after, was the hot juices that dribbled down the back of his throat as he sucked the nectar straight from the source. You would’ve worried you might drown him if you couldn’t visibly see his heavy breathing, feel and hear each desperate swallow and whimper. You could feel his stomach tensing along with his arms, his hands followed and closed into fists.

Turning his head to the side he bit down on your inner thigh, causing you to jolt and yelp, almost missing the way one of his hands flew to his crotch and squeezed his thick cock through his jeans, running his thumb over the fat, swollen tip as a small and sticky dark patch bloomed on his upper thigh.

“N-no no.” He whined, bringing you back down to his face, he carefully avoided your abused clit in favor of cleaning up your thighs and messy cunt, digging out every last drop of slick with his tongue.

“You… you are so fucking hot.” He panted, whimpering in pain when he sat up repositioned his cock.

“Did you-“

“Cum? Yeah.” He nodded sheepishly, stroking himself in his jeans for a moment before removing his hand and showing you the mess he’d made in his jeans.

“No way.” You whispered, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

“Yes.” He growled, shoving his hand between your thighs to wipe his cum off onto your spent pussy. “I don’t think you understand what you do to me sweetheart.”

“I’d pay good money to find a way to live inside your skin with you. Just to be close as I could get.” He said quietly, helping you back into your panties and jeans, wiping the excess cum onto the inside of his tshirt.

“I’d sell my soul just to breathe the same air as you if that’s what it took.” He said, pulling you into his lap and crushing you in a hug.

“You are like a Ghost that haunts every corner of my mind.” He whispered, licking the makeup off of your poorly hidden hickey.

Anakin didn’t miss the way you breathed in a sharp breath at his words it took a lot of willpower not to smile against your neck when he heard you audibly swallow with nervousness.

“I wake up and I think of you. I go to sleep and I dream of you.” His rough palms caressing the soft skin of your stomach. “Everything I see, everything I do, it all reminds me of you.”

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” He said softly. “You’d never doubt yourself again.” His lips grazing your earlobe as he twirled a lock of hair around his finger, breaking the heavy tension by cracking a smile and tickling the tip of your nose with your hair.

He gently cupped your cheeks and brushed the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks and under your eyes. Staring at you with those unwavering black saucers in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’d done drugs. It’s unnatural for a human’s eyes to stay dilated for this long. But you knew Anakin, he was just high on you.

Diary Entry: August 28th continued

I have so much energy and I don’t know what to do with it all. I might try bench pressing a school bus, I could probably make it move alittle. If I didn’t give myself a hernia first.

What I really need is more of you. I thought a little sweet treat might tithe me over but I was WRONG. I’m feeling a new kind of insatiable.

It’s time for Ghost to get back to his old tricks with a new accessory: my rarely worn tongue stud.

Man I love it though, it clacks against my teeth so good. I can hear it in my brain for like, minutes after I’ve done it. Such a satisfying sound. Its crisp.

Which is unfortunately the reason why I can’t wear it often anymore.

I click clacked it around my bottom row of teeth too much and the dentist made me promise not to do it anymore. Turns out abstinence is actually the best method when it comes to prevention. If it’s not in my mouth I can’t fuck up my teeth, but I can play with my lip piercings. Yeehaw I love a loophole.

Anywho. I feasted on my favorite meal today and I desperately need more before I actually go insane. I need to taste you. I need to feel you. I need to fuck you til I lose consciousness.

I want you to be awake though because as hot as it is to watch you cum in your sleep, it’s even hotter to see you reacting to the things I say. Deny it all you want baby but you’re my whore.

Ghost, Anakin, both. You’re willing to do anything for my cock.

Date

August 28th continued.

Anakin can’t keep his hands to himself. It’s like he’s been corrupted by an incubus, he’s turned into an insatiable beast that just can’t stop. You’ve seriously considered the possibility that he may have somehow gotten his hands on some ecstasy and a suped up gas station boner pill.

Though logically you know exactly what is happening. He’s just giddy and feeling a weight lifted from his chest after confessing to you. It makes perfect sense. Carrying a secret like that is a burden, you know that very well by now.

Anakin is purely running off adrenaline fumes and endorphins. He’s burning it off the best way possible, by touching you in every direction, position, time, space and dimension that he can put you in.

He’s fucked you twice after taking you home from work today. Kitchen counter? From the back with your legs dangling helplessly, your sweaty skin sticking to the countertop. Coffee table? He pushed you down on it, swiping off the scattered items on it, including the freshly made sandwich and chips you’d brought him. He had said ’F-fuck… you’re just so sexy when you’re domestic.’

Right now on your third go around, he had finally, finally agreed to take you to the bed after you’d formed a triangle shaped bruise from the corner on the kitchen counter.

“M’sorry baby,” He whispered, licking away the dull pain on your hip from between your legs. “didn’t mean to.”

“I know Ani,” you breathed out, “it’s not your fault.”

“It is.” He nodded, pulling you toward the edge of the bed and gently helping you onto you hands and knees. “My poor girl.”

“You’re just so pretty. You’re so perfect. You’re so… you.” He sighed, standing behind and to the side of you to caress your injured hip.

His rough palm glided over the hot, sticky skin of your spine to brush your hair away. His free hand slowly tracing a delicate pattern across the plumped flesh of your ass, all five digits teasing the skin with tingling trails of warmth.

His lips caressed your tender skin up and down your side while he lovingly slipped a finger between your pussy lips. He groaned and made a fist between your shoulder blades to keep control of himself, your wetness feeding his need to be sheathed inside your warm and welcoming cunt.

“Pretty, pretty baby.” He whispered, his voice cracking while he brought his burning hot cheek down to rest against the swell of your ass, toying with his lip piercings to stifle a moan at the sloppy noises his pointer finger made on its descent into your depths.

“You’ve been so good for me.” He praised you, massaging your shoulder with one hand, kissing your ass cheek as he turned his head and rested the other side of his blushed face there, switching sides to watch your expressions change with each plunge of his finger.

“My little girl…” he growled, low and deep in his throat, “letting me take what I need.”

“Just wanted you to feel good Ani.” You sighed, gratefully accepting a second finger from him, feeling him twist his wrist back and forth with each slow thrust.

“Mmm, I did sweetheart.” He chuckled, “trust me, it’s hard to feel anything but heavenly when I’ve got my hands on you.”

“You’ve been so needy.” You whined, letting him guide your hand to your clit so you could rub yourself at your own pace along with his languid fingers.

“I know.” He clicked his tongue. “Are you okay sweetheart?”

“Course I’m okay.” You moaned, leaning back against his hand while his fingertips pressed and massaged your inner core.

“I put your poor little body through a lot today huh?” He cooed, switching his free hand over to your other shoulder to massage it the same as the other.

