#the immoral dedication of it all

[shadystranger]

thinking about demon!dean and how crazy it is that sam's biggest gripe was not that his brother turned into a bloodthirsty demon with 0 moral compass but it's that crowley had him and dubbed dean as 'his' and dean was no longer 'sam's'

And it gets even crazier bc when sam does get hold of demon!dean he is like "i will tame my vicious terminator gone rogue patootie, yea he has killed some people but he must have had a good reason" and no one better even think about laying a hand on his loose-cannon or sam will make you see death so fast

like sam lets everything demon!dean does slide and doesn't seem to take it as gravely bc he's confident he's in control & having dean alive is just enough anything else is static to him or a bridge not too hard to cross and it's insanely abnormal but sexy

[weed-cat]

.

[konigsblog]

opinion on somnophilia with könig?

Being taken advantage of by your sweet boyfriend, only to come across all the videos he'd taken of you while drugged up and unconscious. :(

TW/CW: SOMNOPHILIA, NON-CON. MDNI 18+ 💤

König is the biggest somnophiliac known to mankind. He knows it's immoral and wrong, but as long as you're unaware, he doesn't mind. He has no plan to stop his sickening and disturbing behaviour, only waiting for the day you question the pain between your thighs.

König isn't afraid to use drugs to calm you down. He's done it many times in the past, and you don't suspect a thing. Why would you? He's your beloved boyfriend, you trust him with your entire life. König slips something special into your drink every time you're drinking together, so that you're compliant and relaxed, reduced to a weak, limp, and confused mess on his big lap, not understanding a thing through the effects of the alcohol. His calloused hand sneaks between your thighs to spread your slit open, so that he can angle his muscular hips and prod against your opening, to sink deep into your hole and bite at your neck while you lay there, babbling and incoherent.

He loves how easy and pathetic you become while under the influence of drugs and alcohol. You lay there, defenceless, and your panties completely soaked after König had slid his girthy cock into your underwear to grind his meaty dick against your pussy. You don't catch on, not until you're going through his camera roll, looking for a photo of you together from a couple months ago, and accidentally stumble across videos from the previous night.

König has the camera set up, with your legs pushed over his broad shoulders, and his meaty, big cock stuffing your slit full. You let out incoherent cries and muffled pleas for König to stop, to be gentle as he quickens his ruthless pace, slamming into your cervix with each deep, harsh thrust. Your stomach churns and nausea leaves you trembling and your bottom lip quivering, realising that your sick pervert of a boyfriend had taken advantage of you. You press a hand over your mouth and curl up into a ball, letting out disgusted sobs at the realisation.

Fuck, how long has this being gone on for? :( Just wait until you find an entire album dedicated to these videos, Liebling...

[writingjourney]

Closer to the Gods || Alicent

Years into her marriage Queen Alicent permits only you to share in the more intimate parts of her routine. Despite the deep bond that connects you to Her Grace you are not certain that your feelings are returned – until she shows you.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady-in-waiting!reader

Content: 3.1k words, repressed feelings, yearning, religious guilt, somewhat post-partum alicent, no y/n, smut (wlw, thigh riding, body worship, oral, v fingering, gentle smut), 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

Her hair smells like citrus. The fragrance, enhanced by the steam of the hot water rising from the surface of her bath, mingles with the one of the perfumed oils that slick your hands as you weave them through her tresses. The scent makes you light-headed, as does the sight of her bare skin above the water. Her Grace sighs deeply when you massage her scalp, leaning into your touch with all the weariness she carries. You breathe her in, subtly, applying some pressure to her temples where you know her headaches to linger.

Born into a lesser house you were sent to be raised at court at a young age, a token of loyalty after the coronation of King Viserys. However, life at court changed after the death of his first wife and as a lady-in-waiting you soon became the new queen’s favourite. Ever since the birth of her first son she keeps you closer than any of the other ladies, allows you to take on the more intimate chores such as dressing and undressing her, brushing and washing her hair, keeping her company during the late hours of the day, singing and more often than not reading to her. Two years into her marriage now the queen will allow only you to take care of her in such a way and send away her servants once the more menial tasks such as filling the tub have been completed.

By now you know her whims and preferences better than your own. You feel an intimate affection for her Her Grace and it translates into the gentleness with which you touch her. Most evenings it is only you and her – unless the king requests her presence. Those nights you spend thinking of her in her soft white nightdress with her auburn hair falling in waves over her pale breasts underneath. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of him touching her smooth skin, lacking the gentleness you know she desires. No one else but you is allowed to see her in any state of undress, let alone touch her. But he simply takes what he wants, what he thinks he is owed by right of being her husband. By right of being the king. Would that you could give her what he does, but you can never sire a son, you could never be anything but what you are now.

In front of the fire with your hands covered in scented oils you feel a shameful heat rising to your face, the immoral thoughts of replacing her husband a constant source of guilt. Rinsing her hair, you finish your routine. The water has cooled down and you know Her Grace will want to retire soon. During these moments she prefers solitude, as she told you once, dedicating herself to prayer or silent contemplation.

“I will have the servants remove the tub.” You absent yourself from her side, drying your hands on a piece of cloth. “If that would be all, Your Grace, I shall retire for the night.”

You are already turned around, placing her nightdress on the nearby table. Your hand traces the delicate ornaments of Myrish lace when her voice reaches you again. “Wait.”

You hear Her Grace stepping out of the tub and keep your gaze lowered respectfully. Once her robe is fastened around her narrow waist you dare look up again. She approaches you on bare feet, drops of water glistening on her skin like morning dew on the petals of a soft pink rose.

A damp thumb comes to swipe along your cheekbone as she considers you, soft eyes roaming your face. “You look lovely with your cheeks flushed.”

Her lip trembles as she says it, as though the confidence she displays is nothing but an act. Your queen has complimented you many times before but never in a such a way that you feel her words caressing your very soul. For a moment you are quite out of breath.

Her fingers dance along your collarbones then, toying with the seams of your dress. “I do not know why you should be allowed to see me and yet I am deprived of the same pleasure.”

“My queen, I do not know–”

Her face falls as she misreads your words for rejection. You catch her hand before she manages to tear it away and press it to your heart instead. Looking down you see that she must have been biting her nails again, her skin red and scabbed where she pulled at it.

“What I mean is…” You feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, the sting of insecurity and hesitation. “I am not much to look at. Not compared to Your Grace.”

She shakes her head, dismissing your words. “Call me Alicent.”

“I would not–”

“Please, for once let us not hide behind curtesies. I have grown tired of it, I have grown tired of you leaving when I want you the most.”

Her words claw their way underneath your skin, your heart racing at the implicit confession. You always thought your feelings to be unreciprocated, that Her Grace merely considers you a companion, perhaps a friend. But her eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand pressing against your aching chest as though she is trying to reach inside.

“You would truly want me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“Every night you leave,” she says and it sounds like an accusation, laced with pain and longing.

“But Your Grace, you wished it so– I did not–”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know.”

Her other hand moves to cradle your cheek, wiping a stray tear from your skin. She looks away for but a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and when your eyes meet again her gaze is fierce, determined.

“I have tried to repress my feelings,” she says, her lips trembling again. “But I cannot stop– I cannot stop thinking about you. When you are not here I have to restrain myself not to call for you. I have to fight off the urge to run to your chambers to be near you. I am… so tired of pretending.”

You lean into her touch, closing the gap between you to rest your forehead against hers. “So am I, Alicent. So, so tired.”

“It is sin,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her fingers ghosting over your lips. “To covet another, to covet–” Her words trail off, the thought left unspoken. “And yet I never feel closer to the Gods than when you touch me.”

Your queen swallows the air between you when she presses her lips to yours. Tentative and searching her mouth moves against yours with a softness that almost pains you. She tastes like sweet wine, smells of lavender and citrus. Unsure where to touch her you mirror her movements, stroking along her warm cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck where a few droplets of water have gathered. Your other hand still holds hers against your chest but then she slides it upwards to grasp your throat and you gasp into her mouth, warmth pooling into your belly. Her tongue grazes yours and she winds her fingers around the curve of your neck until they press against your spine and she can pull you in closer, lips firm and bruising.

You can feel her body through the garments between you, soft and pliable. She deepens the kiss and you get dizzy, your head spinning at the taste of her. The sensation is new, thrilling and addictive. When you break away she glances down at your dress and you make to untie it, glad to have chosen one that is not quite so hard to take off.

In your shift, you feel well-nigh naked. The cool sea air has goosebumps spreading all over your body, a breeze streaming in through the wide windows that overlook Blackwater Bay. Alicent takes you in, her eyes following her hand that drags the neckline of the sheer fabric down your shoulder until her fingers dance across your bare skin. The loose undergarment falls once it slips from your arm and you are fully bared to her. Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest but she soon takes your wrists to pull them down.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers. “Do not hide from me. I have longed to see you as I have felt seen by you for a long time. Let there be nothing between us from now on.”

You nod and she unties the robe around her waist and lets it fall from her shoulders, silky fabric pooling at her feet in iridescent waves. Even though you have seen her bare many times before this time feels different. You do not have to hide your admiration, do not have to worry that she might catch you staring. Instead you allow yourself to revel in the sight of her, a body that has never truly been her own, changed from the months she carried her child, from the way she lent it to the king so he might have his son at last. Even though she does not look much changed when she is wrapped in her beautiful gowns you are witness to the subtle changes she wears underneath, the lines that run across her abdomen where her skin used to be stretched, her hips fuller and her breasts hanging lower than they used to.

To you, she is even more beautiful than ever before.

“May I kiss you?” she asks. The answer is a desperate nod.

She is more bold this time, even if you still hesitate, still wonder how you can ever touch her freely when she is your queen, when she can never truly be yours. The apprehension soon dissipates when you get drunk on the taste of her, of the feel of her soft curves following the shape of your own when she pulls you close. Her nipples brush yours and you moan wantonly, craving her so much that the feeling is akin to physical pain. Your whole body is burning, melting, your blood hot and heavy as it gathers between your legs.

You tentatively begin to run your hands over her body, following the line of her hips over her lower back, then up the ridges of her spine. She shivers underneath your fingertips, the same goosebumps that cover your body spreading across her still damp skin. As her tongue flattens against yours, her own hands curling firmly around your backside, you cannot hold back the desperate whimper that falls from your lips.

“I want you,” she whispers into your mouth. “I want all of you.”

“I am yours, Alicent,” you say. “I will always be yours.”

She breaks away and takes your hand to lead you over to her bed. Your lips are already swollen, your mind clouded by your need of her. She gently pushes you onto the soft mattress, expensive, silken fabrics welcoming you in her space. It feels too intimate, to be here, to lay where she lays. When she comes to rest on top of you it is like a vision from the Heavens, her slowly drying curls falling like a veil over your face until it is only you and her, breathing in tandem as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

Her mouth is hot when she kisses you and you meet her eagerly, pull her down until your bodies touch and you feel her weight on top of you. She moves her leg between yours, her thigh pressed against your core, and you whimper as the warmth of her touch spreads within you. A throbbing pain settles there and you cannot help but cant your hips to rub against her, soon grinding more feverishly as her tongue delves into your mouth. Alicent's hands roam your body but you hardly take note of each individual touch, so focused on the pleasure that builds inside of you.

