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degen-fics · 15 days ago

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Show Them What They'll Never Have

[Alastor x Reader] Rating: E Tags: exhibitionism, semi-public sex, dom/sub, light bondage, edging, possessive sex, praise & degradation, dirty talk, no aftercare CW: degradation and dirty talk include references to imaginary situations regarding free use and dubious consent

---[read on ao3]---

Alastor has a laundry list of rules and expectations for you, both in and outside of the hotel, and you always do your best to follow them. They're quite simple, straightforward requests, all of which boil down to one basic concept: Don't do anything stupid. Don't be reckless, don't put yourself in dangerous situations, don’t do anything to warrant extra attention, and above all else, don't be stupid. If you're questioning what falls within those limitations, use your pretty little head and ask yourself, “what would Alastor say?” Not ‘do,’ because your will-they/won't-they partner usually resorts to methods beyond your current capabilities, but ‘say,’ because you ought to know him well enough by now to answer that question for him.

Suffice it to say, you have no idea what's riled him up this badly. You came back well before dark and all in one piece. Nothing was stolen from you. There aren't any new marks of questionable origin anywhere to be seen. And yet, Alastor was waiting for you right as you returned. Back straight, fingers drumming against his microphone, smile perfectly in place, all with the sharpest, most unforgiving glare you've had the pleasure/misfortune of seeing across your lifespan and beyond. He hadn't even given you a moment's pause to react, opting instead to grab you by the wrist and forcibly drag you up the stairs.

After getting shoved into his room and verbally assaulted with various ways of him asking ‘what were you thinking?’ Alastor finally hits you with a command that makes even less sense.

“Strip.”

“What?” You gawk at the sheer audacity, instinctively crossing your arms over your body. “I’m sorry?”

“I told you to strip, darling. Undress. Disrobe. Take your clothes off. My word,” he clicks his tongue, “you really have misplaced that head of yours.”

You point at your head. He rolls his eyes. Come on, that was an Alastor-tier joke, one for the textbooks, and he doesn't even entertain the idea of faux amusement. Knowing better than to question his reasons, you tug your shirt off in one swift motion.

Only for him to throw it right back into your face.

“Ah ah ah, let's not be hasty now!” Alastor clasps his hands behind his back, expectant and daring you to undermine him again (somehow). You recoil from the shock and nearly stumble into the wall, your shirt tangled in your hands as a pair of obscenely frigid hands shove you forward. Apparently his shadow has some sort of wardrobe-related vendetta against you too. “Eyes on me, dearest, and do take your time with this.”

Eyes on him, yeah, sure - he looks livid. Nothing turns you on quite like an old deer man with smoldering resentment and a quick temper. “What’s your deal?”

Smack!

You wince as the shadow tentacle snaps right at your feet, and in that moment, you realize how you fucked up today. Take a second and look at your shoes; They're cute, right? Just a basic pair of strappy sandals, open enough to show off your at-home pedicure, and pairing quite nicely with the rest of your ensemble. All color coordinated with your flowy skirt and flimsy top.

Apparently, Alastor thinks you should cook yourself to death. Summer in Hell? Put on the parka, darling. He already lets you get away with showing your ankles every third day of the week, don't push your luck and expose your entire knee to the general public. What you're saving in sunscreen you can spend on hospital bills after incurring heatstroke in the obscenely hot and humid afterlife.

“The fucking cactuses are dying, and you want me to carry around a ruler to make sure I don't scandalize anyone with my shoulders?” You balk. “What else was I gonna wear?”

“Something modest enough to keep your chest out of view and your underwear hidden. But if you want to make a spectacle of yourself, by all means!” Alastor snaps a comfy wingback chair into existence, settling into the plush upholstery with his legs crossed like he's the up and coming king of the pride ring. “Go on then. Make a show of yourself.”

Well, that's a problem. Not that you're uncomfortable undressing, no; he's seen you naked more than you've seen him shirtless, and Alastor's never been shy about his appreciation of your body. Any part you hate, he loves; nudity’s easy. It's the demand for a demonstration that throws you for a loop. You don't do stripteases. The only dance you know by heart is the macarena, and even if you supplement that with a few zumba moves, you’re pretty sure it’s not gonna paint a pretty picture. You take your sweet time tugging your shirt back on, and–

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake.”

–Alastor hates it when you drag your feet.

So he drags you out of the room. Literally. Scoops up your forearm and jerks you through the hallways, giving you an extra tug whenever you stumble over your feet. The surroundings become less familiar with every sharp turn and sudden descent, floors blurring underfoot as Alastor impatiently slings you over his shoulder and strong-arms you down the stairs. Never giving you time to find your balance, grumbling under his breath when you fail to match his stride.

“Keep up. You’ve tested my patience long enough.”

“You see dear? Horribly impractical, that outfit of yours. You can hardly walk.”

“Whoops! Clumsy girl, tripping over her own two feet. How many times has that flimsy skirt of yours flipped over now?”

“Fear not, my dear! We’ll solve your problems in a flash.” Ba-dum-tiss. Laugh track.

You find solace in the tepid glass Alastor shoves you into, quick breaths bleeding over the surface like water on a canvas. Gradually, your vision clears, and oh, you hate what you see. Foot traffic stays relatively quiet around the hotel, much to Charlie’s chagrin, but it doesn’t change the fact that Alastor has one of your arms trapped between your back and his chest, his knee and thigh serving as a blockade to make damn sure you can’t slip away.