He smiled widely as he watched your face relax and felt your breathing slow into a steady rhythm. He felt proud. Proud of you, of himself, of his self control.

“Felt good Ani.” You whispered, your fingers tightening around the sheets in your fist while you rocked back onto his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers. “I needed it too.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled, hearing the content sigh escape your lips. “You think you can cum for me again baby?” He asked softly, kissing the small of your back.

“N-no.” You whimpered, shying away from his gentle probing fingers.

“You sure sweetheart?” He asked, slowing his movements even further. “It’s okay baby, I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

“M’sure.” You shook your head rapidly, “I can’t.”

“Okay baby.” He chuckled, “ready for me to stop then?” He asked.

“No… not yet.” You said quietly. “Lay with me?”

“Oh sure thing princess.” He grinned, removing his fingers just long enough for him to turn off your lamp and help you slide under the blankets, his nakedness pressed firmly against yours.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” you giggled, Anakin’s arms wrapping around you tightly while he kissed the nape of your neck, spooning you from behind.

“Cozy?” He asked with a gruff tone, slipping his fingers back into your messy pussy from behind to continue the slow and gentle caresses.

“So cozy.” You nodded. “I’m gettin’ sleepy.” You said tiredly.

“I figured so.” He nodded, his voice a soft whisper. “I’ll lay with you until it’s time for me to leave for work okay?”

“I’ll make sure everything is all locked up when I leave, I’ll kiss you bye.” He spoke low and soothingly as he gently rubbed your neck, removing his fingers from your folds when he heard your breathing slightly change.

“I’ll text you,” he whispered, sucking your slick from his fingers between words, not hiding his hard-on as it pressed against your ass. “when I get there and when I get back home. I’ll miss you so much until I see you again tomorrow.”

Soon enough you were deep in sleep and Anakin was glad he’d made you take your pills at dinner time, he’d thought ahead and considered the very real possibility that you’d end up being fucked to sleep.

He was right of course.

——————————————————————————

“Anakin what the hell man?” Trevor chortled shoving a handful of ice down the back of Anakin’s shirt in retaliation to the towel-whip he’d dealt Trevor.

“What? Can’t a guy be happy?” Anakin laughed.

“Happy? Nah you’re fucking hyper.” Trevor grinned. “What’d you do that’s got you feeling so good? Gimme some.” He teased.

“Shut up, the hardest thing I do is pot you know that.” Anakin snorted.

“Then what’s the deal?” Trevor splayed his own hand a few inches from his face.

“I’m love drunk baby.” Anakin waggled his eyebrows and shimmied his shoulders.

“Jesus I don’t even know you! Who are you and what have you done with my jackass?” Trevor grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him with a laugh, turning to pour a beer on tap for a patron.

“I ate him.” Anakin shrugged and giggled.

“I’m calling your girlfriend. I don’t know if I can be around you anymore.” April said, walking past the two of them with a serving tray.

“She needs a break from me, she’s very tired.” Anakin said with a proud grin.

“Oh my god!” April cackled and made a quick exit from behind the bar to serve drinks at a corner table.

“Fucking freak.” Trevor snickered.

“That’s what she said.” Anakin stuck out his tongue and flicked it with an impish grin.

After an hour or so the bar traffic grew stagnant and Anakin stepped out back for a cigarette, flicking his zippo out to light the flame and swinging in shut. Letting a curl of smoke leave his lips to breathe in through his nose. He leaned back against the brick wall with his legs crossed at the ankles, raising his arms above his head to rest his fists on his forehead.

He was looking up at the hazy city-light polluted night sky, searching for stars, when the back door swung open and Trevor stepped out with a bottle of beer for himself and one for Anakin.

“Trade me.” He grunted, sitting down on an old wood crate and holding out the beer bottle, two fingers extended for Anakin to sit a cigarette between.

“Yessir,” Anakin nodded, going so far as to light it for his friend.

“Anakin.” Trevor said thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Anakin said, tipping up the beer bottle and watching the amber liquid bubble as he took a gulp.

“Did you hate me?” Trevor asked. “When you first started here?”

“What? Pfft, no what are you talking about?” Anakin asked, pushing off the wall with his black leather boot.

“I don’t know, you’re just different.” Trevor said with a shrug. “You just seemed so… excuse my critique; cold and distant.”

“Criticism accepted.” Anakin nodded. “It’s true I guess.”

“Yeah? So what changed?” Trevor asked in curiosity, a rare moment of vulnerability shared between two male friends wasn’t to be wasted.

“Met a girl. Got my shit together.” Anakin said, flicking cigarette ash to the pavement. “I love her you know?”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.” Anakin nodded. “I told her. She hasn’t said it back yet.”

“Well damn I’m sorry man-“

“No don’t be. She’ll say it.” Anakin held up his hand to stop him. “She just ain’t ready to admit it that’s all.”

“How are you not all depressed and shit?”

“I was, but I realized… I don’t care.” Anakin said simply. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if I have to wait until I’m dead in the ground. I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

“I had myself a bit of a freak out.” Anakin admitted, “but after I cooled off I’ve been… happier than I’ve ever been.”

“That why you’re all…” Trevor gestured to him with both hands.

“Yessir.” Anakin grinned.

“So you’re acting like you’ve won the fuckin’ lotto because your girl didn’t say she loved you?” Trevor raised his eyebrows.

“She doesn’t have to.” Anakin said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, placing the cigarette between his lips, inhaling slowly. Grabbing it between his forefinger and thumb he brought it back down to his side and made an O with his lips, hollowing his cheeks and flicking the dip in his cheek to let a ring of smoke out.

“I know she does.” Anakin said, tilting his head back against the brick and letting it loll to the side to look over at Trevor. “She didn’t run off, she didn’t tell me to get lost, she laid there with me… pretty little head on my chest.” Anakin said, making a motion with his hand above his heart.

“Then today.” Anakin said, clicking his tongue with a smirk. “She sat on my face in the parking lot of the Bluebird during her break n’ let me fuck her all over the house when I got her home.”

“Jesus, here I was thinkin’ you were being sweet.” Trevor snorted, flicking his bottle cap so the it bounced off the toe of Anakin’s boot.

“If that doesn’t scream love I don’t know what does.” Anakin sighed contentedly, stubbing out his cigarette and dropping it into the designated rusty coffee can for cigarette butt.

——————————————————————————

“Hey, look Trev isn’t that the guy uh… the one who did that thing junior year of highschool?” April shouted over the din of the bar from the other end of the counter, pointing up to the smaller tv playing the news rather than the basketball game.

“Uh… hold on I can’t- I don’t have my glasses.” he said walking over and squinting, Anakin walking up behind him to look over his shoulder.

“Mm yeah that’s the guy they called- uh,” he thought for a second before snapping his right hand fingers and bringing his palm down on top of his fist, pointing up at the screen. “Duck! Didn’t they?”