"Please," you whisper, inching ever closer to a tipping point, your lungs struggling to inhale enough air.

Alicent looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though she wants to fully take in your reactions, helping you along as she presses her thigh firmer against your cunt, fingers teasing at your nipples. You gasp, forgetting to breathe as the pleasure tears through your body in hot tingling shudders. Alicent swallows your moans with her mouth, reaching between your legs now to feel your release, two fingers pressed against your wet core until they enter you easily. She carries you through your crest with slow rolls of her hand but soon the pressure builds again and you clench around her intrusion, unable to hold back.

When the rolling waves of pleasure finally subside, kisses turn slow and aimless and you take a moment to calm your racing heart. Alicent presses her lips to your face and neck with an ardent intensity while you hold her in your arms, fingers curled around her thigh. You can feel her arousal dripping against your fingertips and begin to stroke her there, revelling in the gasps she releases against your skin. The gentleness with which she touches you sends tears to your eyes, for what you are not quite certain. Perhaps it is the realization that you have never been loved like this, the fact that it is your queen, the woman you have been dreaming about for years, who holds such affections for you.

"Alicent," you say and she lifts her head to meet your gaze. "Please, I want to taste you."

At first she seems hesitant, almost like the young girl she used to be, uncertain whether your intentions are true. But after a moment she seems to come back to herself and remember who you are, her gaze softening, gaining confidence and trust. She settles on her back beside you, propped up by silken pillows with her skin glowing like embers, draped in the faint light of the fire and a dozen candles.

She is beautiful with her lips swollen by your kisses, her pale breasts exposed and hardened, a faint line of hair leading from her belly button to a thicker tuft at the apex of her thighs. You admire her for a moment, kneeling in front of her with your limbs still trembling in the aftermath of your pleasure. What love you held for her before this night has grown insurmountably and you believe with all your heart that this cannot be sin, that it cannot be wrong when it is nothing short of worship.

You gently spread her thighs, revealing her to you fully. Reverent kisses to the insides of her knees, down her thighs that feel so soft against your lips. She moans when you caress a particularly sensitive spot and the sound is like music, urging you to leave more kisses all over skin, following the lines on her abdomen up to her breasts. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently at her hardened nipple until it is pink and swollen. Alicent weaves her fingers through your hair, the other hand caressing your shoulder. Her hips buck, wanting for attention, and you finally succumb and settle at her core.

With your eyes locked on hers you leave a kiss on her mound. Alicent links her fingers with yours and presses your intertwined hands to her abdomen as if to ground herself. Her other hand brushes a stray curl from your forehead. You slowly press your mouth to her cunt, tongue dipping between her folds to taste her. She moans again, louder this time, and you continue to attend to her, dipping your tongue into her and kissing every part you can reach. You forget yourself after a moment, lost in the whimpers and gasps that fill your ears, her soft skin and sweet taste.

As her pleasure builds, Alicent's hand fully tangles in your hair and she pushes your face deeper against her, her other hand gripping yours so tight that you begin to feel a distant pain. You cannot help your own wanton moan, wanting to make her feel like she made you feel. As you focus on her pearl, applying gentle pressure to her most sensitive areas, you use your second hand to spread her folds and dip your finger into her entrance. When you meet no resistance you add a second one and begin to rub them back and forth inside of her. It does not take long until her hips stutter as she rolls them against your face, the music falling from her lips now muffled by her hand.

You can feel her release as though it is your own, her muscles clenching around your digits, her release wet on your tongue as her whole body shudders. You continue until she pushes your face away, looking up at you see chest rising and falling rapidly, her brow damp and lips parted. A sense of deep bliss settles inside of you at the realization that you made her feel such pleasure, that she allows you to see this intimate side of her that you are not sure anyone else has ever seen.

She releases your hand to brush her hair back and you sit back on your heels to clean your face, taking in the sight of her without shame this time. You are not sure you could leave her now, not sure if you could ever have enough of her, already feeling the need again to touch her, kiss her, worship her.

After a moment Alicent reaches out, her hand wrapping around your wrist before she pulls you toward her. Curling against her side you sigh at the softness of her body, hiding your face at her neck. She welcomes you, arms slung around you tightly as you notice her calming down more and more. You are exhausted, in a way, and yet you are not sure that the night will come to an end so soon. Her hand in your hair and the fingers trailing the curve of your breast remind you that she has not had enough of you either.

For the moment you are both content holding the other close. You breathe in the scents of her bath, listen to the slowing rhythm of her breath. Alicent trails gentle kisses along your brow, then her arms tighten around you and her mouth comes to rest by your ear.

"Promise you won't leave again."

You pull back, shifting to bring your mouth back to hers. “Promise you won’t make me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[tojipie]

prison bf series linked here !

content: lots of angst, ptsd, hurt + comfort

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thinking about how much prison changes toji and how different he is the day he gets out. how 7 years of repenting for his crimes completely warps his brain and leaves him with lasting habits he will probably never get rid of.

you don’t quite realize how almost a decade of seclusion from the world’s developing tech affects him. it’s silly, how he doesn’t quite get what an air fryer is or how it works, lashing out and trashing the poor machine after hours of trying to heat popcorn in it.

how he sits cross legged on the floor in front of the couch messing around with the voice-to-text feature on the TV remote, giggling to himself when the text comes up wrong.

how he doesn’t seem to care for his old phone anymore, discarding the dated piece of technology in favor of a burner with a little keypad so he can text you. how he still finds himself whispering on phone calls with you in public, the residual fear of getting caught is something he still wont shake.

you’ve slowly come to realize just how much he hid from you while behind bars. the things he didn’t want you to see, the toll it took on both his mind and body. you trace the new scars on his abdomen one lazy afternoon, feeling him go completely rigid once he realizes he can’t hide them from you anymore.

they’re deep. fleshy pink slashes with raised edges mirroring the scar that runs through his lip. “you should’ve seen those other guys.” he tells you with a hesitant chuckle, trying to ease your mind. you believe him when he says it, recalling countless testimonies from terrified jail guards who’d witnessed his wrath firsthand.

he thinks he might get them covered up, adding to the endless expanse of ink that litters his body. his latest pieces have all been dedicated to you, and lord knows he wants every reminder of you etched into his skin.

toji hides his grief from you. hides how his heart goes into overdrive in large crowds, head constantly whipping back because his mind still believes the men around him want to drive a shank through his neck.

you still notice though. you notice how he sleeps in the fetal position now, knees drawn up as far as they can to protect as much surface area as possible. he holds you when he can, usually when it’s still light out. pressing soft kisses to your hairline and humming a song you cant quite decipher.

he yelped the first time you bear hugged him from behind, whipped around and held you down by your neck until he eventually came to his senses and broke down with a whimpering apology. you’d forgotten about it since, though you notice how hesitant he is to sleep with his back to you now.

you want to tell him that it’s ok. that it’s normal to see aspects of his former life in his new one. especially after spending so much time in it. that it’s normal to be scared when things take him by surprise and suddenly he’s been transported back behind the walls of a dingy 4-person cell.

he’s still able to provide the same luxuries he was able to gift you when his sole form of income came by means that were more than immoral. old connections come to the two of you, offering positions at their respective companies to help the older man get back on his feet.

what toji can’t do is stay sane working a normal job.

don’t get him wrong, the money is good, maybe even better than what he was making before. he just wishes being a CFO wasn’t such a fucking bore. he used to wear suits to feel good about himself, mindlessly indulging in the luxuries he took for granted.

now it’s just his uniform, what he’s expected to wear as he crunches numbers in a penthouse office. he can’t even light up as he does it, his probation officer would probably smell it on him and make him piss in a damn cup.

he misses being stuck in a locked room 22 hours a day. at least there he knew he’d never be able to get his hands on any bud. the drugs in prison aren’t the kind that you want to mess with, toji knew that even before he had an inkling that he’d be spending nearly a tenth of his life in there.

he asks himself if he even deserves a job like this, a job where he has so many assistants that he practically does jackshit all day, twiddling his thumbs on a 10 thousand dollar couch while he contemplates if he should just say fuck it and roll a joint.

he wouldn’t do that though, not after how proud you were to see that he’d turned his life around as soon as he got out. maybe he’ll start using nicotine patches instead.

toji loves you. that much is obvious. you see it in the way his body shows its vulnerability around you. the way his muscles soften when you lay on top of him while the two of you binge films on the couch. the way he’s still too shy to ask you to lace your fingers with his in public, scared you’ll somehow be corrupted by hands that have dealt out an immeasurable amount of harm.

you tell him to just take it one day at a time on the mornings where you send him off to work, tightening his tie and smoothing down his collar to show off the ink he has there. and toji thinks he’s never loved anyone else quite like how he loves you.

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taglist ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Extra cream and sugar.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 5295 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream… Tags: Frankie's POV, brief description of reader and what she wear but no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described (she's you, baby ♥︎) , reader has her own business, pining, yearning, slow burn, Frankie is eager for you, masturbation, obviously mention of coffee and sweets, a side of Christmas (just a glimpse), soft!Frankie, kinda rom-com vibes but we go smutty 😏, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), cream pie, nipples play (At this point you know me so you expect it, right?), reader rides him cowgirl style (yeehaw!), teasing, Frankie wants you to tell him exactly what you want from him, pussy pronouns, Frankie is smitten with you bb, no age gap, mention of alcohol, derogatory pussy eating (because it's Frankie, you know), oral (m! receiving), masturbation, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, some more filth I probably don't remember. Please, excuse me, I'm posting this almost 2 am as the usual mess that I am LOL. If I forgot something I will add it asap. I wrote a temperature in Celsius degrees somewhere in this fic, I don't know anything about Fahrenheit, sorry, I'm Italian. A/N: This fic is my Christmas gift to all of you who support me and have loved my Frankie so much in the past, I really didn't think so many people would like him 🥹 And it's especially dedicated to @baronessvonglitter who gave me this prompt around November, I promised her I would do something with it and this is the result 🤭 No beta, no proofread, no nothing, we're going down with this ship, please have mercy. I really hope you like it and I wish you happy holidays, love you all ❤️

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks. You would arrive every morning at 10:30 and ask for tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. 

He thought you looked lovely, with your sexy dresses, a dainty necklace around your neck, little makeup except for a red lipstick on your gorgeous lips. 

You were the highlight of the day. He had decided to open a café after retiring from the army because there was nothing he wanted more than to live a quiet life. He had seen enough pain and destruction for two whole lifetimes, all he wanted to take care of now were coffee blends, foamed milk, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. 

He loved arriving in the morning and quietly opening his place, arranging the pastries in the display cases, turning on the coffee machine, setting up the tables, and getting everything ready while waiting for the city to wake up and the customers to start arriving. You were his favorite since you first appeared before him almost 3 weeks ago, but who was counting?