“Now, now, take a deep breath and relax.” A long, foreboding claw traces the length of your face, gliding with calculated threats and the promise of something far worse than public humiliation should you disobey. “Since you had such awful stage fright with me, I figured we’d do this in a more comfortable location for you.” He swipes your hair behind you, his lips teasing the shell of your ear. “You did want people to notice you, after all.”

“That,” a grunt of pain and something a little more embarrassing interrupts your train of thought, “isn't what I wanted.”

“Oh? It was a need then, was it?” Alastor chuckles behind closed lips, throaty and knowing damn well what he's doing to you. He sees it in the way you shift on your feet, the minute squeezes of your thighs. “Does my darling girl really need so many unworthy eyes following her beautiful body around town? Hm?” An arm snakes around your waist, the tickle of his fingertips inching underneath your blouse in wispy steps. “Sinners land here for all sorts of reasons, dear. What if you'd attracted the wrong sort of attention?”

Alright mister slut shamey rape culture fuckface, that's unfortunately a fair point. Assault in Hell is a daily occurrence, and the bystander effect might as well be the apathetic onlooker effect when it comes to abhorrent decision making.

“You wouldn't let that happen,” you choke, stifling a half-pleasured moan as he shoves his bodyweight against you. “You're too possessive.”

“Yes, I am. And yet, despite knowing this, you choose to throw caution to the wind and garner all sorts of unsavory stares and let people entertain their depraved thoughts. Impulse control is a rarity down here, my sweet. You know better.”

You do know better. You know a lot of things, really. Don't test Alastor's patience, don't question Alastor's decisions, don't tell Alastor his jokes belong on popsicle sticks, and whatever you do, don't let Alastor see how much you enjoy being treated like a–

“Stupid girl,” he sneers.

Well, that, yeah; you were going more for the ‘desperate attention-loving bitch who needs to be put in her place,’ but ‘stupid girl’ kind of fits too.

“Did you really think you could get away with this?” Alastor's grip tightens, his gloved claws kneading at your forearm with precision. “Wearing this…” He clicks his tongue, walking his fingers up your thigh and scoffing at your stifled giggles. “Miserable excuse of a skirt, and that blouse, oh dear,” he sighs, “it's awfully translucent, darling. Although…”

You're stuck between a rock and a hard place. Glass panes warming under your skin, Alastor practically sinking into your shadow, his lips hot against your exposed neck. “I've always been fond of you in red,” he murmurs. You shudder at the leathery sensation of his lips grazing your ear. “And you let everyone else have a look before I'd even had the chance.”

Your conscience, the tiny angel on your right, mutters something about the ethics of public exposure; redemption not found in wanton displays, the morality of getting fucked in the eyes of strangers. The devil, though, presses fluttering kisses along the length of your jaw; a perfectly silent siren's song promising more than the temptation of Heaven.

“Redemption is a fickle thing my dear! How are we to know where the line is drawn when every single sinner comes in so many shapes and sizes?” Alastor hovered over you in mock concern, jovial in his one-sided banter. “I suppose you could hazard a guess, but where's the fun in guessing for salvation when you could be reaping the guaranteed delights of Hell? Why gamble on a dream when your fantasies are right here?” He cupped your cheek. “Heaven may have its virtues… but it won't have me.”

You'd never been so scared, and you'd already been in Hell for weeks.

“Choose wisely,” he'd whispered. “You won't be able to take this back.”

Alastor can't fuck you against the pearly gates, so really, redemption’s pointless. You whimper, craning your neck to let the devil on your shoulder creep closer. The hand on your thigh slides closer to your panties, your breath hitching when a claw traces over the lacey detailing. Your voice eludes you, your lips delicately parted as if to wait for the protests that will never come.

“Now why would my precious thing make such a mindless decision, hm?” Fingers weave between locks of your hair with a slight tug. “You know I prefer having the first look, just as much as the last. Why deny me the pleasure, darling? We could have torn this off of you ages ago if you hadn't pranced off into the unknown. Look at you.” Alastor cradles your chin, letting you focus on your warped reflection. You own a mirror, for fuck's sake. Apparently you forgot how to use it. “You're begging for attention the moment you step outside.”

Outside feels like Death Valley plunging into a recently erupted volcano. He should be glad you're wearing anything at all. Not everyone grew up on the edge of a Louisiana bayou where humidity and heat went together like two codependent and enmeshed siblings from a fucked up family. Well, my dear, when I was a young lad, I had to walk fifteen miles uphill with nothing but the sweltering sun to keep me company on my way to the market. Shorts hadn't even been invented yet, and–

“Ah. Perhaps that's what you wanted all along. Attention.”

If he didn't have it before, he has it now. Your breath catches in your tightening throat as Alastor slips a hand under your shirt. Browsing, per se, aimlessly scraping his fingertips over your back, occasionally toying with the straps of your bra. Goosebumps pop to the surface, your body betraying any chance of a lie to insist that no, this wasn't for attention, it was for his attention and your comfort.