“Yeah! Yeah, him.” April nodded, sucking on a lemon slice she’d dipped in sugar.

She turned back around and shook up the tumbler she was mixing a drink in, pouring it over two glasses and sliding it across the table to their owners.

“Why’d they call him that?” Anakin asked, wiping down the bar, before washing up some shot glasses.

“He’d duck his head up under the bleachers to look up girls skirts at the pep rallies.” Trevor said with a huff, “real shit guy.”

“Tried to sell my brother herbs instead of herb.” April turned around with an amused look on her face.

“Huh.” Anakin said, tonguing the inside of his cheek to hide a smirk. “Real shit guy indeed.”

“Surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” Trevor said with a chuckle.

“Why’s that?” Anakin asked, tossing his towel over his shoulder, rubbing his palms together while he sucked on the ball of one of his snake bites.

“Like I said, real shit guy.” Trevor scoffed. “Doubt they’re even looking too hard for the guys who did it.”

“Guys?” Anakin asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah-“ he looked over his shoulder, “what’d it say April? Four of ‘em?”

“Yep.” She said, tossing her lemon rind in the trash.

“Damn.” Anakin shook his head.

“Yeah, the guy who ‘found’ him graduated with us too.” Trevor said, glancing back up at the tv and seeing it had switched over to the weather. “Supposedly it was a real mess, shit everywhere. Stole a bunch of stuff, some kind of drug related thing.”

“Well shit, poor guy.” Anakin shook his head, “that’d be a real nice thing to walk in on.”

“Well hell yeah it would, looking like the Red Seas in there.” Trevor snorted.

“How do you know?” Anakin asked with a smile.

“The dick posted it on his private Snapchat story before he called the cops.” Trevor said, “I didn’t see it, but my buddy did and he said it looked barf worthy, could smell it through the screen.”

“Goddamn that’s nasty.” Anakin winced, “thanks for that mental image.”

“I had to imagine it, so you did too.” Trevor said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Share the wealth or whatever.”

“Trev, I don’t think that applies to murder.” April said, walking past the boys.

“It does now, baby.” He said, tapping her ass as she walked past.

“Hey!” She shot him a dirty look but blushed and smiled anyway. “Told you not to do that at work.”

“Can’t help it.” Trevor shrugged. “Stress reliever.”

“Oh whatever.” She snorted.

“Anyway yeah- apparently the dude, Kyle Spencer, is suspect number one. He was high as a kite when he called Duck’s dad.”

“He called his dad?” Anakin asked confusedly, “not the cops?”

“His dad is the cops.” Trevor said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth before tossing a stick to Anakin.

“Oh shit.” Anakin scoffed, “so what, he called the guys dad to figure it out?”

“Mhm.” Trevor nodded. “At least that’s what everyone thinks. Cause Duck’s dad arrested the guy himself and seemed real ticked off about getting the call. He was at his other son’s house for the grandkids birthday.”

“Well, well, well.” Anakin snorted, covering his mouth to hide a grin as he poured a whiskey. “Isn’t that some good luck?”

——————————————————————————

“I’ve missed this.” Anakin sighed, cradling Boogie in his arms like a furry orange baby while he stood at the foot of your bed and watched you sleep.

“It’s the simple things you know?” He whispered, his filtered voice tapering in and out. He smiled beneath his mask, watching you stir slightly, kicking the covers off your feet.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom, setting your cat down on the kitchen counter and pouring her a third of a bowl of food. He took off his left hand glove to give her some chin scratches, then from the white patch between her eyes all the way to the end of her fluffy tail.

“You know, I used to really despise cats.” He said, leaning over on the counter and propping himself up on his gloved fist, watching her eat.

“The therapist I had as a kid said it was cause cats don’t automatically take to a person like dogs do.” He picked up her back foot and gently squish her paw pad to spread out her toe beans just to see her claws flex out.

“Cause they don’t listen. You can’t make ‘em listen, you can’t make ‘em do anything they don’t want.”

“I’m glad I met you.” He nodded. “You’re sweet, makes me… hmm, I wouldn’t say regretful. Just dissatisfied about before.”

“That’s okay though.” He sighed, “personal growth and whatnot.”

“I hope your momma won’t be too upset. I promised I’d start telling her before I visited, but you know tonight wasn’t really planned ahead and I got side tracked, and then sidetracked again, cause I’m here talking to you!” He chuckled, giving her a head pat.

“So hang out in here, okay kitty? I’ve got things to do.” He chuckled, unlacing his boots and setting them beside the front door, he made sure his socks were pulled up beneath his jeans and his gloves and sleeves were as they should be.

He crept back into your room, shutting the door behind him, thankful that you’d stayed naked after your evening escapade. You’d sprawled out, one leg bent and your arm above your head, the other hidden beneath the blanket along with your chest, middle and other leg. Anakin walked to the window and opened the curtain just the tiniest bit, allowing a sliver of moonlight to cast a pearly sheen across your exposed skin.

He stood and stared for a long while, having missed the scene before him. So many times he’d slunk in the shadows of your room, clinging to the wall to avoid disrupting that very beam of moonlight. He would scowl and chide you in his mind for leaving the curtains open, but he’d always, always, stop and observe the way you breathed under the pale periwinkle tinted light.

Once he’d had his fill of your nighttime innocence, he closed the curtain and returned you to the black of slumber, preparing to drag you with him on his path to midnight madness.

He lifted the blanket and folded it over out of his way, using the pretty patterned top sheet to cover his head after taking off his mask and placed it on the bed beside him.

Just for the extra security he tugged up his hood as well and hoped that he wouldn’t sweat to death before he could make you finish.

Slowly pushing your legs apart, he smiled at the soft breath you took in when he gently held your hip so that you wouldn’t shift out of position. Anakin pulled off his right hand glove and shoved it in his back pocket so it wouldn’t get lost beneath the sheets.

He kissed along your outer lips, pressing his nose against the crease at the apex of your thighs, inhaling the scent of you and dragging his tongue along behind as his nose traveled up that crease until he reached your hip, where the waist band of your panties should be. He took a moment to nuzzle into the softness of your lower belly, showering your satin skin with kisses before returning to your slit.

His mouth hovered over your folds as if he were mentally preparing himself to savor you slowly, compared to the fast-paced feasts he’d had on you earlier in the day.

With his tongue laid out flat he licked up the remnants of his cum and yours, introducing you to the warm ball centered toward the front of his tongue, purposely letting it catch against your clit. He breathed through his nose, leaving his tongue flat to circle and flick the metal ball over your clit, smiling in triumph when you jolted at the first movement.