You were pretty in the truest sense of the word according to him, radiant, elegant without striving, charming and nice.

He had started waiting until 10:30 just to see you, with butterflies in his stomach in anticipation and his heart pounding in his chest as soon as you walked in the door.

The first time you had spoken to him he had been enchanted by your eyes; he could have sworn they were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had not heard a single word you had said and had made you repeat the order, apologizing. 

You had laughed, and your sweet laughter had resounded in his ears like music. It had never happened to him, not even once, but at that moment it was as if everything else in the world had stopped and only you existed. 

“One tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please,” you had patiently repeated.

You looked so pure that it seemed almost immoral to him the way his jeans had suddenly become tight. 

He had shaken himself, trying to come to his senses, hurriedly headed for the coffee machine. He had prepared your cup to go and set it on the counter in front of you "cocoa? sprinkles?" he had stammered, awkward and nervous. Heck, he'd spent years in the military, he could fly a damn helicopter, his business was going strong, but in front of you he felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Uhm..sprinkles, thank you," you had smiled.

He had sprinkled colored heart-shaped sprinkles on the cream -- so pathetic, he had to admit, but they seemed to suit you --, closed it with the clear plastic lid and handed it to you, all with fear of spilling something and making a mess. 

"It looks so yummy, thank you" you chirped handing money to him.

“Thanks to you, um, come again,” Frankie had stammered, running his sweaty palms over his apron. 

He had watched you leave, your ass swaying deliciously wrapped in your skirt, and a whiff of your perfume had reached his nostrils, filling them with a heavenly flowery scent. 

It had taken him a few seconds too long to pay attention to the next customer, a rather impatient middle-aged man who had ruined the magic you had brought into his café.

He had hoped you would come back all evening, and the next morning he woke up even earlier than usual, showered, stood several minutes in front of his closet thinking about which of his shirts you might like best, even wasted time adjusting his beard. He had even contemplated not wearing the cap he always wore with fear that you might find it silly, but in the end habit won out. Besides, he had thought, I might as well show her who I really am. That is, assuming she comes back. And if she doesn't come back? He had felt so disappointed at the idea. Maybe you hadn't even liked his coffee in the end. Once at the café, he had kept himself as busy as possible so as not to drown in false hopes, but he had found himself staring at the clock more often than he would have liked to admit. 

At precisely 10:30 a.m. you had entered. You were even more beautiful than the day before, wrapped in a little flowery dress, your beautiful legs exposed, your sweet scent in the air.

He knew absolutely nothing about you, had barely spoken to you and yet his palms were sweating again, his throat was as dry as a desert, he nervously switched his weight from one leg to the other, standing behind the counter as he watched you approach.

“Good morning,” you had said, with a sweet smile spreading across your face.

“Uh...good morning,” he had stammered, ”what would you like this morning?” 

“Tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please.” 

Your melodious voice had again gone straight to the crotch of his pants. 

“Same as yesterday” he had said ”coming right up.” 

“Oh, you remember!” you sounded surprised. How could he have forgotten the most beautiful creature who had ever set foot in his café?

“Um, yeah, it's my job after all” he had clutched his shoulders. He didn't remember orders from customers who had been coming to him for months, he had memorized yours instantly. He didn't need to let you know anyway. 

“That's so cute,” you had observed while continuing to give him that amazing smile.

He had turned to make your coffee feeling your eyes behind his back, he was so nervous that he almost burned himself pouring the coffee into the cup. 

He had managed to avoid it by a whisker; he would have hated to look clueless in front of you. 

“There you go,” he had smiled nervously at you, ”be careful, it's very hot.”

“I will, thank you” you had answered him softly. 

You had paid him and headed for the exit, turning to look at him before pushing open the door “Have a good day” 

“Oh, thank you, you too” he had replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.

That evening he had surrendered to his lowest instincts and as soon as he had jumped into the shower after a long day's work, he had allowed himself to close his eyes and think about you. 

He had tightened his hand around his cock and thought about your scent, your smile, how your dress deliciously enveloped your tits, showing off your cleavage.

He had imagined kissing you and feeling the softness of your lips, lowering a hand between your legs and discovering that you were not wearing panties, running his fingers over your wet folds and then bending over in front of you and making you come with his tongue. 

He had lingered in these fantasies as he pumped his cock faster and faster, stroking the tip, imagining that it was your delicate hand doing it, your red-enameled nails wrapped around its length. 

He had come in his hand, soiling the shower wall, uncontrolled, totally enraptured by the wonderful vision of you in his head.

____________________________________

He had continued to play it cool for three weeks, but by now every time you came in his head was just thinking “say something more than ‘good morning’ and ‘be careful not to burn yourself’ and ‘have a nice day,’ you idiot.” Ask her something, find out if she's involved with someone.”

So one morning he finally had attempted “Do you work near here?” he had asked, handing you your usual coffee. 

You had hesitated a moment before answering, “Actually, yes, just a stone's throw away. You know that jewelry store that opened three weeks ago? That's mine.” 

“Oh, great,” he had said, straining not to smile like a sucker. 

“Yeah, I'm a jewelry designer, I finally got to open a store with my own brand, I'm very excited.” your eyes twinkled with pride and Frankie had thought you were so incredibly beautiful that he wanted to kiss you there and then. 

You had held out your hand to him and said your name, and he had shaken it with his heart in his throat. 

“Nice, and nice name by the way” he had replied instead, ‘did you make that one?’ pointing to your necklace. It had a small star-shaped pendant. 

“Yes, do you like it?” you had asked, brushing it with your fingers. 

“I like it very much, it looks good on you.” 

“Thank you,” you had replied, smiling, ”well, if you have to give any gifts to your girlfriend or wife, come by and see me.” 

“Uh, actually, I'm not married or even engaged.”  He babbled, looking at you embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, I see.” and then in a lower voice and winking at him you had added, ”Can't say I'm sorry.” 

Holy fuck, you were flirting. 

His cock had twitched at your wink; he couldn't believe that all this time you had been reciprocating his silent interest. 

“I have to go back to work, now. Have a nice day, Frankie,” you said, smiling and heading for the exit. 

He was dumbfounded a few seconds wondering how you knew his name, since in the heat of the moment he hadn't even told you. Then he had looked down at his shirt, where his name tag was pinned.

“I like your cap, by the way,” you had said before you left.

“Oh. Thank you. I like your dress," he had replied a little too loudly, so much so that people at the tables had turned around cackling.

You looked at him one last time with a smug expression before disappearing down the street.

____________________________________

Christmas was coming, as much as it may have felt like Christmas in Florida with 26 degrees during the day. Frankie had decorated the café with small silver decorations at the windows, a small Christmas tree near the counter filled with lights that were also silver. 

While decorating however, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He had done everything early in the morning, before opening, wondering what you were doing, if you had just woken up and were stretching in bed with your hair tousled and your eyes still clouded by sleep. He wondered what you were wearing to sleep, wondering if you were a babydoll type or more of a T-shirt and shorts type. 

Or maybe you were sleeping naked. He daydreamed of your florid body wrapped in your sheets, the soft curve of your ass, your breasts, your nipples brushing against the cotton fabric.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing that he had dropped one of the balls he was putting on the tree, which had ruinously fallen to the ground, splitting into a thousand pieces on the floor.

He rolled his eyes as he went to the closet to get a broom and dustpan.

Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and get moving on asking you out. 

He was terrified that you would say no but he had to do it before someone else tried. Someone like you wouldn't be alone for long.

You had entered the venue at the usual time, admiring the decorations. Frankie felt a small surge of pride in the middle of his chest as you approached the counter. “Oh wow, this is so festive, I love it.”

He knew he had just smiled like a dork but he didn't care. 

In your brief little chats you had mentioned that you were not originally from Florida so he took the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to visit your family for Christmas?”

You had smiled, squinting slightly, with that look that was now familiar from when you noticed his true intentions. You had given it to him with every attempt he made to flirt with you.

“Um no, actually Christmas is the best time to work for me. So I'm going to stay here.”

He had felt his heart do a little jolt in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to ask to take you to dinner.

He felt like he had never been so awkward in his life, but the truth was that he really liked you and made him nervous with your innate confidence and the sensuality you exuded. 

 “Well, if you'd like to go out sometime, I'd be happy to” he babbled.

“Gladly.” you had replied, looking at him -- he would have sworn -- mischievously.

“So...um...how about Saturday? Is 7 okay?”

“Perfect. You can pick me up at the store.” you had replied, fiddling with your pendant. 

“Okay, well...see you soon then.” 

You had leaned over the counter for a moment, signaling him with your finger to come closer, and when you had been close enough to his ear you whispered, “It's about time.”

You had left while your voice still rang in his ears like a siren song.

On Saturday night Frankie was so nervous that he had changed his clothes four times. Finally he had decided that a blue shirt and a pair of jeans would do. Maybe. 

You had said you liked his cap but he had decided it was not appropriate to wear it to take you to dinner, so he had left his hair wet and styled it back with a little gel.

He arrived at 7 parking in front of your store and entered looking for you. 

You weren’t there. He had looked around and the place was just like you, elegant but not overly so, bright and warm. 

There were small display cases filled with bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches even. 

All very fine, carefully crafted things, not that he understood much about jewelry but they looked well made and high quality to him. 

You had put little window decorations similar to his own, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at them.

Not only you were beautiful and funny, you were also talented and smart enough to run your own business,  a strong independent and brilliant woman with ambitions.

He felt a jolt down his spine feeling unworthy of you with his simpler and quieter life. 

You had appeared from the back after a short while "Oh there you are! Hello!” you had greeted him with a smile, approached him and kissed his cheek. He had brushed your arm as you leaned closer, feeling your soft skin under his fingers and his heart bouncing in his chest. 

"So what do you think?" you had said, gesturing to the place.

“I can't say I'm a connoisseur, but it looks like a beautiful store to me,” he had said. 

“Thank you. I really like your café, too.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to this” he brushed off. 

“I don’t think so, your coffee is so good and that cupcake I tried the other day? It was heavenly. I would say you did a great job with it” you insisted and he felt suddenly better.

"Well I actually… I don't bake them, I get them from a supplier.” He had admitted.

“You have good taste anyway.” You had shrugged, smiling.

The hold you had on him was ridiculous at that point, you could have said whatever to him and he would believe you without hesitation. 

“Let me get my purse and close the store and then we can go.”

___________________________________

Frankie had tried to behave like a real gentleman, had opened the door for you, complimented you on the dress you were wearing  -- continuing to ogle your thighs while you were sitting next to him -- , asked you things about yourself, your studies and your life while driving to the restaurant. 

The more you chatted the more comfortable he felt, you were witty, subtly flirty, exactly what he expected. 

Truth was that he would have jumped on you immediately but he was trying to control himself so you wouldn't think he was a creep. 

His cock however was of a different opinion, his jeans were starting to get really tight and he was afraid you would notice. You had a smirk on your face, something that made him think it was possible that you were desiring him as much as he was desiring you but he didn't want to risk making a wrong move.