“Is that it? My devoted darling wants to be ogled by the masses?” Look at him, that obnoxious smirk stretched proudly over his face; lookin’ mighty punchable if it weren't for, y'know, the glass. You're trying so hard to avoid your own doe-eyed reflection– fuck, you really let him get to you. You close your eyes, but Alastor, true to form, is relentless in his pursuits. “Touched, perhaps?”

Touch me, your body screams, your core shaken at the debauched imagery flipping through your mind’s eye. Rough demon hands, silky sinner claws, promises of torment and torture as you're dragged away by a group of nobodies. A terrifying narrative outside of your imagination, but when you're copiloting Alastor's story… God, you need him to touch you.

“I'm truly the last to understand the thrill of the hunted, but you…” Alastor lightly tugs at the hem of your attention-seeking shirt. “You've thought about it,” he murmurs. “Dreamed of it.” You're too busy savoring the rush of cool air to yell at him for slicing up your top, expertly avoiding your skin with the traced promise to come back for blood if you misbehave. “The rush that comes with being sought after, the excitement of finding out just how far you can go until you're snatched up with nowhere to run…” Alastor pulls your hair back, skating another nail over the front of your neck and sealing your fate. “Poor darling… her legs aching, lungs ablaze, quivering at the mere thought of what happens when a new set of hands graze her skin.”

You gonna refute that? That's not what I wanted, you… Uh oh. Already out of insults. Can you hear that? The shattering of your ego as that lewd little moan squeaks past your lips? You're fogging up the glass, you know; Niffty won't be happy.

But you're gonna be high on endorphins and oxy, so eh, fuck the smudges. Let that heat blossom in your chest. Let it slink down closer to your core and pool in your panties. Let Alastor spin his twisted tale and regret not having a tape recorder nearby.

“Oh, darling… such a mindless and naive fantasy of yours. Imagining that anyone down here would follow your little script. The people out there won't hesitate to chew up and spit out a beautiful creature like yourself.” Alastor runs his hands over your silhouette as he takes advantage of the height difference, easily keeping you down with one leg between yours. “They'll beat you and bruise you in all the wrong ways. They'll break your bones and bleed you dry. They'll take everything they want without apology, without permission.”

Technically, Alastor has permission. You gave him a free pass to initiate whatever sort of physical touch he wants, citing the rarity of such an occasion and how willing you'd be to take him up on any offer. Kisses here and there, sometimes a hug from behind; there have been a couple nights where he's slipped into bed with you just to cuddle (according to him, you looked awfully cold, nothing more). Still, he slips in a short beat, busying himself with invisible doodles across your neck.

There's not a chance in Hell that you're gonna stop him.

“And despite everything, you keep those dreams alive, don't you, my dear?” Alastor slides down one of your bra straps. “You like to imagine the perfect group of sinners snatching you up and dragging you to a safe, secluded place. A trio, I presume?” The smirk in his voice rings true. “To fill you up in every possible way. And you'd kick and scream as if that isn't exactly what you want.”

Mental note: Ask Alastor if he has the capacity to read minds or peek into your dreams. The details are scarily uncanny.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” Alastor slips his hand back under your skirt, fingers fluttering over every edge and seam of your panties.

“You're…” Your breath shakes. You're an incredible liar on a good day. Alastor’s making today better than good. You're an awful liar on a great day. “You're wrong. I'm not that fucked in the head.” You're missing that signature slant of sass, and holy fuck, do you sound pathetic and small without it.

“Oh?” He grins, a finger sliding over your clothed slit. You stifle a gasp and immediately give yourself away, trying in vain to grind against his hand. “You know better than to lie to me.”

Rewarding bad behavior doesn't exactly send the right message, but you're not complaining. If he wants to rub your clit through your damp underwear, by all means, rub away. You bite back mewls and sighs, failing to hold still.

“You're picturing it now, aren't you, you twisted thing. Pinned to the wall by a brutishly gentle pair of hands, another lowlife pulling your hair…” You hear the slight dip in his voice, and the moment he drops the static and his tone, it occurs to you that you might have the slightest of voice kinks

“If you don't shut that whiny mouth of yours, we'll give you something to choke on.”

Jesus tapdancing Christ, anatomy is cruel. You can't wriggle your way onto his fingers. Each time your ass tries to back into his hips, he stops you with little effort and a smaller chuckle. If arousal could kill, you're nearing the apex; the emptiness hurts. The half-assed teasing isn't enough, and Alastor knows it.

“I've heard your fake cries before, my pet, and you'd give them exactly that. The weak thrashing, the passionless begging. They'd be gullible enough to fall for it, and you'd welcome them with your legs and mouth wide open.”

A gift from god - your god - descends from the stars. Finally, Alastor taps into what little good-natured spirit he has, tearing your panties with calculated hunger.

“Don't you want more of a challenge, darling?” He coos, plunging a lone finger into your slicked slit, his thumb finding purchase atop your swollen clit. “Where's the fun in playing games you'll always win?” Squeaks and moans try to penetrate your lips, one kept threaded between your teeth. You don't know what part of the hotel you're in, and if Alastor doesn't care about the stranger peering up through the window, he'll give even less of a fuck if any of the residents hear you. You care though. Kind of. You're still building your reputation, damn it.