He circled your entrance with the calloused pad of his thumb, slurping up your creamy slick from your folds. He flexed his tongue to swipe it side to side the bottom ball of the metal bar scraped along his bottom row of teeth, making a dull metallic sound that seemed much louder to Anakin than it was in reality so he halted his movements to listen for a change in your breathing.

After ensuring you wouldn’t ruin his fun too early he continued his gentle licks and prods of his tongue to your leaking hole. He pulled his mask closer to him, he needed to feel your heat around his fingers and he knew it wouldn’t take too long before you realized what was happening. After all, you didn’t drink your tea.

Inserting one finger slowly his curved it upward and flicked his tongue side to side at the same pace of his finger. He felt you stir beneath him, so he placed a sloppy kiss to your clit. Lazily licking across you rather than giving you calculated movements. He pushed in a second finger, groaning loudly at the squelch when your cunt hungrily sucked in the extra digit.

Your hands came down to push him away, trying to close your legs in your half-awake state.

“Ani?” You asked, trying to cover your drenched pussy with your hand when you felt an unfamiliar sensation slide over your clit, smooth and warm.

Anakin’s ego skyrocketed, but his penchant for deviant behavior told him that statement should be punished by Ghost. Although he’d have to make that decision later because you were getting whiny and impatient.

“Anakin, please.” You mumbled. “What’s that?”

Anakin halted his movements and slipped on his mask and quickly shoved his hand in his glove.

“I’ll give you one more guess little doe.” The modified voice cut through the fog of your sleep and you bolted upright.

“Ghost?” You gasped in surprise, pulling the blankets back over you. “You didn’t- why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Don’t be embarrassed baby,” he cooed, tugging the blankets away and running his leather hands up your stomach, stopping just beneath your tits. “This is an emergency visit and-“

“What?” You asked in confusion, your eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? What did you do?”

“Um… ow. Hurtful.” He said in a disappointed tone. “I didn’t do anything except develop a raging hard-on.”

“You ass!” You shouted, smacking at his arm. “You scared me!”

“Hey.” He barked. “Maybe next time let me finish talking yeah? Jumping to conclusions like that’ll strain a muscle.”

You stared at him in a state of… not shock or fear, but a bewildered sort of amusement. Once again: the audacity of this man is astounding.

“What?” He asked, sounding irritated.

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You snorted, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“W-wha… hey?” He stammered, confused by your laughter. “Are you laughing? What’s funny?”

“You.” Another laughed bubbled up from your chest.

“Wait- what? You… you’re...” His mouth gaping beneath his mask. “Are you for real?”

“Oh- I’m sorry no… no don’t be mad.” You said reaching out but snatching your hand back quickly after remembering what happened last time you touched him like that without permission.

“Mad?” His voice crackled, the modified voice hinting at hurt in his tone. “Why- why would you think I’m mad?”

“Doe, I’m… that makes me happy.” He said quietly. “This is the first time I’ve made you laugh.”

“What?” You scoffed, “no it’s not.”

“It is.” He said solemnly. “Trust me I keep track of things like that.”

“But-“

“No, no. Trust me.” He said, straddling your legs but not putting any weight on you. “You’ve done that dorky anxious laugh a few times. But I mean… that was a real one.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, your face falling when you realized he was probably right.

“Doe, I’m sure about everything when it comes to you.” He said low and serious, inching closer.

“I’m sorry.” You said, feeling horrible. “That- I’m sorry, that makes me feel bad.”

“Don’t.” He said sternly. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I just had the most fitting conversation earlier today.” He said slowly. “Talking about things and waiting till they’re ready. You laughed cause you were ready.” He said with a defining nod, cupping your cheeks with both hands and carefully caressing your under eyes.

“I’ve always been in favor of positive reinforcement.” Anakin said, smiling to himself. “Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously, looking him over.

“Something new.” Anakin said simply.

“But,” he said, tilting his head toward you. “You have to promise that you’ll listen to me.”

“Okay…” you nodded cautiously.

“Good girl.” He gave you a curt nod in return, breathing deeply. “Now, I’m gonna give you some very simple instructions. If you do not listen, if you don’t follow them with precision, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” You nodded, frowning slightly.

Anakin very tenderly rested his leathered thumbs over your eyes, gingerly closing them and so, so, so carefully making sure they stayed closed.

“Listen closely.” His voice low and dangerous. “When I tell you it’s okay, I want you to take my mask off.”

“What?” You jolted in shock, this was not what you expected at all, you assumed it would be something much more… raunchy.

“Shut up.” He said sharply. “Quiet, listen to me.”

“Sorry.” You whispered, biting down on your lip and fidgeting with your fingers.

“When I tell you it’s okay, you are going to take off my mask. You’re going to be quiet. You’re not going to talk. You’re not going to hear me talk. You will not move. You will keep the mask in your hands, in your lap, and you will not touch me.” Anakin’s voice was clearly conveying a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored.

“Yes sir.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” He dropped his hands immediately and squeaked out the most pitiful unfiltered noise a man could make.

He didn’t hide it when he palmed his cock, he didn’t seem surprised when you moaned after he grabbed your face. He did lean down, eye level to you and lace his free hand’s long fingers with yours.

“Say it again f’me doe.” He groaned, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing length.

“Yes sir.” You repeated in a smaller, less confident voice. You hadn’t expected a reaction like this, you’d meant for it to come out snarky…

“New plan.” He grunted, fisting your hair at the top of your head to pull you into sitting position.

He got down off the bed and grabbed his bag from the floor, pulling out a pretty, pink, silk handkerchief and tossing it at you. Along with a pair of padded pink fabric handcuffs, Velcro, not metal clasps.

“What are you… what’s this?” You asked in surprise, an amused smirk on your lips.

“Well, you know the tape ah- just… oh fuck off.” He huffed folding the handkerchief to make a blindfold and carefully tying it tightly around your head, guiding your arms behind your back.

You heard the loud *skrrrriiip* of the Velcro coming apart, then felt the soft liner enveloping each wrist.

“No gag this time?” You huffed, annoyed that he hadn’t finished his sentence, his explanation.

His belt buckle clanked around and he undid his zipper, guiding you to your knees in front of him. He pried your mouth open and pinched the tip of your tongue between his fingers, pulling it slightly before roughly pushing your head down, forcing his girthy length into your mouth.

“Gag on this.” He grunted, holding your head still while you choked around his fat cockhead, your eyes already beginning to water.

He thrust himself in shallow strokes but made sure to hit the back of your mouth every time as punishment, drool dripping down your bottom lip and onto his weighty balls each time they smacked the underside of your chin.

“I w-was gonna kiss you.” He gritted out, causing you to pull back in an effort to say something, but he forced you back down, fucking into your throat alittle deeper.

“Jesus, just listen damnit.” He barked out at you, tugging your hair. “I was trying to… fuck that feels good- mmph.” A puff of air left his nose and he inhaled through his mouth in a shaky gasp.