“I'm sorry not to see your cap tonight” you had joked and then added ”your hair looks good though.”

“Thank you.” 

“And I like the shirt,” you had said, lingering with your gaze on his outstretched arm holding the steering wheel. 

He had decided to take you to one of his favorite restaurants, nothing too fancy because he wouldn't feel comfortable, the place was warm and familiar and put him at ease. 

He had asked for a table with settees, to have a chance to be closer and talk more easily. 

Maybe even reach out a hand to your beautiful thighs, if he had any luck.

You had ordered and he had chosen a wine, you had continued talking, and you had asked him several questions, very politely, without making him feel like you were interviewing him.

“So you were in the army...and you can fly a helicopter. Heck, I never would have guessed that. I like a competent man,” you had cooed, and he had felt his neck and face on fire. God, he wanted you so badly he felt like he might explode at any moment. 

“Yeah...apparently,” he had replied proudly.

“And how did you end up opening a cafe?”

He had become serious, feeling that he was about to open up about something very intimate “Well...I actually couldn't take that life anymore. It's very hard, you know. When I got discharged, I thought all I needed was to live a quiet life without slinging a rifle for hours and playing with danger 24/7.”

You had nodded, “sure, that's perfectly understandable. It must have been brutal.”

“It was. I decided to open a coffee shop because well... basically, I love coffee.”

You had burst out laughing, a full, lovely laugh that had made it difficult for him to keep his hands in place resting on the table.

“It makes perfect sense,” you had agreed immediately afterward.

You had kept talking until you had said, “So, Francisco Morales, I have a question for you.” your expression was enigmatic and he didn't understand where you were going with this. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He had chuckled, “Good question. And I really want to do that. I've wanted to do it from the first moment I saw you,” he had admitted.

“Then do it,” you had urged him. 

He had moved closer toward your lips, breathing in your perfume mixed with the scent of your skin; you smelled good, clean, like a sunny morning in spring.

Your lips were even better than he had imagined. Soft, delicious, inviting. You were incredible. 

Everything around was suddenly gone, there was only you and the way your lips encouraged him to continue, the way they had parted at the approach of his tongue, your intoxicating taste on his tongue. 

Your fingers lingered on his biceps, wandering over his shirt and down his forearm, while his hand wrapped around your face caressing your cheek.

He had pulled away from you a moment before putting on a show inside the restaurant, his hands tingling with the urge to touch your breasts, reach down between your legs, get rid off your dress and finally feel your body against his.

“God...maybe we should go,” you had whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I think so, too,” he had breathed.

He had stood up trying to keep at bay his erection pressing impatiently against his jeans.

He had paid the bill and escorted you out, despite your insistence to go halfsies. 

Once you reached the car he had not resisted and had kissed you again, pushing you against the door. “I want you so bad,” he had whispered against your skin. 

“Take me home,” you had replied, looking into his eyes in a way that drove him crazy. 

Once in the car, you had placed your hand on his leg squeezing it from time to time. At a stoplight, you had moved your hand to his hard-on, massaging it slowly. “God, you are naughtier than I thought.”

"Is that bad?" you had asked feigned innocence.

“Not at all, baby...if I'm being honest...fuck...” he had interrupted when you had squeezed harder on his cock ”Christ, I can't wait to rip that dress off you.”

“I’m glad to hear that” you had replied in a honeyed voice. 

_________________________________

The instant you had entered the door he had dragged you into the bedroom. 

He had pulled down the zipper of your dress, letting it fall at your feet, and pushed you onto the bed. 

“You're so beautiful.” he had whispered, almost more to himself, as if trying to convince himself that indeed everything he had imagined in previous weeks was coming out of the territory of his wanking material.

“You too,” you had replied sweetly, ”why don't you get rid of those clothes and come and get me?”

Frankie hadn't had it repeated, standing naked in front of you in an instant; he had never undressed so quickly even when he was in the army and had to observe a curfew. 

He had stretched out beside you, his cock semi hard, his hands roaming over the bare skin of your hips over your panties, reaching up to graze your lace bra, brushing against your exposed neck as you lay limply sprawled on his bed as beautiful as a goddess. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, baby,” he had whispered.

“What you want, I-” you had tried to answer but he had interrupted you.

“No, tell me, please. I would like to hear it. I would like you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.,” he had urged you “is that okay?”

“Yeah” you murmured 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I like it…so uhm…Undo my bra and play with my titties, first. Would you?” You cooed.

“Of course, honey” he replied

You got up to sit to ease it, and then you lay down again as he tossed the bra to one side.

Frankie's eyes were fixed on your exposed breasts, he reached out a hand surrounding one of them with his palm, marveling at the softness of your skin.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything more perfect” 

Your skin exuded an enveloping warmth that flowed through his body and merged with him. He moved a finger closer to your areola, circling your nipple very slowly and then pinching it suddenly, making you gasp.

“Too much?” 

“No…go on” you sobbed “please”

“How?” He pressed you gently, continuing to brush your nipple with his fingertip. 

“With your mouth…” you murmured.

He was full hard at that point, his cock grazing at your thigh while he lowered himself on your of your tit, sticking out his tongue and making you arch your spine as soon as he kitten licked your nipple. He smirked “mmm so sensitive, baby” before wrapping his lips around your bud and beginning to suck slowly, his beard pinching lightly against your skin.

His tongue brushed over you in short thrusts as he sucked greedily, his hand slowly descended over your torso, over your tummy, down to your mound and had stopped there, just above the hem of your panties. 

You groaned beneath him, melting at his touch, he could feel your body slowly becoming more pliant to him.

“Yes - oh my god - go on like that” you whined and he couldn’t help but smile on your skin. 

“What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, and to your discomposed groaning he had replied ”with your words, remember?”

He liked that you were slowly losing control, your barely half-closed eyes glazed with pleasure silently pleading with him.

“Touch…touch my pussy. Please”

He had moved his fingers down from your mound, slowly, over your folds, feeling your body tense deliciously. 

His index and middle fingers had slipped between them, bathing in your essence. 

"God, you're soaked," and you had panted. 

You looked like a dream to him, your hair disheveled on his sheets, your legs spread wide for him, your breath coming in short gasps, your little pendant that rose and fell on your chest as he worked in your cunt with his fingers, lingering on your opening, going up to your clit and barely touching it, leaving you eager and hungry, just as he wanted.

"mmm more, please" you had begged and a smirk had unfolded on his face "be more specific, baby" 

“I want ... fuck ... I want you to put them in me.” 

"Yeah? You want me to finger-fuck this pretty cunt?” He purred, while stroking your labia, gently circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes” you had sighed and he had easily entered you, slipping into your arousal. 

He had curled his fingers looking for your special spot as you squeezed them hard “Oh damn...right there...God Frankie...right there” you had whined as a swell of pride was spreading in his chest and his cock throbbed. 

You had the sweetest pussy he had ever been lucky enough to see, the obscene wet sounds coming out of her as he never stopped moving his fingers inside you was heaven.

You were magnificent, just magnificent, his cock was begging for mercy but he had no intention of rushing it. He wanted to fill his eyes with you, he wanted to see you sink beneath him, to lose your inhibitions completely. 

Every fiber of his body longed for you but he stifled his need to take care of yours first; it was too good to see you like that, your pussy clenching convulsively, your mouth half-open, your moans filling his ears.

“I need...your mouth...”

“Where?” he had asked feigning naivete.

"On my clit...please" you had cried. 

He had moved, taking down your panties, lowering to reach for your clit, passing his tongue flatly all over it.

“suck it,” you had said in a whisper, ”please.”

And so he had done, taking it between his lips, savoring your taste on his tongue as you cried your last wail and broke down in shattering pleasure.

Your back had arched, your hand had flown through his hair as the other gripped his sheets tightly, and your hips pushed against his lips, your lips bent in a grimace of pleasure that radiated into your eyes, your pupils dilated, tiny droplets of sweat beading on your forehead.

“Yes… fuck… YES”

He had continued to lick and suck and push on your spot until you had calmed down.

But you were not yet satiated, as soon as you had regained the ability to speak you had whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Mmm baby” he had said arching an eyebrow, scrutinizing your face unmade with pleasure and your eyes still glazed with your orgasm.

“Really. I want it.”

You had accompanied this last sentence by wrapping your delicate hand around his length "he wants me too," you had said with a smirk, beginning to massage him, running a finger over the tip to collect the pre cum dripping down profusely from it. 

“who am I to say no to you...do what you want, baby” he had granted you. 

As much as he had tried to dominate, he had to admit that he was completely subdued by you, and he didn't mind it, he didn’t mind that at all.

You had gotten up and gently pushed him onto the mattress, settling between his legs, locking your gaze with his, a glint of desire in your eyes as you began to lick his engorged tip, sliding down his shaft humming in pleasure “mmm you taste so good” you cooed.

"God, baby, if you do this I'm not going to last long." 

He had craned his neck not to miss any of your moves, but he already felt he was on the verge of bursting, had tried to control his breathing and stay right on the edge, without plummeting down.

"Hold on a little longer, I want you to finish in my pussy. Please, Frankie?” You had purred.

He had let out a long sigh as your mouth descended on his cock, enveloping it as much as you could, continuing to stroke the rest with your hand. You had red nail polish, just like in his fantasies, but the reality was even better. Your mouth was incredible around his cock, your tongue vexing his swollen veins, your saliva sliding slowly going to pool on his crotch. 

“Please, baby,” he had grunted, and you had hummed in response, vibrating on his cock.

Your tongue had swirled over his red, swollen tip, then you had pulled away and said, "Please what?" glancing at him.

“Sit on me, please, I can’t…” he had groaned.

You had moved warily, straddling him, taking his cock back into your hand, aligning it with your entrance.

You had lowered yourself slowly, moaning "you are so thick" as he felt your cunt open up for him, your walls stretch and your essence coiling around him mixing with your saliva.

“And you are so tight ... fuck, baby, it’s so good.”

The instant you had sat completely on him had been unreal, he felt so deep inside you he swore he was pressing against your cervix, and you were squeezing him so hard he had thought he would lose his mind. You began to roll your hips over him, rubbing your clit with your fingers while your other hand was anchored on his hip. 

He had begun to move his hips in rhythm with yours, thrusting inside you “harder” you had urged him “please, Frankie” 

He was lost in the instant he had seen you bring one hand to your tit, kneading your breast as you continued to ride him faster and faster, pinching your nipple while rubbing your clit with the other. 

“I’m coming…fuck..where, babe?” He had stammered and you cried “inside, please, I’m on the pill.” You had thrown your head back immediately after, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your disheveled hair falling over your neck, seeing you so totally ravished had made him explode inside you, painting your hot, soaked walls with his cum. 

You were collapsed on top of him, wrapping yourself around his body while he was still pulsing inside you. You had waited for his breathing to return to normal by peppering his neck with little kisses, going up his jaw and ending on his lips.

He had hugged you tightly, reveling in your warmth, the softness of your breasts on his chest, your legs wrapped tightly with his, and the intoxicating scent of your skin.