“Unless, of course, you're that desperate to have each of your pretty holes filled all at once. Oh, how you wound me… I've provided you with such entertainment before. Am I not enough? Or are you simply that hungry for more than one cock at a time?”

Alastor plunges a hooked finger into your cunt, the sudden sensation biting at your lips and begging to be heard. To sing his praises. To ask for more. To reward him for all the wrong reasons.

“Imagine my rage. The way I'd stalk the streets in search of my sweetheart.”

“Fuck…!” You groan, grinding down on his explorative fingers.

"My sweetheart.” A second squirms in, casually reaching for your g-spot. “My darling.” A third, fuck, the stretch feels so good. “My precious pet.” Four bunched up fingers, almost enough to feel as thick as his dick, but god damn it, you want the real thing. “Only to find her sprawled on the ground like some pay-to-fuck whore, choking on one cock and getting fucked by two more.”

Nothing has ever sounded as beautiful as the clattering of Alastor's belt buckle.

“Called so many vile names - such a good slut, she likes it, see? You want to come on my dick, pretty lady? Ohhh, that's it, yes, scream for daddy, pretend someone will save you. We'll send you home with cum dripping down your legs, and you'll just want more, won't you?”

Dirty talk was not on the list of skills you'd written up for Alastor. Certainly not this flavor, at least. There's quite a difference between ‘ oh, sweet girl, you look beautiful when you gag on me, you know you can ask for more if you'd just behave and beg like a good girl should,’ and, ‘you want to be used, don't you, you sick little thing, you'd enjoy being passed around like some dumb little doll, having all that cum smeared over your face and thighs, just to have me put you in your place.’

You’re not complaining, even though he sounds furiously facetious and all but spits out each toxin-coated taunt.

“Oh, I would paint the walls with their blood. Defiling what's mine… they don't know how fragile you really are.”

You don't have porcelain bones or old man hips. Your body hasn't been deteriorating since the fucking Harding administration. You take papercuts like a champ. You aren't as weak as you look.

And you have no shame - your thoughts are just that. Garbled nonsense torn into scraps of coherence as Alastor swirls his thumb over your clit, your panties digging into your dampened skin. See, you have every reason to wear this outfit, it's fucking hot. You grin through a blissful grimace and let Alastor continue to believe he's your lord and savior, every complaint fizzling out on your dry lips.

“I’m the only one who knows how much you can take, when to test your limits, when to stop… it's why you've never asked me to. But with those creatures you like to imagine?” Your pussy quivers in time with his laughter. “You'd be an utter wreck by the time I arrive! Oh, how I'd loathe your cries of relief. Your tears are only precious when they're shed for me, and me alone. To find you violated and broken… Those wretched creatures would be my sloppiest work.”

Ah, romance really is dead. Died and went straight to Hell. Your heart would thump out of your throat if you didn’t just lock eyes with a disheveled sewer rat-looking sinner through the fogged window. He jumps when Alastor’s other hand connects with the glass, the panels vibrating with a sort of rage that only serves to make you that much hornier.

“Picture it, darling. The sheer anger, the vitriol, my laughter harmonizing with their anguished screams.” A low chuckle vibrates against your back as your head dips back into his collarbone, your mind falling victim to the heavy haze of fantasy and Alastor’s finger fucking. “How does it feel, knowing that I wouldn't just kill for you? That I'd sooner watch my standards plummet into the ground, just to keep you safe.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, guiding your gaze back to your captive audience.

“To keep what's mine,” he whispers, teasing his clothed erection against your ass, adding pressure to your swollen, begging clit.

Eloquence eludes you. “Oh god…”

“There's no god here, darling. Just me.”

Just Alastor. Him, your God; your sacrifices are the blood of fictional attackers, your hymnals nothing more than salacious moaning and the chants of ‘yes sir.’

Hallelujah, you’re about to come.

Alastor must feel you clenching around his fingers, because he’s already slowing down despite your groans of protest. A punishment, you figure, and most certainly not the fun kind. He coos and whines in mocking; aww, poor baby, my sweet darling didn’t get to come, oh, the humanity of it all! Yeah, he knows the teasing’s making it worse; he probably secretly loves the way you’re grinding against him in silent plea. Alas, he’s still as stone.

“I don't enjoy sharing, dearest.” A finger curls dangerously close to your g-spot, knees buckling at the mere thought of his merciful graze. “I don't enjoy the image of you moaning around someone's cock and coming on another’s.” Heat caresses your inner thighs, cooled in an instant by shadowy wisps frolicking over your bare, dampened skin. Fuck, what you wouldn't give to have one of those Eldritch tentacles slither through your slit right now. Alas, they do nothing but tease, winding up and around your thigh just enough for the whispers of a shadow to brush perfectly out of reach. “I find no joy in imagining you strewn out and begging them to stop.”

Okay, no sharing, got it! Your teeth bury into your tongue, stifling songs of depravity as your hips desperately try to angle closer to the goddamned snake-like tentacles, always perfectly out of reach. Slithering in peals of imaginary laughter, demanding you to beg and promising nothing in return. You try to press your thighs together to no avail, and just when you finally want to crack and cry out for mercy, your god answers you.

“Do you understand?” Alastor whispers into your neck.

Never in either life has a moan left you so breathless. Just one gloved finger to your clit, and your knees buckle, more of your glistening body hoisted up against the window for support.