“Tryin’ to kiss you, m-make it special and soft.” He grunted. “Tried to get you something alittle nicer than some tape from the junk drawer and an old bandana.”

“Should’ve known better.” He groaned, gritting his teeth while he listened to your labored breathing.

“Bitchy little ungrateful brat.” He spat, thrusting harder after he’d said it just to drive his point home.

“Y-you would’ve still gotten your kiss if you hadn’t of smart mouthed me.” He panted. “Now you’re just gonna get a belly full of cum.”

“When are you going to learn?” He chuckled, looking down at you and red tinted face. He pulled out his phone, turning on the flash and hitting record.

“You were being such a good girl.” He moaned, low and gravely. “Callin’ me sir? Good manners. That was a good job, little doe.”

“Then you you went and screwed it up didn’t you? Hmm?” His condescending tone sent a zap of lighting to your core. “Smart mouthing me like I’d let you get away with it.” He scoffed.

“Apologize to me sweetheart.” He demanded, grabbing you by the neck just beneath your jaw and squeezing when you didn’t answer. “C’mon you know you were bad.”

You breathed out through flared nostrils and blinked away your tears, you spoke as best you could but of course it was hardly more than a few choppy sounds.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk with a full mouth?” He laughed, smacking your cheek gently.

“Oh don’t do that baby.” He cooed, his hips slowing as you tried to wriggle free from your restraints.

“Tell you what…” He pulled up your blind fold and tossed it aside. “let’s play a game.” He grunted. “Just be still for a second okay? Then we’ll talk.” He carded his fingers through your hair and nearly keeled over on the spot when your eyelids fluttered, showing just the whites of your eyes.

He doubled over, accidentally shoving his length farther than he meant to, shooting salty ropes down your throat, a choked moan left his lips as his knees buckled slightly.

“Holy shit- oh fuck…” He panted, doing his best to pull back slowly so as not to hurt you. “Sorry baby.” He mumbled sheepishly, quickly tucking himself back in his boxers.

“You okay?” He breathed out, crouching down and getting on your level after stopping the recording.

“Mhm.” Your lungs felt heavy, coughing from your sore throat. “M’fine.”

“Stand up.” He said firmly, but not in a commanding way, more of a ‘I know what’s best for you please just do it’ way.

You nodded and stood up to face him, waiting for further details but you got none. Anakin spun you around and removed your cuffs, grunting in approval when he saw he’d managed not to mar up your pretty skin on accident with these new bindings.

Then, gentle hands on your shoulders turned you back around. He just stood there and stared at you. You hated when he did that, it was so hard to judge his mood already. But when he was quiet and still? Impossible.

“Do you know what a safe word is?” He asked.

“Yes…” you said, looking off to the side.

“Good. Yours is purple, got it?” He asked, gripping your chin.

“Okay. Safe word is purple.” You nodded, gauging his unmoving form cautiously.

“Put on some pjs.” He said plainly, flipping out his knife, one you hadn’t seen before, just to play with while he waited.

“Is that new?” You asked quietly, trying to make some kind of semi-normal conversation.

“What? This?” He asked, flipping it closed and holding it out to you.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Is it?”

“You noticed.” He said simply, swinging his hand side to side in a gesture for you to take it.

“I’m smarter than I look.” You snorted, taking it from him and carefully opening it.

“We’ll see.” He said in a flat tone, his mood changed slightly now.

“Roses?” You asked, closing the handles back to look at the carved design in black metal with red backing.

“I bought that one just for you. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind it as much if it were pretty.” He said softly, reaching his hand up behind his head to scratch his neck as though he were anxious.

“I- well.” You sighed, stunned by him for the thousandth time. “That’s actually very sweet Ghost.”

You awkwardly handed it back to him, unsure how to navigate this calmer water with him. You gave him a crooked smile and finished getting dressed.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not that. I like that one.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Fine.” You slipped back out of the matching set you had chosen, and tossed it in the drawer without folding it.

“Move.” He grunted, pulling out your bottom drawer and grabbed an old tshirt of Anakin’s and a pair of his loose boxers that you sometimes wore as shorts. “Put them on.”

You scowled, but tried to bite back your words. In some strange way of his own he was being nicer. He was trying. He obviously felt terribly about how he’d scared you into a panic attack, he cared enough to check up on you. You may as well play along.

After getting dressed you put your hands on your hips and faced him squarely.

“Run.”

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“Run.” He barked, his voice gritty and dangerous, he stood up to his full height and flicked open his knife again. “Get movin’, go!”

PART THIRTEEN

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco @demieyesore

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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fraterharambe · 11 days ago

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🧙‍♀️✨ The Broke Witch’s Guide to Manifesting Rent Money (Before the Landlord Comes Knocking)

By Frater Harambe

Tagline: Because your altar is thriving, but your bank account is in retrograde.

📖 Chapter 1: When Your Manifestation Powers Work for Everyone but You

You’ve helped your friends manifest love, success, and even free concert tickets—so why is your own rent spell failing harder than a Mercury retrograde ex? The truth is, financial magic requires more than good vibes and moon water.

This guide is for every witch who has ever: 🔮 Lit a green candle and still ended up overdrawn. 🕯️ Burned bay leaves only to watch their money go up in smoke—literally. 💸 Chanted “Money flows easily to me” while dodging debt collectors.

It’s time to turn that chaos magic into cash magic.

🔥 Step 1: The “My Rent Is Due” Emergency Spell

What You’ll Need:

A candle (green for money, black if you're feeling dramatic).

A coin (preferably one you found—free money attracts more money).

A bill you need to pay (rent, utilities, credit card—pick your battle).

Incense (or cinnamon, because let’s be real, it’s in every witch’s kitchen).

The Ritual:

Light the candle and place the coin beside it.

Hold the bill in your hands and chant:"Wealth unseen, come into view, Rent is due—money renew. By fire and fate, by silver and gold, Prosperity flows, my wealth unfolds."

Visualize your bank balance increasing. (Or at least stabilizing.)

Blow out the candle and carry the coin for luck.

Effectiveness Rating: 🌟🌟🌟 (Improved by taking real-world action).

💻 Step 2: Side Hustles & Sigils—Summoning Digital Coin

When your spellwork needs a boost, let’s turn witchcraft into a business.

🔮 Etsy Witchery – Sell spell jars, charms, or “haunted” thrift finds. 🎴 TikTok Tarot – Read cards live and hope someone tips. 💀 OnlySpirits – Post aesthetic altar photos and monetize your mystique. 📲 CashApp Conjuring – Post a thirst trap and manifest a generous simp.

✨ Bonus: Combine this with a sigil charging ritual for extra potency.