You had hummed in the crook of his neck, then looked into his eyes and moved a lock of hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, kissing him one more time, his mustache tickling your cupid's bow. 

“From the first time I saw you, I knew we would end up like this, you know?” you had said with a proud undertone.

“Oh yeah?” he had replied, wryly raising an eyebrow, ”how were you so sure?”

You had looked at him with the look of someone who knows very well what she is talking about and had replied, “For three reasons. First, I noticed right away how you were looking at me, second, I wanted it too and usually when I want something I get it, and third, you never charged me for the extra cream.”

bb tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @harriedandharassed @milla-frenchy @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

I would like to add a couple of special people that I am starting to know a little bit better and I like them a lot: @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk @gothcsz @msjarvis

archive: @pedrostories

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw so stay tuned...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

Part 5:

It was almost pure bliss.

Except many months later, you found out a secret of his one day.

He was an exceptional chef, you were always in awe of how he cooked such magnificent dishes every day.

But one day, you peeked out into the forest through the window in the living room and saw Alastor standing alone, covered in blood. Your first instinct was to run outside, so you did just that.

You rush to his side and ask if he's okay, and what had happened to make him covered in such copious amounts of blood.

He blinks a few times before oddly turning his head to you, breaking out of his stupor, "Oh my dearest (y/n), do not fret so. For I am only acquiring our dinner for tonight!"

You look down at what he is holding in his hands. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth. A leg. A human leg. Your eyes then trail to the ground where you see a bloody human body, mangled beyond recognition. "This is.. dinner?"

A large grin appears on Alastor's face, "Quite right! This one should be enough to last us through the week!"

He looks at your face with an almost vicious look to his eyes, awaiting your response anxiously, not that he would let that show, anyways.

All you can manage is "Oh. Okay." Before you walk back inside the house without another word.

It's no exaggeration to say that your brain chemistry was permanently altered from that moment onward.

The situation felt so strange and bizarre, you didn't know what to think. Part of you knew that was he's been doing is extremely horrible and corrupt. It almost made you empty the contents of your stomach, it didn't feel real.

It didn't feel real, but suddenly some of Alastor's behaviors started to make sense. His picky taste for food...He never let you help with cooking, you had chalked it up to him being more of a perfectionist, but now... you know its more than that. He was hiding the fact that he was butchering and preparing human flesh, right in your very home, all this time.

But.. for some reason... all you could think about was how dedicated he was to providing a comfortable life for you, because he truly loved you. Everything he did every day showed you that you mattered and that you deserved only the best.

"But I still love him with all my heart... maybe I'm just as messed up..." Was a sentence your mind kept repeating to itself for quite some time.

Your appetite shrinks after the initial shock for a few days, but you were never one to skip meals or have your appetite be gone completely, even if you were sick. In this instance, you weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse in this case.

The meals he made for you had never made you sick in the past, so your body was already used to eating his cooking, and he made such amazing food, carefully crafted with such love and attention to detail, you couldn't help but keep eating his delicious cooking, no matter how bizarre and immoral it was.

"I think I really am just as messed up..." The thought crossed your mind again, but thoughts were interrupted by a rare occurrence, a kiss on the cheek from Alastor as he set your plate down in front of you.

The fact that you never stopped eating his cooking and always thanked him for his food and hard work, even after knowing where the main ingredient comes from, solidified the fact that you were the one. You loved him even after seeing him all bloody, holding a dismembered corpse, and telling you it was dinner. It was this pivotal moment that he knew, that you were the one to be his beloved forever.

In the coming weeks, things went back to "normal". You were settling into the new normal, as Alastor didn't hide the meal prep like he used to, and seeing him bloody and bringing in mysterious cuts of meat into the house became a normal sight to you.

One night when you were going to see Mimzy, Alastor informed you that he was unable to escort you that night. You were a little disappointed, but he assured you it was okay for you to go, it was just that he had plans that he wouldn't divulge any information on, no matter how much you pressed him.

Little did you know, but that night, Alastor was out on the town shopping for the perfect ring to propose to you with.

-> Part 6

[kimulus0check]

Can you drop some general dating eltingville club member hcs? It doesn’t matter who i genuinely just crave more fanfiction content of any of them

Absolutely I love these ugly loser boys

The Eltingville Club Headcanons

Pete Dinunzio

•Pete is the shortest of the club at 5’7, but the one who grounds everyone else with common sense, Although he is very impulsive himself.

•He was raised mainly by his father and had multiple siblings in his house. Though his father doesn’t support his horror movies or in his words “nerd shit.”

•mainly joined the club cause they are weirder than he is but supports his hobbies and interests so it give him some solace.

•Canonically into horror porn and cannibal flicks. I think he has paraphilia. He thinks cannibalism is very intimate, eating someone so they’re apart of you and all the time and dedication it takes to eat the entire body intrigues him.

•goes broke every Halloween cause he’s buying shit for either his collection or for his room. I like to think his birthday is in October.

•Has anger issues but not to the degree as bill or Josh do,and that comforts him in some way. Makes him feel better about himself. (He’d never tell them that.)

•wants to be covered in tattoos when he’s older, but in reality he’d probably just get five or six on his arms.

•tried to smoke cigarettes but his dad caught him and made him smoke the whole pack.

•his father and siblings harass him the way that some households do when one them picks up a neither hobby and bullies them cause it’s weird.

•very sweet if he likes you. Will show affection in his own way like asking you to watch horror flicks or info dumping about his favorite slashers or the new dvd set he bought.

Jerry Stokes

•Jerry is the voice of reason that no one listens to. He lives with his mother and father as an only child.

•I like to believe his parents are conservative or religious and don’t like when his fantasy interests because they think it’s immoral or something.

•(taking this headcanon from Tahawkydingo on ao3) his parents found his porn stash of fantasy cosplay pinups and they sent him to gay conversion camp.

•Is autistic but his parents deny that he is. vocally stims with his bidibidi bit and hyper fixates on fantasy. Wants to go to a renaissance fair so bad but no one wants to go with him.

• his parents treat him differently after his parents came to terms with him having autism and they unintentionally belittle him, he stays with the club because they don’t baby him like his parents do.

•has watched every fantasy movie from the eighties at least four times.

•avid weezer listener

Bill Dicky

•snarky fuck. Will always try to get the last say in an argument and gets very butt hurt if he doesn’t.

• He lives with his mom and younger sister. His mom has full custody of him so he never sees his father.

•one thing I saw is that Bill is usually the one to throw the first punch besides Josh. I theorize that his dad used to get physical with him and it hasn’t really clicked with him that he was abused and think it’s normal.

•male manipulator by the book definition of antisocial personality disorder in the comics, average smiths listener in the pilot.

• tried to work at gamestop or Blockbuster but either got denied for having expired dvd returns or stole.

Josh levvy

•lives with his mother and father. I think of him as the youngest sibling if he ever had any brothers or sisters.

•His parents are Jewish and if he showered more he’d have natural curls. Without his glasses he can only see blobs of color, his vision is getting worse.

•it’s cannon that he only eats things that have collectibles in them and hates doing it. But I think he’s always been insecure of his body for a long time and is at the point where he doesn’t care what people see him like some tub of lard because his self esteem is low.

•secretly feels that he’d never measure up to the expectations his parents give him so he doubles down.

•His dad used to get physical with him as a kid as a punishment, like belting or smacking him up side the head if he says something wrong. So he got more aggressive when someone made him upside or says something he doesn’t like.

•collects not even for fun, just to have. Because it’s become such a big part of himself he doesn’t know what to do if he stops.

[proshippers-against-censorship]

I’ve spent a few years in online fandoms now (pre Voltron era) and have found that the following applies to (not all) antis:

They’re largely between 13-19 or early 20 at most

adults older than that make up the smallest amount

Antis’ friend groups are almost entirely online

people with social connections offline are or people with fullfilling jobs are usually not antis (there are of course exceptions)

Almost all antis have intergenerational friendships. This isn’t unusual irl when it affects people who go to school (like HS and college) or neighbors or irl friends, but antis’ friend groups consist of total strangers. Very few only want followers of the same age range

Because of this, minors are easily more radicalized on the internet. Currently I would say Twitter and Threads contribute the most to it because these platforms are rife with hate, disinformation and have a general lack of online safety features

Therefore they may also develop moral scrupulosity ocd, a form of OCD where people are afraid of being “immoral”, therefore they seek for moral purity and find their beliefs echoed in purity culture

which is also why they tend to flock to people who portray themselves as “safe” or who call out “morally corrupt” people (proshippers). Those who call out moral corruption can possibly be no “bad” people

anti rhetoric is strongly based on anti kink/anti sex and “kink critical” radical feminist and conservative rhetoric

the anti phenomena is also largely American. Despite antis being people of many different ethnicities, most anti rhetoric reflects America’s political views on sex/gender, feminism, sex ed, sex in general and the increasing amount of anti science beliefs and anti intellectualism

therefore, antis can only be countered by:

Stopping the spread of disinformation

Instead internet safety should be taught again

social media should employ better moderation (which I get is not possible unless we switch to dedicated fandom forums or something )

make people aware of red flags to look out for (for example online grooming, cults, radicalization)

share facts about queer history and explain why radical feminism is bad for everyone (including cis women)

parents should definitely monitor their kids more often. I don’t mean 24/7 surveillance, I mean teach them where and how to find information safely and age appropriately

bring back places where kids can be kids offline and online (not asking this of common people but as a suggestion for politicians we vote for)

report, block, mute and make people aware of fandom etiquette

Ate and left no crumbs. I may link this at the top of my page.

[thoughtsandmusingsandideas]

I had a thought for a creator but they didn't believe they were the creator and could influence others into believing it too.

The two characters are Sara kujou and yae miko

@mastadon64 here you go!

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Godboss - Kujou Sara and Yae Miko

Kujou Sara

Cw: Sexual innuendos

-Honestly, waking up in Teyvat, you had a hard time convincing yourself you weren’t dreaming

-(It took you tumbling down a hill and slamming into a particularly sharp rock to realize it was not a dream. Also, ow)

-(You ignored the way your blood was golden. You were pretty sure you’d never seen the Genshin characters bleed anyways. It was probably just censoring. Totally.)

-Some way or another, you ended up in Inazuma

-Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting

-Most of the creatures were pretty chill, and as long as you avoided the people, you didn’t get in much trouble

-And then you kicked a Tenryou commission officer in the face and got arrested

-You know, jail wasn’t as bad as you expected either!

-Your cellmates weren’t too bad either- one of them asked you if you were god, which was weird, because you didn’t look anything like the Shogun, but you gave him a stick of dango and he shut up

-(You might not have been a god, but the fact that you managed to keep your inventory from the game was the closest thing to a divine blessing that you could imagine. Who needs a gnosis when you have your own pocket dimension?)

-It’s about half an hour before you’re taken from your cell for questioning

-You walk into a small interrogation room, shock igniting in your chest as you spot Kujou Sara

-Wasn’t she important?

-Was kicking that guy in the face really such a grave offense?