“Those pretty words and beautiful faces are meant for me.”

Oh, the wicked irony. You're two seconds from babbling out a half-baked retort when his hand slips around your mouth. He knows you too well.

(When did that happen?)

“I share what's mine when I see fit, and you should know better than anyone that my generosity has its limits.” Alastor lands a kick to your ankle, just enough to shove your legs open wider, to grant him easy access; to put your arousal on display. Such generosity!

Through the haze of it all, you muster up the strength to crack open your eyes, lashes heavy with stray beads of sweat and tortured tears. God, you just wanna come already; the ache only grows, festering into a heat so unbearable you're damn near ready to challenge the Radio Demon to a 1v1 hand-to-hand match. Win, and you can finally find release; lose, and you're put out of your misery (assuming he'd knock you out).

But which situation allows for more permanent humiliation: Losing a doomed fight to an overlord, or losing yourself to said overlord in front of a startlingly large crowd just outside the hotel? A dozen nameless faces peer up at you, a haze of lust and shock blanketing each sinner as others double take and join the tranced fray. Alastor's rich, low laughter prickles through your ears and down your back, a sadistic sort of glee twisting his grin into a beacon of maleficent pride.

“Not a step closer,” he hisses. “They will never see all of you, nor will they ever touch you. This…”

Whoever made this glass should patent it ASAP. Alastor's teeth nip at the sensitive flesh of your neck, fraying every nerve and severing your connection to your body; you go limp into the squeaking, shaking, never breaking window. Rays of sunlight heat the glass, beating into your flushed skin as Alastor's own warmth grinds against your ass.

“...belongs to me.”

A taut, needy cry rasps through your dry throat as he drags another finger over your soaking wet slit. Your hips barely have a chance to respond before he's shoving you into the translucent barrier, a reminder that you're on stage, you need to behave now, lest you tarnish his dazzling reputation for being an absolute hardass. You grit your teeth as his same finger outlines your thigh with an insulting squeak; maybe, just maybe, there isn't enough fog for people to tell what's going on, and they don't know he's essentially playing forensic psychologist to your dead soul.

“My my,” Alastor drawls, “who did that, I wonder?”

“You.” You're ready to admit defeat. So many sinners randomly loitering outside the hotel is bound to rouse suspicion, and while you harbor an odd sense of trust that you wouldn't get kicked out over this, you do know you'll struggle to wear this badge with pride. There's a whole book about scarlet letters already, and you're not itching to write the modern day sequel. “You did, sir. I'm…” You swallow the lie - or is it your pride? - and groan in agonized arousal. “We should go.”

“Ohh, don't try and argue with me now. Not after all you've said you wanted!”

Whether adrenaline or sheer stupidity, your arms scramble for freedom, twisting and pulling despite the rapid streaks of pain shooting through your limbs. Alastor's claws burst through his gloves, razor sharp assets demanding stillness the moment they rest atop your bare skin, hairs all on end in reply.

The tentacles bound around your thighs squeeze and pull your legs further apart, and somehow, the air feels cool against your hot, slick skin. Your panting breaths fog the glass at your lips, forearms uselessly splayed above your head in surrender.

You won't fight him. Not when he's crackling and crunching in and out of his truest form, static blazing through your skull, green glow bouncing off the walls. You've seen him before, the full him, the entire radio demon; he might be your “hear me out,” but he's still absolutely fucking terrifying.

A normal radio demon arm wraps around your waist, the other hand cupping your chin, guiding you back to your audience. There's… more than twenty? Fuck, you're not in the right headspace to count, and Alastor's reflection serves as too much of a distraction from the others.

He wears possession beautifully, even in the throes of rage.

“Let them look, dearest.” The arm at your waist trails down, down, down, his half-clothed erection throbbing for attention against your ass. “I want them all to know who you belong to…” Two fingertips come knocking at your entrance, and whether you welcome the solicitors or not, they're coming in. Slowly, claws retracted, the side of his palm grinding into your swollen clit. “Show them what they'll never have,” his fingers dive into you, hooked beautifully towards the exactly right spot, “make them live in fear of so much as looking at you the wrong way.”

You can't handle much more. You've been on the edge of orgasm and the last wall now for far too long, gawked at, ogled, pointed at, the object of more than one thirsty imagination.

He's going to kill them, you know. Every single sinner down there watching you get finger fucked by the radio demon is going to die at the same hands being used to get you off. Alastor is going to fucking kill people for you, and he's the one who set them up.

The audacity of this old man to be so ridiculously sexy.

“This is mine. You're all mine. Every inch of your body, every moan, every twitch, they all belong to me.”

You can't even manage a nod. Your legs tremble, still plenty spread and held in place by his tentacles alone. Any and all words turn to jumbled mush as your orgasm builds, rising higher than you thought possible, the fire in your core hotter than a goddamned summer's day in Hell. You feel the thick, slick juices dripping down your thighs, and the amount of precum Alastor's left on your butt doesn't help matters. You want more of him. You are his; he should be yours.

You yell behind closed lips, whimpering, far too empty for your liking.

“Say it.” Alastor thrusts you against the window with his bodyweight. “Tell me who owns you. Tell them who they'll be answering to if they ever lay a hand on you. I want everyone to hear you scream my name. Mine, and mine alone.”