🕯️ Step 3: Protective Money Magic (A.K.A. “Stop Going Broke” Spells)

Sometimes the best money spell is just not losing what you already have.

💳 Anti-Spending Sigil:

Draw a sigil for self-control on your debit card.

Or just freeze your card in a block of ice—same effect, extra dramatic.

📜 Landlord Distraction Charm:

Write their name on a bay leaf, set it on fire, and hope they "forget" to email you.

If that fails, Mercury Retrograde is a great excuse for delayed payments.

📞 Debt Collector Banishing Spell:

Write “Denied” over any unpaid bills.

Place under a black candle and chant, “Not today, capitalism.”

Block their number—sometimes real magic is just setting boundaries.

💰 Step 4: Is It Manifestation, or Are You Just Justifying Dumb Purchases?

If you’re spending more on crystals than groceries, it might be time to reassess your financial witchcraft.

✅ Manifesting: Setting intentions, taking aligned action, and using magic to amplify your efforts. ❌ Witchsplaining Your Debt: “But I needed that $50 candle for the full moon ritual!”

💡 Money Mantra for Broke Witches:

“I am financially wise. I do not need another tarot deck. The spirits understand.”

(They don’t, but your wallet will.)

🚀 Step 5: “Free Money” Spells That Actually Work

🔹 The “Bank Forgiveness” Ritual – Call customer service and ask for a fee reversal. 🔹 The “Unexpected Windfall” Charm – Check unclaimed funds websites (the government might owe you). 🔹 The “Reverse Capitalism Curse” – Apply for grants, scholarships, and mutual aid. 🔹 The “Passive Income Potion” – Start a monetized blog or sell PDF spellbooks online.

🌟 Testimonials from Broke Witches Like You

"I did the rent spell, and suddenly people started paying me back. Magic works!" – @HexMeLater "My Etsy spell jar business is thriving! Turns out capitalism can be enchanted." – @CursedCommerce "Still broke, but now I have ✨hope✨ and a lucky coin." – @FinanciallyFeral

📢 Join the Coven of Financial Chaos!

🔄 Reblog if you’ve ever considered hexing your landlord. 📌 Tag a witch who needs a financial miracle ASAP. 📲 Follow for next week’s guide: “Hexing Billionaires—A Beginner’s Guide.”

#magick #manifestation #witches of tumblr #witchblr #traditional witchcraft #witch #occultism #spirituality #witchcraft #magic

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multifandomfanatic02 · 1 year ago

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"You didn't know, pt.1"

Pairing: Alastor x fem!OC?? (pulled the name out of a hat honestly)

Warning: mentions of r*pe, detailed murder,

Summary: it was never mentioned as to why Alastor turned to murder. Maybe it could have been because he lost someone important to him? Who knows really?

a/n: I tried my best to stick to Alastor's character and respect his sexuality. If you think this needs any improvement or if you have some kind criticism, please let know! And if this liked enough I'll make a part two! (itsbeentwelveyearssinceihavewrittenanythingpleasebenice)

Spring of 1915

Alastor had been a victim of his mother's matchmaking since he was seventeen. Seven dates have been attempted in 5 years total.

No, he was more focused on his occupation as a writer. What Alastor was truly in love with, the smooth jazz that blessed his ears, to the dancing, the books. He was clearly an art enthusiast. And there was one artist's work he admired more than anything. Lillian Fletcher. She was a high position in a very popular magazine and newspaper. Decided what was trendy and what wasn't. While her job is more in the line of sales, Lillian's colleagues agree to let her put her own articles in them. They get hella cash flow.

Crazy as it is, no one has seen what she looked like. When conferences with celebrities happen, it's like she's there in spirit and the articles just show up in the papers one day. I guess you could say it's what Alastor admired about Lillian, she was obviously a humble woman. Someone who cared about her work as much as he did his. Even more so loved the same things he did.

A special night was approaching, Alastor was going to join the press as a journalist for a conference. Even get to do an interview with the famous guest. It was such a grand occasion, he wore his best suit. A black suit rimmed with red buttons and red seams around the collar and of course a red dress shirt underneath. Took the breath away from most of the women that glanced at him during the little shindig.

"Look at my handsome little man, I'm so proud of you, mon cœur." Alastor's mother beams at him with pride, rubbing her fingers against his cheek. He grabs her hand and guides her to the bar.

"Thanks mama, I'm really glad you get to be here with me tonight. Can't imagine anyone else to spend this night with, I mean that." Her eyes start to swell as tears spill out of them. He chuckles wiping them away with the back of his hand. The lights finally begin to dim and the guest comes out on stage. "It's time mama, I need to join the crowd." Alastor unpockets his pen and pad and walks to the chaos of the press unfolding before him.

2 hours gone by and he gets maybe 3 questions out of him. This guest isn't particularly nice. He's obviously rushing the journalist and being very um.. kind of an asshole with his replies. Then again it was to be expected from this one. It's why he's Alastor first real job after all.

"Can you please answer respectfully for once? Stop being an ass to the people who will write your story one day." Everything goes quiet and all heads turn to the back of the crowd. A woman.

"Who are you to speak to me that way, slut." He says giving her a disdainful expression.

"I apologize sir, I just want to know as to why you treat everyone like garbage."

"Miss.. does your husband know you are here." He scoffs, taken aback by the woman's comment.

"I am not married, sir." Her eyes are stoic, there's no signs of kidding on her face.

"That explains a lot. No one wants a woman with a mouth like that.. anyhow, ma'am I think you are done here. Guards! See to it that this.. woman.. leaves the building." He snaps his fingers calling the guards over.

Everyone in the crowd obviously disgusted by attitude. Who gave her the right to talk to HIM that way. Only one pair of eyes saw her differently than anyone else. Alastor. She was glorious. He has never seen someone so beautiful in AND out like this before. The woman wore a royal blue drop-waist dress made of silk and velvet with beads and tiers. Thick mid length hair pinned up in a bob, in attempt to keep it all in place. Pearls adorned her neck beautifully.

He walked out the building following loosely behind, his hand rubbing the back of his neck briefly.

"Are you alright, miss?" He speaks softly to her, trying to not speak the woman.

"Ah yes, thank you, I apologize for my behavior back there. You didn't have to come after me." She hugs her arms and paces back and forth, irritation clearly visible on her face.

"I believe it was very much needed. He certainly needed to be put in his place. Who better than you." Alastor's lips grew into a soft grin. She stopped pacing finally taking a really good look at him. Handsome, is all she thought. "May I ask for your name?" He bent down grabbing her hand kissing the back of it.

A blush flooded her face from her cheeks to the tips of the ears. "L-Lillian Fletcher... and you are?" He looked up in shock to her response, clearing his throat.