-“Are you the Creator God?” She asks, deathly serious

-Why did people keep asking you this???

-You’re pretty sure you don’t look too godly, garbed in stolen clothes that you’re ninety percent sure you put on wrong, a fading bite mark on your arm from when you tried to pet a rifthound, leaves in your hair. Honestly, you looked pretty disheveled, and…

-“Is that your way of saying you think I’m hot? Like… godly or whatever?”

-Considering the way the Tengu’s face turns a vibrant red, you’re either very right, or very wrong

-It’d be funnier if you were right though, so you press on

-“I mean, not that I’m not into it, but I’m feeling kinda iffy about the power dynamic here- prisoner and cop is a cute trope and all, but not all that smart in real life, I mean I get it if it’s a kink or whatever, I know handcuffs are attractive, but as of right now it’s immoral-”

-“Shut up. Please.” Sara mumbled, covering her red face with her hand. Her hair has more volume than usual, tiny sparks of static dancing between the strands

-“… I mean after I get out of prison I’d totally be down to go on a date, and if you feed me well enough I might even let you handcuff me.” You add.

-The silence in the room is heavy

-“Get out.”

-“Yes ma’am. Hm. No. Yes Mommy? Yes Master-“

-You’re cut off by an electrically charged arrow striking the wall beside your head.

-“Out.”

-“Okay!”

-You’re released from prison three days later, now with a whole gaggle of new friends from criminals

-(You ignored the fact that some of them made really important sounding speeches swearing their fealty to you. Also the small shrine they were building in your honor. If you didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist)

-You were surprised that as soon as you left, you were met with a glaring Kujou Sara, who takes your hand in her own

-“Am I being arrested again?”

-“… I’m going to take you on a date. And then I’m going to handcuff you.”

-“Yes Mommy!”

-“I Will Shoot You Again.”

Yae Miko

-You had to admit, stumbling upon a small shrine that seemed to be dedicated to your doppelgänger was creepy

-But you had also just been Isekaied to video game land, so you were pretty adaptable at the moment.

-Or high on adrenaline.

-You pick up one of the Sunsiettas from the shrine, biting down and relaxing, until-

-“Your excellency?!” A voice squeaks, and looking up you see a very frazzled shrine maiden staring at you.

-“Uh. No?” You say, swallowing the Sunsietta.

-The shrine maiden starts sobbing. “Your excellency!”

-“Oh- no- I’m- uh- I’m like you? You know? I’m uh… a messiah? Priest? Prophet? Whatever gets you to stop crying?” You awkwardly pat her head.

-“You- you’re the Creators chosen one?” She blubbers.

-“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Stop crying.”

-“CHOSEN ONE!” And she’s crying again

-After a lot of crying, you’re led to the Grand Narukami shrine, where you’re introduced to the head shrine maiden as the chosen one

-“… Are you sure she’s not just the creator?”

-“You flatter me. I’m just gods favoritist and most specialist little princess.”

-The Kitsune likes this. Perhaps too much, but we’ll let her have her fun

-And thus, the war to get you to admit that you’re the Creator begins, hidden under the guise of her introducing you to chosen one duties

-She takes you on a pilgrimage all across Inazuma first, going to the most dangerous places possible just to put you in danger and save you at the last second, disappointed that you never use godly powers to save (read: reveal) yourself

-She meditates with you, and paints obscure markings on your face when you fall asleep, which you have to pass off as messages from the creator

-She takes you to meet the Shogun, but after leaving you alone for five minutes, returns to you teaching her poker and robbing her blind. You cited divine luck and she pretended she didn’t notice the cards stuffed inside your sleeve

-It ends pretty anticlimactically, actually

-She’s introducing you to the local foxes, when you trip over a rock and face plant into the floor

-And get a nose bleed

-Miko can’t help but doubling over in laughter at the sight of your pout as golden blood drips down your face

-“And how are you explaining this one, Oh revered Chosen One?”

-“Genetic condition.”

-The laughter doubles

[mxjackparker]

If you're a history nerd like me and want to read up on the topic of sex work in 18th and 19th century France, this is the book for you! Contemporary Prostitution: Study of a Social Question (1884) by Leo Taxil and translated by Jack Parker.

This book was never translated into English until I did so just over a year ago, so that other people could read the letters from real sex workers included and all the data about sex workers from someone who was arguing for the decriminalization of sex work back in 1884!

Get a PDF copy here and pay what you want, including claiming a copy for free if you don't have the money.

I'm Jack, the translator for this work, and I am a sex worker activist who happens to be bilingual in English and French. Between the slang, historical language, and the amount of euphemisms used for a profession as stigmatized as prostitution is, this took a long time but was well worth it!

I started reading La Prostitution Contemporaine with the expectation that I would be infuriated by the sexist and whorephobic commentary within it, but that it would provide me with context about the 1800s and the view of prostitution in that time period. While I was right that the stigmatisation of sex workers is rife within this work, I also found a fascinating and complex description of all the specific troubles sex workers face. I found that, despite still discussing sex workers as engaging in immoral behaviour and being decidedly homophobic and sexist, Léo focuses majority of his criticism on the police and on those who control sex workers.

Taxil makes repeated arguments in favour of police abolition, the decriminalization of sex work, and improving workers rights and eradicating poverty so that people are not pushed into sex work by a need for money.

This work contains commentary about lesbianism in the Victorian era, and lesbianism within brothel environments. It provides amazing insight into the homophobic views people had in the time period, as well as specific information about the lives of lesbian sex workers. There are scathing critiques of the morality police from the time period, particularly with regards to their treatment and registration of sex workers! It is rich with citations from other authors about how "maquerelles" and madams and "souteneurs" all interacted with sex workers and what those sex workers' lives were really like. The book is also one of the only works from the time discuss male prostitution, with an entire chapter dedicated to it and mentions in several chapters throughout the book.

Would love for more people to read this history that I worked so hard to translate!

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #5387:

There's a bit of a catch-22, if you're open about something you're "shoving it in everyone's face", and if you're private about something you're being sneaky because you know deep down that it's shameful and wrong.

I think part of it has to do with how the internet and social media blurs the line between what is a "public" space and a "private" space. If I have a particular kink, and I make a separate side blog dedicated to that kink, it's because I know that there are a lot of people who follow my main who do not want to see that, so I have a place to also discuss it where they don't have to see it. It's not because I know it's actually immoral to have a kink so I'm actively trying to trick people into thinking I don't. Also, because some people tend to view someone's blog as their entire LIFE, if I have a blog where I put all my kink stuff to keep it separate from my regular SFW content, then they must think I go around in my real life talking to everyone only about kink stuff all the time. Instead of like, a regular person who has a public life and a private life. That if you break into my house, rummage through all my stuff, and happen to find a vibrator buried in the sock drawer, that it's no different than if I ran naked through the streets waving dildos around.

The problem is that they don't understand the concept of "certain things are inappropriate at certain times or places", instead they think if something may be inappropriate in SOME contexts then it shouldn't be allowed in ANY context.

Don't make adult content, A CHILD could see it, doesn't matter that it's on an 18+ site.

Don't make anything with potentially triggering subject matter, in case someone with specific types of trauma sees it, it doesn't matter if you put content warnings on it.

Don't put sex scenes in movies and shows, what if someone wants to watch it with their family and it'd be soooo awkward? It's not like movies and shows come with a rating on them and tell you exactly what got it that rating. Or you could just, you know, suck it up and deal with the awkward for a minute or two.

[diejager]

If you might be taking requests at all, I was wondering if you'd be up for the idea of a fic with sleazy König or Ghost in an arranged marriage to the reader. Reader isn't quite happy with the marriage, but they are. It could be dark or cute, but I'd love to read a fic about an arranged marriage where reader is completely against it meanwhile their new husband is not. They've been hoping to marry reader for a while and now that they have, reader is all theirs in more ways than one. Scares off any men reader tries to date on the side and is hell bent on showing their lovely spouse that this marriage is perfect and that they truly do belong together.

Sleazy husband!König Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, sleazy!König, arranged marriage, age difference/gap, scent kink, crusty balls, hairy König, tell me if I missed any.

König was a family friend, someone you’d seen a few times in your life, but had heard of many, many times that he was a commodity in your life, a subject you became familiar with without actually knowing the man. You’d caught glimpses of the giant when you accompanied your father to the military base for a quick visit, how he towered over you as a child and even more so now that you were an adult in your early 20s. You thought him an acquaintance, a trusted friend of your father, but you’d never thought of him in any other light. You saw him as someone dedicated to his duty, prideful and hungry for power and money, unbeatable and strong with his broad shoulders and gigantic stature. You wouldn’t have anything to do with him in your life, seeing how he barely glanced your way when you crossed path, he dutifully ignored you every time as if you were a plague.

And yet, you found yourself married to him; an arranged marriage. The colonel who avoided you and never seemed to like you had a private marriage with only your immediate family and a few men and women from the Company assisting to watch him embrace and take you home. A home you had no recollection of and were a stranger to. It wasn’t his flat, or the studio apartment you went to with your father. This big house was new and old, a newly bought house in with fresh paint and untouched furniture, in an old Austrian land with a beautiful and lush forest surrounding it. You didn’t even know the man, but you were married to him so quickly - in a month’s worth - that you were still too shell shocked to do anything about it. 

How could your mother and father agree to it so easily? To marry you off to someone you didn’t know. Then you remembered how close your father and he was, life companions that had fought battles together, bled for one another and would die to save the other. That was the reason you were promised without your consent or knowledge until it was too late. 

“Mein Herzchen,” he rasps, peering down at you, cold blues glowing under the darkness of his hood, “Come.”

König - your husband - was a man of few words, but wouldn’t stop talking if he found the right topic to touch, speaking your ears off about it. There were a lot you didn’t know about him, a mystery you didn’t dare try figuring out, but were forced to. You learned he was a dirty and immoral man, to have you marry him despite him being almost twice your age. He could’ve been your uncle, a man who’s age was near your fathers. You learned that he liked jerking himself to the sight of your open pantie drawers, an unwashed and stolen lace pressed into his face, the soft gusset pressed into his mouth and nose as he huffed and growled. You were repulsed by it, finally understanding why some of your underwearswere slightly crusty. 

You learned that he never shaved after your first night, consummating your marriage in the bed you later slept on. You were shocked to find that his chest and arms were as hairy as the tuff around his cock, wild and unruly, a messy bush crawling up his abdomen and spiraling around his chest and covering his paler tint in auburn brown. You learned that he never showered after a sweaty and stinky work out, his musk stinking up the house wherever he went and that he loved pressing you against his naked and sticky chest, smothering you in his thick smell that nearly had you gagging and choking. You couldn’t find the words to describe a man like König, as big and burly as he was hairy and smelly, he was unmoving in his resolve and liked to touch you whenever he wanted to, whether you liked it or not, his word was law.

Your husband was a sleazy man and you couldn’t do anything about it, the golden bound diamond ring on your finger was more so a chain than a wonderful promise.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry

[uumeboshii]

tadashi sits up straight, broad shoulders back and his gaze avoiding yours. his freckled cheeks are rosy, matching his pretty, plump lips.