“Fuck, I-I'm gonna come, Alastor…!”

“Louder, dear.”

“I need your cock, Alastor, please!”

“Louder,” he seethes against your ear, sweat dripping from his forehead to yours. “I won't remind you again. Let them hear you, and you can have what you want.”

Falsettos everywhere cower in fear and envy. Alastor's name doesn't tumble from your lips, it fires out at railgun level speeds and doesn't show signs of stopping. And why would it? Why would you stop screaming his name at the top of your lungs? He just shoved his dick into you. You're full in mind, body, and soul; mostly pussy, but the others apply. You have the radio demon fully submerged in your cunt, the tip of his cock grazing against that lovely spongy spot that only sends you into the same sound-barrier shattering cry of his name. The pain when he rams into your cervix - something you detested when you were alive - dismantles something within you, and you crumble and come all over again.

“My name sounds so divine on your lips,” Alastor smirks into your neck, nipping less and less gently with every kiss and peck. “Such a beautiful voice, and all for me.”

Catching your breath feels like a dream lost on a shooting star. When he talks like that, like a goddamned suave and chivalrous gentleman from circa 1920-old, you lose yourself. Helpless, an immediate victim to the charm of questionable authenticity. Automatically, your muscles tense, cunt tight against his dick as the whispered praise nestles into your brain and down to your clit. You reach for this wrist, and he's quick, immediately tending to the pleading nub the moment your fingers graze his pulse.

Tears gather in your eyes, mourning all the lost orgasms that fell to his hand in the Great Pane Edging of 2024.

“Go on dear. Come for me again.”

No one needs to tell you twice. It almost hurts, each spasm steadfast and unyielding, and for a brief moment, your screams vanish. Voice lost to the vast ocean of silky arousal dousing his dick and your thighs, his deep laughter your only tether to the present.

“There you go… good girl…”

“Fuck,” you hiss, choking on air as a tiny orgasm splinters off from the ebb of lust. It dissipates just as quickly, as does your pride, because really? That's all it takes? One non-filtered, static-free murmur of the most overused title?

“I'm – oh God what the fuck?!” Your knee jerks upright, a spread of spiderweb cracks unfurling under your duress. Breaking you simply isn’t enough, apparently; Alastor craves chaos, paid out in flakes of glass and shards of what little you have left to offer. How he glosses his fingers over your used and abused clit fast enough to imitate literal vibrations bends your realm of understanding, but fuck it, you can’t care. Not when you’re squealing and moaning within an inch of your life, your hips bashing against his in your futile attempts to save yourself the embarrassment of dying via overstimulation. Strained cries tear through your throat, and Alastor takes the shortest of breaks not for you to catch your breath, but to flick glittering specks of glass from your thigh, because he’s a gentleman. You’ll bleed when he wants you to. “Fuck! Fuckkkk!! Ahh-Alastor?!”

“Oh, my dear,” he coos. “You didn't truly think I was finished with you, did you? No no no.” Alastor’s cock spasms inside you, a teasing twitch accompanied by a feathery shudder of a breath against your ear. “What sort of punishment would that be? Stopping now would only encourage such deviant behavior.” A familiar and deeply personal scent tickles the edges of your nose, the hand that once fed your greedy cunt now positioned at your lips, lazily drawing your mouth open with one slender finger. “Ah, there she is…” Alastor swallows his own songs of sin, exhaling slowly, ravishing your neck and still brilliantly massaging your clit as you suck and lick at his fingers.

“Go on,” he mutters against your rapidfire pulse, smirking against your flushed neck, “tell them how I make you feel.”

Hot, you wanna shout. Sheens of sweat and drool and copious amounts of your slick coat your skin in an iridescent glow, pearlescent tears drawn out by an overdose of feel-good chemicals and whatever else Alastor makes you feel. Words of finely wrapped praise done up in silks and leather tickle the back of your throat, washed away by the lewdly grotesque moans and screams stifled by his fingers on your tongue and your throat gone dry. Your limbs do the rest of the talking, a dazzling speech on Alastor's capabilities as a brutal and unforgiving menace of a lover, dominant ‘til the very end and beyond the finishing numbers.

Orgasms four and five split through your core almost back to back, a sixth fluttering out, limping behind as your vision starts to blur, your consciousness lost to a sea of unknown, nameless faces getting off to your obvious blissful torment.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” Alastor commands in what might be the most unsettlingly soft whisper you've heard fall from his lips. “You’re so beautifully pathetic when you're fighting to keep those pretty eyes open for me.”

“Too much…” You rasp against the battered window.

“It might feel like too much right now, but you'll miss it before long. Wishing you didn't feel so empty…” Alastor heaves a breathy laugh when you clench around his dick, refusing to let him slip out until he's used his cocksleeve to its fullest potential. You can handle a little more load, and he knows it; needs to exploit it, thrust his hips in painstakingly slow measures, loving the exhausted yelp you manage with every deep touch. “Daydreaming about having me, taking whatever I can get my hands on, calling you all those delightfully pretty names you pretend to hate.”

Not pretending. Your lips move, but you can't utter a sound. You can't argue. You're a fucked out mime with neuropathy at this point.