"My name is Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure indeed!" His smile turned into a starstruck expression. "So you are the Lillian Fletcher that works for the magazine?!" She nodded nervously as Alastor struggled to keep his cool. "I love your articles and sales pitches! It's what inspired me to shoot my shot with an actual job in journalism. I've been writing for as long as I can remember."

"I'm so glad to hear that, my job is my everything. I'm very passionate about it." Her hand hovers over her mouth to hide her giggle.

"Say, Ms. Fletcher, would you like to have dinner with me?" He holds out his arm for her to take as she gladly accepts, wrapping her hand around it with a smile.

"Call me Lili."

Summer of 1917

"How do I look, mama?" Lillian looked at her future mother in law, holding back her tears. Her knuckle grazed under her eyes to keep from ruining the makeup. The dress she wore was an ivory colored low v-neck dress full of lace and the sleeves were nothing but loose tassels. The most gorgeous wedding dress you'd have ever seen. Her hair was neatly curled and pinned up, feathered boa wrapped around her back and arms, elbow length silk gloves, a string of pearls around the neck, and finally a flower crown. Never has someone looked so elegant.

Alastors hands ran through his hair pacing around in the dressing room. No way was this perfect day about to happen for him. He never thought that one day he'd be married. Alastor has always kept to himself, never found anyone attractive enough. He believed the romance life wasn't for him. While it's partly true, he surely was in love deeply. However both agreed that they never wanted children. Never thought they needed to have intimacy to have love. It would be the perfect life with their work, passions and each other of course.

"Ooo honey, you are looking handsome. Can't wait for you to see Lillian. She's glowing." She says letting herself into his room. She walks towards and pulls him down by the collar to fix his bow tie. "My baby boy, finally getting married."

"Thank you mama, for everything. I'll be sure to pass on your jambalaya recipe to her." He snickers, getting a whack in the arm from her.

"Don't start with me now, boy, you're never to old for a whoopin. You hear me?"

-----

The wedding has started in the chapel and everyone takes their seats. Alastor already tearing up from the band playing music. His fingers fidgeting with eachother in front of him. His bride in all her glory walking down the aisle as if she was a star in the sky.

They took each other's hands holding their breaths as the priest gets through his speech. The wedding was very simple and short event. Due to both groom and bride's status, it was best to keep it a secret and only allow close family. Meaning Alastor's mom and their pet black cat.. Lucifer.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride." That moment lasted for what felt like forever.

Winter of 1928.

Eleven years have passed, both are 34 years of age and their relationship has nothing but flourished since they were married.

Lillian has retired from her life of writing for the public to devote herself to her husband. It's been peaceful and life has never felt better. Alastor on the other hand was promoted to radio host as soon as they were being sold to consumers. It's one thing to write it all out on paper but another to broadcast his interviews and music live to listeners with similar interests. It was... a thrill to him. He and his wife have became quite the team on radio. She often helps him figure out pitches to his audience to boost it.

"Al dear, don't you think it's time for bed?" Lillian's hands wrapped around his neck and ran down his chest, leaning down enough to place a kiss on his head. "You've been working on next week's interview all day. Time to rest, darling."

He sighs and squeezes her hand before nodding. "Alright mon amour." He stands up dragging his feet to their shared bed, tucking each other in. Lillian stroked his hair in hopes to bring him some comfort. He pulls her into his chest. "I will never love anyone other than you. You are mine for eternity."

-------

"Why haven't you told me about this before?!"

"I just didn't want you to worry about it.. you've got a big show coming up soon."

"Hate to break it to you, darling, but someone stalking you is a lot more important to me than a damn show!" Lillian silenced herself, looking away from Alastor's gaze. "I'm staying home."

"No! You can't! That show is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"YOU are my one opportunity! If something happened to you.. I would go Insane." He gripped her shoulders tightly.

"Fine.. Let's make a deal, Al dear. You stay at home all week, but on the day of your show, we take extra precautions to the house and you go. After that you can stay home as much as you want." Lillian says in a serious tone and holds out her hand.

"Deal."

⛧ ⛧ ⛧

The day had finally come and both were feeling nervous. In truth, neither of them wanted Alastor to leave. But with the extra precautions in the house, there was no point in staying home. She was right, this chance will never come again.

The stalker in question had done this sort of thing to several women in the past, many of which had simply gone missing. The ones that were found had been abused and stabbed in the spine causing paralysis, and yes, dead. What a horrific way to die, they both thought. So far there have been 6 victims.

"Are you ready, dear?" Lillian asks helping his coat on. Alastor's expression looking out of place. He was scared and couldn't look her in the eyes, fearing it could be the last time he sees them.

"Are you sure you can't come with me?" He grabs her hand and holds it to his chest. His heart beat a mile a minute.

"You know I'm not allowed there anymore. Or have you forgotten?" She chuckles in attempt to comfort her husband. Obviously not working. Alastor was heartbroken, the only thing he could think of now was to hurry up and get his show done and over with so he can come home. Almost like it wasn't important anymore.

"I've got you a gift." He pulled out a velvet box from his pocket. Lillian took the box and opened it, revealing a locket. 'Mon amour'. She opened it up to see a picture of them on their wedding day. Happy as can be. "No matter what happens know that you are the most important thing in my life." She smiled up at him and gave him a big hug before thanking him. It's beautiful.

"Time to go, my darling." She gives him one last passionate kiss before pushing his butt out the door and locking it. It was cruel to do that however, if it dwelled on it any longer he'd surely break his promise. In reality, she was panicking about being left alone. For good reason...

Alastor's body finally relaxed after 4 hours of his show, it was the most enjoyable one so far. Interviewing the mayor, he was a lot nicer than expected and obviously cared for his people. It wasn't until one of the new journalists came barging in that everything changed.

"Uh oh we've got some breaking news! A new victim of the killer. Our seventh victim is the magazine writer and trend-setter, Lillian Lili?!..." He held his breath as a lump formed in his throat. Immediately getting up, turning on his heels, and hurrying out of the building. His hands were shaking in hopes that she was at the very least still alive. Maybe this was a different situation.

Police and the press had already arrived hours before. Pushing through the crowd, a policeman placed a hand on his chest to keep him at bay.

"Are you Mrs. Lillian's husband?" The policeman asked. Alastor's glared down at the man keeping him away from his wife. "I'm afraid I have to tell you that she was killed. I cannot let you go on further for your own good."

"H-How did this happen.. the house was covered in as many locks as we could find! Wood bolted to the windows and-"

"It was not a break in, sir. He had been living in your cellar for what may have been... a week?." Alastor's color drained from his face. In the cellar? He had locked his wife in there with that criminal?

He pushed past the policeman and ducked under the police tape. No one stopped him in time before he saw the scene unfold in front of him. Just like the other women. She had been assaulted and puddles of blood ran from her back. Alastor drops to his knees and grips his hair, crying hysterically. Something snapped within him. His cries suddenly turned into insane laughter. It appalled everyone. He goes over and picks her up and cradles her lifeless body in his own. The blood staining his clothes.