"it's okay, y'know. you look really tense, like, very" you say, a lighthearted hand grazing his, the one on his knee, his legs folded neatly under him. he nods because he knows, he knows it's fine with you, but everything leading to this event had made his muscles hard as a rock and his hands clammy.

you had been talking to him and hitoka earlier that week, probably on monday between class and the beginning of their practice. hitoka had been rambling about a nice boy she'd met a few months ago and how she was ready to, maybe, initiate a kiss. you tried to give her some advice, but the opinion she wanted the most was the one of a man.

"so, tadashi! how have you been approached? i really don't want to mess this up, and tsukki doesn't seem like the type to talk about this stuff..." hitoka had turned to him with her big, wide eyes full of curiosity, only to encounter a flustered 180 centimeters boy, cheeks red and stuttering.

"i-uhm, well. when- the instances, yes, they... pleasant. have been. they've been pleasant. consent. hiro! hey, hitoka, isn't it time for you guys to, uh, prepare the equipment? i'll be there in a minute!"

"yes, cap" hitoka grabbed the first-year manager and led him into the gym, leaving you with tadashi. it was funny, truly, but you had to hold in your laughter in order to not embarrass him even more.

"what was that?" you asked, lips pressing together. tadashi was covering his face with both hands, big and calloused. pretty.

"a secret"

"i can keep a secret" lie. but hitoka was usually the one listening to you telling other people's business, so this actually seemed immoral.

he dragged his hands down his face, putting them on his waist (did he get that from the previous captain?). "...kissedanyone"

you frown at him, turning your head a little. "say that again?"

"i've never... kissed. no one." he looked down, standing on the balls of his feet.

it wasn't that bad, right? you couldn't wrap your head around it, with him being so kind, smart, dedicated and with that defined body of his- ah.

"i can teach you"

"shouyo has tried but-" you raise your hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

"proper, hands-on teaching. come to my house on... thursday. no one's home, and you don't have practice." behind him, kageyama was rapidly walking towards you- him, really, and he looked a bit mad. "time to go. see you!"

"you didn't even give me time to process, you just ran away and left me with an angry kageyama practically dragging me to practice" he says, still avoiding your eyes. you had plenty of time, but having him so close and all to yourself made it intoxicating. you want him now. so you nod, inch closer to him who's at the edge of the bed. face to face.

"'m sorry, i was nervous too." middle and pointer finger dance up his arm, resting on his shoulder. "tell me to stop and i will, yes? it's just kisses." it's his turn to nod, and he finally looks at you. you give him a close-lipped smile and peck his cheek. "close your eyes."

he obeys, long eyelashes brushing against his skin. you lean in, softly pressing your lips to his. after a few seconds, you pull away.

"that's a peck." he nods again, his hand moving to properly hold yours.

"i gave my cousin one when we were babies."

"yeah, been there... i'll kiss you properly. do what i do, okay?" you look at him, he whispers okay and you lean in, a simple peck again. your free hand moves to the nape of his neck, slightly parting your lips. he does so, too, and you kiss. your lips move, softly, unsynchronized and so, so sweet.

his lips are soft and taste faintly of the lemonade you offered him when he got to your place. he gains confidence after a few movements, leaning in and doing his best to keep up with you and the pace that's been set.

you feel bold, so you tug him closer and deepen the kiss, a choked uhmf leaving tadashi as he adjusts to the new sensation, his hands on your waist, gripping tightly.

it's all so nice, not smooth, but the innocence of it makes your stomach flutter every time your teeth end up clashing or your noses bump into each other. he pulls apart, glossy lips spreading into a smile.

"what"

"nothin'. you're just really soft. i like it."

[phyrestartr]

HOUND pt.2 | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 2 W/C: 2.7k | Part 2 of 2

#NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: AAAAH ok it's done and now I can struggle to finish my other fics instead asjdkf;weiafjf

--

Miguel couldn’t recall what happened after that. The noises outside the door, the wet sloshing of viscera and pained outcries echoed faintly in the black corners of his mind, but nothing else. Nothing about how he got out of that room. Nothing about what had attacked him. Nothing about where you had gone. 

The mystery led him to reviewing the footage. The security cameras were set in each room, only to be accessed in times where someone was suspected to be infected and other suspicious situations. He found the moments leading up to everything, the moment you pushed him against the wall, when you started taking off the vest, when you threw Miguel into the bathroom and forced the door closed with brute strength. 

What followed was unbearable. The thing, now confirmed to have been one of your kind, rippled with overwhelming, excruciating power. You couldn’t square up with it fairly, but you were smart and fast, hitting when it really counted and pulling the trigger only when you knew it’d strike true. But the problem was its objective; the entire fight, Miguel realized, was a contest for the bathroom door. The monster didn’t care about you. You weren’t its target. It was going for him.

But it didn’t show you any mercy. It tore chunks out of you, shattered your ribs, broke whatever part of you it touched until you’d put it down for good with a full mag into its soft, melted skull. You staggered backwards, feeling behind you for the cool touch of the door before you collapsed against it, trying to stay standing despite it all. It was hard to watch. To see someone suffering and still fighting the good fight even though they’d already lost in order to win. 

You eventually crumbled and held what was left of your stomach and chest as you heaved in air. Loud sounds, like a wooden train whistle, hissed through the gaps left between your exposed ribs and the holes in your tattered lungs time after time, breath after breath, up until the EMTs arrived; you scrambled to get up, nearly spilling your guts and breaking off a leg before a tranquilizer hit you, and put you down. 

After that, you’d been carted off, and Miguel stepped out of the bathroom moments later, shaken and confused. Gabe showed up, thank God, and the thing that’d started all the bullshit was dead, but he couldn’t help the lingering tendrils of paranoia stitching the muscles taut in his shoulders. Then, and now. 

He needed to see you for himself. 

“Listen, listen, it’s suuuper nice that you suddenly have a weak spot for the guy, it’s really cute, but we haveta set you up with a different one for now–”

“What?” Miguel cut in while Lyla spun in her chair and fixed her obnoxious sunnies. “Why do–they heal. I don’t want any other–”

“Yep, yep, yep, I totally get it, but he’s reaaal messed up. He’s gonna take some time to fix ‘n heal and everything, yenno?” Lyla spun around again in a full 360 before coming back to face Miguel and point her pen at him. “If he’s too hard to fix, then they were thinking of scrapping him for parts and testing and everything.” 

Scrapped. For parts. 

“They won’t scrap him.” Miguel frowned. “He’s the best host we have. The most successful specimen the whole fucking project's made.” 

“Uh, yeah, and that's why they're gonna do their best to save him.” She tilted her head, curious. “No one wants to kill a good dog, y'know.” 

It was true. No one wanted to rid Alchemax of one who was dedicated enough to put their life in jeopardy for the sake of protecting their charge. He didn't expect you to go this far. No one did. 

–

It took weeks for you to be reinstated as Miguel's watchdog. In the interim, he was appointed a new guard, but life didn’t feel right. He supposed that bonds and trust played into the feeling more than he'd like to admit. Sure, the two of you hadn't really spoken before that day, but you'd been with each other for years. Silently learning about one another, measuring each other's capacity to be trustworthy. 

So with a new dog, Miguel felt unnerved, maybe even a bit unsteady. It had been one of them who'd snapped, after all. One of them lost their minds and went on a rampage–which was exactly what the current meeting was about. 

“No one saw it coming,” one said. “We didn't think it would happen, and that's the problem, isn't it?” 

“Weeell, things are bound to go awry here and there.” Olivia shrugged and crossed her arms. “It's part of science! I'd say this whole drama has given us some pretty good results on the extremes; one imploded and started eating people, and the other one exploded trying to save one of us.” 

“Still think we should scrap O'hara's mutt for parts,” Aaron interjected, unhelpful and annoying as ever. “Who knows when that one'll blow too, hey?” 

Miguel ignored Aaron. He wouldn’t feed into his prodding and pushing. “He's mine. I decide when he's too dangerous.”

“You sure you're not gonna be blinded by feelings, O'hara?” Aaron spat with an ugly smile. “I saw the footage. You–” 

“Oh my God, don't act like you don't try to fuck everyone else's guards,” another scientist groaned. “You're probably why one snapped.” 

Aaron's face blistered red. Miguel smirked, enjoying the show, enjoying the fact that no one was on the idiot's side. It was the apocalypse. Fucking mutants was the least of their worries. 

Stone, exasperated, called it there, and everyone dispersed. Miguel took his time with his thoughts in the silence of the room. The lack of people around him sparked a jolt of adrenaline, or maybe fear, and sent his train of thought off the rails and into something ungodly. He hated being alone these days. He couldn't bear the thought of being the last man standing, of having to fend for himself after everything. Not that he would have to, no, not unless your replacement did him in, or–

“Sir?” 

Miguel turned and nearly knocked his chair off its wheels. He clutched the desk in a panic just before his eyes landed on you. 

You looked different. Streaks of faint scars painted the side of your face where an eyepatch hid away whatever wreckage laid beneath. A metal brace hugged one of your knees and dripped down into a glittering, high-tech prosthetic limb that told a story Miguel didn't want to indulge in. And you looked tired. So tired. Your voice, once something rough like sandpaper, now sounded like shattered glass grinding underfoot.

But you still had that placid, somewhat judgemental stare that told him, I'm alright.

Your brows raised expectantly, like your return didn't need to be celebrated and you'd much rather like to get on with your day of following Miguel around like a lost puppy. He could relate, and he could comply. 

–

Acting normal until getting you into his new quarters was tough; Miguel had the inexplicable urge to touch you, see your skin, feel your heat singe his palms, but he wouldn't do it in the eye of the others, no. Not for his own decency, but because they didn't deserve it. You were all his. 

Miguel was sure to lock the doors and initiate an armoured lockdown to ease his paranoia before he turned to you with a demand on his tongue: “Strip.” 

You quirked a brow. “This didn't go so well last time.” But you complied, clearly trying to hide away your amusement.

“It's fine. We're fine.” He helped you pull the vest and the shirt off just like he did all those weeks ago, but now with more finesse and determination; he wanted his do-over, and he was going to get it. “I need to see for myself.” 

“Whatever.” You rolled your shoulders once your bare skin hit the air and prickled with goosebumps. Even the lifeless spots with angry reddened scars recoiled from the sharp nip, and then the heat of Miguel's touch.

He dragged his gaze all over you, drinking in the ruined expanses of skin with hungry eyes. Every new mark was examined, every stitch and bandage touched and committed to memory, every bruise earned the softest graze of fingertips. It was hard not to be enticed with one another in that tense, long silence. 

Miguel's eyes lingered on your split lip before meeting your eyes, reading whatever he could from you. But he didn't expect what you said. 

“You get hurt?” You grumbled. 

Miguel shook his head lightly, his attention unwavering as his hands made themselves useful and plucked loose the buttons on your cargos again. “I'm fine.” He pulled the zipper down next. The muscles of your abdomen rippled against the palm keeping you still. “Sore from you throwing me, but fine.” 