“One last look at them, dearest.” Alastor guides you by the chin, centering your gaze on the blurry crowd. “Remember them fondly,” he smirks. “They’re your victims, after all. Your very first, no less.”

You assume you're meant to feel disgusted. Turned off and grossed out on a moral level or something like that. But all you feel is warmth. Heat. It's hot. You melt into Alastor's arms, and manage a weary nod.

“And as long as you're mine,” he adds with one final thrust, bursting into you with a gravely, half-stifled growl, “they won't be the last.”

All this over an outfit you wore to beat the heat. Lesson learned: Get the Alastor seal of approval before you leave the hotel in anything that isn't a wetsuit or a parka. Or do, and get royally fucked for any passing sinner to see. Tough argument here to be made.

“If you'll excuse me moment, darling,” Alastor pats your head, “there's a quick errand I need to run, and time is of the essence!” Of course it is, and of course he looks like he just finished getting done up for the day. Not a hair out of place, no wrinkles in his clothes, and his belt’s already securely fastened around his slutty little waist. You’re a mess, but he’s got places to go and souls to reap, so you’re gonna have to deal for now. “Now go lie down and relax. Don’t get too comfortable though.”

You’re absolutely gonna fall asleep, but okay.

“You’re keeping every last drop of me inside of you until I return.”

But you were gonna sleep!

“Since I do prefer to keep my belongings orderly and safe, you know.”

You’re messy and shaky and exhausted beyond comprehension, and even still, the warmth cascading through your chest lights up just enough willpower to try and listen to him.

“And remind me again,” Alastor cups your cheek, “who is it you belong to?”

You. You have to mime it, your voice still an echo of its original state, but sliding your hand over his chest delivers the message just as well. You wonder, briefly, if he feels that same abstraction of warmth as you do right now. And if he does, is it because of you, or because he has a couple dozen souls to tear apart? Perhaps it doesn’t really matter, since he’s killing them for you. Right now, you are his, and what’s his is his alone. No one else will have it. No one else will have you. You will, however, be demanding that he shares his bed and all of its comfy accessories, himself included, because that sort of sharing is caring, and deep down, you get the feeling that he cares. A lot.

If the tormented screams from downstairs are any indication, then you just might be right. And if you can hear them from up here, they probably heard you too! Hell yeah! Alastor must be so proud. You sure are. You’ll question why later on; right now, you’re getting people killed, and that means Alastor cares. Passionately, violently, and all for you.

#alastor x reader #alastor/reader #alastor x you #alastor/you #alastor x y/n #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin fic #ao3 fic #myfics #reader insert #reader fic

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sailorsoons · 5 months ago

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SUMMARY: The Syndicates of Hyperion are at war. The Kim and Yong families have forged a fragile alliance against the long-reigning Choi Syndicate. But in a world ruled by shifting loyalties, ruthless ambition, and calculated betrayal, power changes hands as quickly as lives are lost. These are the stories of those caught in the deadly web of the Syndicate, where survival is never guaranteed. And victory comes at a price.

COLLECTION DETAILS: This collection contains individual fics with each member of SVT paired with a different reader that occur in the same universe/AU and timeline. Each story is a standalone, but three of them do have a connected/overarching plot. You do not need to read all of them to understand what's going on, and all of the fics can be read as standalone one shots.

RAITING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

COLLECTION WARNINGS: Criminal behavior, morally gray characters, murder, depictions of violence and murder, general violence associated with mafia/criminal activity, recreational drug sale and use, depictions and mentions of death, recreational drinking and drug use - each individual fic will be heavily tagged and warned appropriately.

MOODBOARDS: Soonyoung ▸ Hansol ▸ Chan ▸ Seungkwan ▸ Minghao ▸ Jeonghan ▸ Jihoon ▸ Mingyu / Wonwoo ▸ Seokmin ▸ Junhui ▸ Joshua ▸ Seungcheol

PLAYLISTS: Soonyoung ▸ Hansol ▸ Chan ▸ Seungkwan ▸ Minghao ▸ Jeonghan ▸ Jihoon ▸ Mingyu / Wonwoo ▸ Seokmin ▸ Junhui ▸ Joshua ▸ Seungcheol

NAVIGATE: MAIN M. LIST | ASK

HYPERION CITY POLICE DATABASE SERVER #192220 CHOI SYNDICATE FILES

A C C E S S P E N D I N G . . . G R A N T E D

DOWNLOADING BABY.exe . . . READ FILE

FILE NOTES: Soonyoung has been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.

DOWNLOADING VENGEANCE.exe . . . READ FILE

FILE NOTES: You always knew you were different from a young age. The only person who has ever been able to understand you is Vernon. When things take a turn for the Choi Syndicate, your long-term relationship is put to the test.

DOWNLOADING CHERRY SOURS.exe . . . READ FILE

FILE NOTES: Nothing in your life ever comes easy. Not family, not money, and certainly not jobs to pay the endless stack of bills. The only thing easy is the smiles you give Chan when he comes into your convenience store at the same time every Saturday to buy his cherry sours. And then one day you run into him where you're not supposed to, and everything changes.

DOWNLOADING STREET DEMON.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: You've been street racing since you could reach the pedal of a car - it's the only thing you've ever been good at. When a rival decides they're tired of losing to you, Seungkwan steps in to show he's more than just a street racer.