"You can't do that! This is a crime scene! You can't mess with evidence. It belongs to the police department!" The police officer yelled at him. Alastor said nothing continuing to hold her. He knew what to do..

Winter of 1933

̷̍̇̄̐̂̏͊̒̈́ "Breaking News! We have an update on Paul Benjamin. You know the one serial killer who has had an open case for 20 years. Well.. HE'S DEAD HAHAHAHA!" Alastor beat on his desk laughing before clearing his throat. "I apologize for my outburst, it just about time it happened don't y'all agree?" He said calming down and wiping the tears from his eyes. "I wonder who's next on this antihero's list."

It had been 5 years since Lillian's death. While he is working through the pain, his methods to cope is questionable. Four years ago Alastor had decided he wanted to deal with his wife's murderer himself. A year of following his movements and actions eventually paid off. A new addiction emerged to the surface. How easy it was to pierce human skin, to the screams of misery and pain. It was such an amazing feeling. Why stop there? There are people who deserve the same. Nine monsters.. nine people killed by Alastor's hand. Each deeply researched and carefully chosen.

The walk back home from the studio was peaceful. Nothing could make this night better. Many horrors have been removed from the streets of New Orleans thanks to him. Thankfully he was never suspected in any of them. Alastor was very particularly careful how he handled them. Every single seeming to be an accident or su**ide. To the public, it was almost like a miracle. But to the criminals themselves, they knew. Who was next on this mastermind's list? Paranoia set in to them all.

"Ahh what a day my dear, wish you could be here to see what I've accomplished." His laugh was maniacal. He removed his jacket and put it on the hanger on the door. "You are safe now, my darling. We're getting closer to having a free city of monsters."

"I knew it was you.." a voice whispered to Alastor from behind him, holding a knife to his neck. "The only monster left in this town is you, Al." Alastor stayed quiet and slowly reached for the knife in his vest pocket. "I d-don't want to kill you. I understand why you did it but your wife would not like this. Just submit yourself to the police and I will let you go."

He belted the insane laughter, making the man steadily walk backwards in fear. "Understand? You could never understand." Alastor swiped his finger across the cut on his neck left by the knife, and licking it. "I just enjoy doing it." He swiftly shoved the knife into the man's chest.

"Hmmm.. where to put this one. Ah I got it." Unlike all the others, this one was a surprise bonus to the collection. The only possible place to deal with this one was the forest a few acres behind his home. No one went in due to the stories of crytids and it being haunted. It was perfect.

He grabs the shovel sitting against the treeafter placing the corpse in the hole, filling it up with dirt. Upon hearing voices creeping upon him, he looked over his shoulder briefly just for everything to go dark.

"Uh.. I don't think that was a deer, Bill."

"What?"

Present day in Hell

"Congratulations, your highness. Never doubted you for a second. The hotel is starting to gain attraction. " Alastor bowed to Charlie with his hand on his chest.

"You know damn well you're only here for the entertainment. You even said it was a ridiculous idea." Vaggie tapped her feet and crossing her arms.

"Ah yes well... I apologize. Regardless I'm glad everything worked out this way." He gripped his cane, his static-y voice glitching out a bit.

"Speaking of attraction, don't you think it'd be a good idea to put out more commercials and articles about the hotel. Maybe the sinners will take it seriously this time." Charlie paced back and forth before looking to Alastor.

"Good idea! And I know just the person." The one he referred was a commonly feared overlord. One that could potentially out matched Alastor himself. Maere. The dream demon. His shtick was that he can sneak into nightmares and manipulate humans and sinners to sign away their souls for something as simple as a piece of clothing. A soul for an easily attainable item. Despicable.

All the souls he owns have been known to be abused within his possession. On top of it, he rents them out to customers for whatever they need. Because of his collection of talented souls, he has earned his spot in several companies from technology and fashion to restaurants and sinful services.

Now Alastor does not like dealing with demons like him. He was a murderer but only to those who deserve it or push his buttons. Being acquaintances with Maere was useful at times. In the past he has secretly helped free some of them from the contracts with him. This was not one of those times.

The square of pentagram city, where you will find all the fashion stores and new technology. Anything you may need really, including Maere's headquarters.

"Alastor! Our beloved radio demon. I figured your ass would show up around here at what point, old friend." He rubbed his cigarette between his fingers putting it in the ash tray before standing up to greet him.

"Ah ha ha.. don't call me that. I'm just here to do business." He swiped his dhoulder pad before putting both hands atop his cane. "I'm sure you've heard about princess Charlotte's hotel kicking up attention. I'm here to see if you have any souls that would be perfect in advertising the hotel. Someone who is persuasive and talented with writing."

"Hmmm I may have someone like that. Only if you promise to STOP RELEASING THEM FROM MY CONTRACTS!" He held out his hand in hopes of agreeing on a deal.

"I guess I could.. fine, you've got a deal." He grapped Maere's hand, shaking it. Maere grips his hand and leans closer to Alastor.

"I mean it. You're dead if you do." Alastor's expression stayed composed.

. . . . .

"Let me introduce you to my star saleswoman. She does a lot of the Vees advertisements in tv, newspaper, and magazine. Quite the talented one if I do say so myself. She's good for other things as well if you kbow what I mean." He was quite a cruel 'master'. Every single soul he owned was only allowed to do anything unless they are rented or if he decides to use them. And the way he made sure were restraints on both the face and arms. A metal mask was bolted to behind there heads covering their whole face with matching metal restraints that kept their forearms tight against their backs.

This woman was no different. On the other hand, her clothing was rather elegant. A beautiful evening gown that looked like it'd have been popular in the 1920s. It was a loose-fitting floor length dress that flared at the knees; low v-neck, flowy mesh sleeves. The base of it was red silk while the outside was full of fringe and black lace details. Her hair was black with curls that reached her shoulders, with long ears sticking out the top of her head. Little fluffy tail sticking out the back of her dress, and to top it off were her very long paws. I guess her feet were to big to find shoes for her. A rabbit demon?

"Does this one at the very least have a name?" Alastor questioned Maere. He thought about it before snapping his fingers.

"Ah yes! She is soul 19,281!" He pushed her into Alastor's chest, making her stumble and drop something off around her neck. Maere released her from the restraints letting her scramble for the necklace on the ground. He disappeared letting Alastor do his thing.

"I despise having to do dealings with that demon. Are you alright little lady." Alastor leaned down to grab the necklace for her. A locket? He opened it seeing the inside, having it suddenly be ripped from his hand. It was him and his wife. The two finally gazed up at each other in awe.

"...Lili?"

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #alastor fluff #alastor angst

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