The corner of your mouth twitched. “If you'd listened and moved–” your next words dissolved against the brutish lips colliding with yours. Miguel's hands slipped further below and palmed your soft cock through the thin material of your undergarments; apparently you weren't surprised by the candid dick grab, but the kiss of all things threw you for a loop. Miguel moved to leaving marks along your neck while your brain scrambled to make sense of the random affection. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You breathed, unsure of where to touch or what to do with your hands.

“Picking up where we left off.” Miguel squeezed your filling bulge again, eagerly massaging you in encouragement to get things going. His ego swelled when your hand found his shoulder after a particularly weak spot was found.

“Hah. I shouldn't be–” 

“You'll manage,” he insisted, watching you like prey trying to woo its predator. “You probably haven't been touched like this in a while, si, guapo?” Your hips jolted against his hand while his husky voice drew you in. “Bed. Now.” 

You didn't have much of a choice, not when Miguel's needy hands guided you to the soft sheets and forced you to lay down. You were just in the middle of a sore groan when Miguel pulled your waistband down just enough to free your hardened cock, and give you a fierce dose of whiplash between the pain of healing wounds and the bliss of hands on you.

For all of Miguel’s want, now that he was this far, he wasn’t sure where to take it. He was going to make you cum, obviously, but how would he go about it? Handjob, blowjob, actually taking it up the ass? Some were obviously more impactful than others, so–

“Christ, alright, now that you’ve played with my dick, we can put it away for today, Doc,” you grouched, sitting up to pull Miguel’s hand away. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Wh–no.” He swatted your hand away like a petulant child and shot you an equally childish glare. “You have to obey my orders, as far as I recall.”

Something akin to a deadpan hit your face. “You’re fucking joking. You’re gonna pull that shit now?”

“You’re my subordinate,” Miguel reminded, not bothering to hide his smug demeanor and faux innocence. “Act like it.” 

Before you could bitch back, he started stroking you firmly and slowly, squeezing harder near the tip and base with every motion. You stopped complaining surprisingly fast–Miguel almost wanted you to fight him more, but, maybe for a first run, your utter compliance would serve him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold you down or fend off your grabby hands while, at the same time, trying to get a handle on how to properly please another man. 

Just when you sounded like you were about to object again, he took you into his mouth, and shut you up. At that moment, Miguel was glad you were touch-starved. Otherwise, the inexperienced gags and hefty strings of saliva connecting his lush lips to your throbbing length would’ve surely shortened Miguel’s lifespan. He was supposed to be good in bed. He was good in bed. And he’d make damn sure to continue being good in bed with another man. 

Your hand fisting in his well-kempt hair had him growling with warning, thinking you were going to try to make him stop, but one glance up at you through teary lashes washed that thought away; your eyes were shut, bottom lip caught between your lip and welling with the faintest bit of blood from those elongated canines of yours. A kinder shade of crimson painted your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a sweet summer colour that seemed to darken more when Miguel bravely slipped you down his throat and up again. 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” You let go of his hair with a pathetic whimper and collapsed onto your back, hands reaching back to claw into the wall and headboard to try and expel your rattling energy someway, somehow. The grating of metal and long, deep marks left in your claws’ wake would piss Miguel off any other day, but right now, your destructive praise fed his ego until it threatened to burst. 

But a slight shift from the scientist and a misplaced hand on the convergence of flesh and metal shook up the easy rhythm. You hissed and sat up, reflexively snatching his hand away from your leg with barbed fingers. Miguel pulled off of you with a choked yelp rattling in his throat as your hold drew blood, and like a dog who'd bit another too hard, you let go. 

“Shit, I didn't mean to–” you stopped yourself, though, and instead took Miguel's hand with a less-lethal touch. You looked at the wound before leaning down and running the flat of your tongue against the wound once, twice, thrice. The pain subsided quickly after, leaving behind a tingly, sparking feeling. “Doesn’t look too bad.” Miguel watched your nostrils flare and pupils dilate–clearly, his blood was having an effect on you. And that fact was having an effect on Miguel, in turn. 

The apology for hurting you was long forgotten by the time Miguel leaned up and kissed you, holding the side of your face with his wounded hand. He pushed hard against the tip of your fang until spongy flesh gave way, and the vile tang of blood pooled in his mouth, and now in yours. 

You moaned, or maybe growled, and Miguel’s hips jerked. He worked on slipping his weeping tongue around your mouth while his good hand continued his work on your stiffy, eager to finish you off while you were distracted. Your hands clutched at him again, claws still nipping into his skin and clothes, but more like a cat kneading its owner rather than a lion latching onto prey. 

But those barbs sunk deep into him when you came. Your hold on him tightened, and the low growls reverberating through your body crescendoed into a few, cherished moans when your lips left his as rapture hit you. Miguel spared a look down at the mess you’d made, but too quickly his gaze returned to the bobs of your Adam’s apple, the muscles pulsing and tensing in the aftershocks, the sheen of red coating your cracked lips. It was enough to make him come undone, untouched by you, only fulfilled by the rub of cotton on his hardened cock.

And of course, you noticed it right away. Ugh. “You’re a freak,” you scoffed out between breaths. “Fucking–cumming from, what? Getting your pet off?” 

Miguel rolled his eyes to betray his embarrassment, and squeezed you hard at the base to pull one last mean, choked groan out of you. “Callate. You could try being grateful, hm?”

“Don’t think that’s in my programming.” You leaned back and looked down at the mess. “Who’s gonna clean this up, Doc?” You prodded looking up at him through your lashes. 

Miguel’s intrigue piqued. “Here I thought you were too tired,” he mocked. 

“Might change your mind tomorrow. Oughta cash in while I can.” 

“Hm.” Miguel let go and leaned back, shaky fingers working on his own clothes. “Guess I can give you another treat.”

But, as fate would have it, one more go of it turned into five, and left him half-alive come the morning.

[turbulentscrawl]

Alva Lorenz General HCs

You'll have for forgive me for any typos--this man's been on my mind for two days and I have to get these out. I'm too impatient to check everything hahah

-Alva did not actually betray Luca by passing off any pf Herman’s work as his own. Though he did always maintain some interest in the concept of a perpetual motion machine, Alva didn’t dedicate much time to working on it after Herman’s death. He did, however, start the fire which killed Herman in an outburst-fueled accident similar to how Luca later killed him. Alva, however, escaped suspicion of the event and was not legally punished.

-Alva knew Herman had a son and, though he never personally met Herman’s family, knew who Luca was through grapevine rumors. He agreed to take Luca on as his student partially out of guilt for his unexposed crime, and partially because he had no children of his own and quickly felt a certain parental urge for Luca. They shared a lot in common and got on very well, very quickly, and their relationship was great right up until the accident. The documentation that seems to indicate their relationship deteriorating is coincidental. (ex, Luca’s experiments slowly transitioning from both he and Alva signing off on them to just Luca was Alva giving Luca more independence because he trusted him, rather than them growing apart or secretive.)

-I think Alva may be autistic. He doesn’t require much in the way of accommodations, and he doesn’t have the sensory issues that Aesop does. However, his speech is sometimes overly flat, his view of the world a bit rigid, his social energy levels are low, he’s prone to bouts of depression, he fixates on his work a lot, and he often fidgets with things like pens and clothes. He enjoys touching various textures, and often expresses appreciation for the material of people’s clothes. Additionally, he’s made a living out of his special interest: inventive engineering.

-Alva is a solemn and polite man. He’s rather chivalrous, but reserved, and as a result was admired by many for his mysterious-gentleman air. “Hermit” is an apt name for Alva, however, as he rarely enjoyed the company of others. He especially felt overwhelmed in large groups. He has always preferred one-on-one socializing, and even that he had a smaller tolerance for than was typical for men of his class. Luckily, he doesn’t have much in the way of a temperament, so when he’s tired of socializing, he’s just that: tired. Sexy Old man.

-To specify, when I say chivalrous, I mean he’s the kind of man who holds doors open for others, offers his hand to help them up from a seat or down from some height, share his umbrella in the rain, and would even lay his coat in a puddle for a lady to cross over. He offers chivalry moreso to women than men, but if a man presents as meek or shy enough in his presence he will extend the gestures to them as well, hoping to make them feel more comfortable.

-Alva’s only family at the time of his death was his wife. She was barren, and they had no children, and all the rest of his family had passed due to age or illness. Luca therefore became something of a surrogate son to Alva over the years. Though he sometimes struggled to show it, Alva cared for him like blood and always looked out for him.

-Alva didn’t care much about his overall predicament, after being resurrected. His religious proclivities were more for show than anything, so being a chosen of some…eldritch-cat-god is hardly the worst of his concerns. Until the manor, he hadn’t been expected to do anything he considered reprehensible or very immoral, so he’s always been fine with just completing his orders so he could go back to his work.

-After joining the manor, Alva’s only real comfort is his work. In life, inventive engineering was his method of self-expression, the way he interacted with the world, his reason for living. That changed a bit when his wife came along, and then again for Luca, but with those gone he’s back to his reclusive nature. It takes a long time for Alva to make friendships in the manor. He’s familiar with Ann out of necessity, but they’re merely cordial. With time, he becomes friendly with a small handful of others, but his melancholy is still pervasive.

-Inevitably, with enough time at the manor, Alva craves reconciliation with Luca. He doesn’t entirely blame Luca for what happened. At the end of everything, Alva knows the accident was an accident as well as a misunderstanding. (And also probably some kind of ironic, cosmic retribution for him killing Herman.) The trouble is, Luca does not remember him at all, or what happened. He knows from a few conversations that the boy’s cleverness is still in-tact, but his memories are almost entirely gone. As far as Alva is concerned, this means he’ll never get the closure of genuine, mutual apologies, and he’ll never have his “son” back. Not really.

-When Luca was his student, they were a powerful duo in public. Alva, despite being respectful and courteous to individuals, has never ‘jived’ with society as a whole. He doesn’t care about public opinion and is easily exhausted from public exposure. Luca, meanwhile, is a social butterfly. They were both charming, and worked out a system for any public appearances Alva needed to make: Luca would handle most of the talking—unless Alva’s interest was specifically sparked by some topic of conversation—so Alva could do his best to actually enjoy the atmosphere. And when Luca was ready to go, you best believe Alva was ready with their excuse to bail. The two were always favorites at any party or event, and always had interested suitors close at their heels.

-Despite being overwhelmed by conversation and crowds, Alva does enjoy the set-up for a lot of public events and parties. He likes the artfulness of decoration, and always takes time to appreciate the hard work put into setting up things like that (and once again, he loves to touch, feels the textures). He especially loves flowers. He occasionally finds loud music to be a bit overstimulating. Similarly, he likes fireworks, but requires earplugs to enjoy them fully.

-Alva’s age (at time of death) was somewhere between 40-45. His undead body is no longer aging, so physically he’s the same. Sometimes Alva misses his longer hair, but unfortunately that’s not growing anymore.