DOWNLOADING TIL DEATH.exe ... FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: As the heir to one of the most powerful businesses under the Choi Syndicate, you’ve always known your marriage would be arranged, not chosen. So when your family announces your engagement to Minghao, it comes as no shock. Minghao, however, is full of surprises, each one of them more deadly than the last.

DOWNLOADING OMEERTA.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: Omertà (n) /ˌōmerˈtä,ōˈmərdə/ - code of silence, honor, and conduct that emphasizes remaining silent when questioned by authorities or outsiders. After your brother's death, you break omertà and betray your family in the worst way possible to become Yoon Jeonghan's knife in the dark.

DOWNLOADING CORROSIVE.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: Trying to unravel the Syndicates that run the city isn't what Seokmin ever dreamed he'd be doing. Turns out he's good at it. At least until he meets you and everything he knows about the city's criminal empires is turned on its head.

DOWNLOADING KEROSINE.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: Jihoon knew growing up he would be expected to practice law like his mother, protecting the assets and the associates of the Choi Syndicate. He's had no problem doing that so far - until he gets you as a client.

DOWNLOADING BELONG.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: Most people don’t understand your relationship with Mingyu and Wonwoo. They don't need to. What they do need to understand is that the three of you belong to one another, and you'd do anything to keep it that way.

DOWNLOADING GIN & TONIC.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: There is little benefit to working the underground fighting ring that belongs to the Choi Syndicate besides good pay. Another one? Getting to watch Junhui in the cage most nights and serving him his gin and tonic after he wins.

DOWNLOADING DEAD TO ME.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: You and Joshua ended things on a terrible note and you haven't seen him since, doing your best to avoid him - that is until he comes to your untimely and most annoying rescue.

DOWNLOADING MENAGERIE.exe . . . FILE UNAVAILABLE

FILE NOTES: Choi Seungcheol has been struggling since he stepped into his father's role leading the family syndicate. Nothing has been easy, fighting a war against both known and unknown enemies. You're easy though, making all of his troubles float away. And then those troubles come knocking on your door.

#svt smut #svt fic #svt x you #mafia svt #hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #kwon soonyoung smut #kwon soonyoung fic #hoshi fic #sailorrhansol #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #i will add member tags as i post them so i stay in the relevant tags

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 8 months ago

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Bill Dickey SFW Alphabet

This is more so for the TV pilot version and not so much for the comic version. I LOVED it the moment i saw it and i’m so disappointed it was never picked up 😭 but at least we’re able to make our own content for it 🤷‍♀️

Please just remember that this is my interpretation, we can agree on some things and disagree on others, but that’s ok! If my interpretation isn’t for you then i encourage you to find content that works more for you and your interpretation. 💋

A- Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they like to show affection?)

- He is surprisingly more affectionate than some might think. Especially when he’s around the guys or other people in general. He likes being able to show you off like the precious gem you are. He considers you his most valuable collectible, though you have to tell him quite often to stop comparing you to objects. He likes to be able to have his hand on you at all times, wether it’s holding yours, around your waist, or placed gently onto your leg.

B- Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

- Absolutely terrible. It would go one of two ways: 1- He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from being the raging misogynist that he is, constantly questioning your knowledge of everything you interact with. You would barely be able to get any words into a conversation without him cutting you off. Or, 2- He’d be so invested in the fact that a girl wanted to spend time with him that he’d try way too hard to make himself seem like the perfect guy. Nonstop staring, especially at your chest or thighs, opening every door and pulling out every chair, but he would also try to keep any other guy from getting close to you. He’d even go as far as staring down the cashier at the movies for looking at you too long.

C- Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

- He loves getting to cuddle, but only when it’s just the two of you. He’ll show you off all he likes, but he only likes to cuddle when he knows you won’t be bothered. It’s something he wants to be able to enjoy for as long as possible, being held close by a hot girl is something he can only imagine, why would he want it to end?

D- Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, etc.)

- He wants to, but children are out of the question entirely. He’d absolutely love to get married one day, specifically so he can tell people he’s not only married, but he’s married to an absolute dime. However, he doesn’t want anything to do with children. He thinks they’re too messy, too loud, too much responsibility, and he’ll have to constantly keep watch of his collectibles around them.

E- Ending (If they had to break up with their partner how would they do it?)

- If he did ever break up with you, it would be an immediate regret. You’re quite literally the only girl who’s ever wanted him and he wants to make sure it stays that way.

F- Fiancé (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

- He absolutely wants to get married, just as long as it’s to you. If he had it his way, your first date would’ve been at a wedding chapel, but realistically he wouldn’t put a specific date on it. He wants to make sure you can live together comfortably first, or at least until you’re able to get out of your parents places.

G- Gentle (How gentle are they? Both physically and emotionally)

- Not as gentle as you’d like him to be, but he’s learning. When he gets angry, rarely ever at you, he just needs a minute to get all his anger out before he apologizes and tries to word it in a way where you’d be able to understand why he’s so pissed off that Josh insisted on borrowing one of his comics for a day longer than planned.

H- Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

- He enjoys getting them, especially when he’s pulled in tight and held close to your chest. He says it’s comforting, but you know the real reason why he enjoys it. When he hugs you he tries his hardest not to squeeze you too tight, but he’s just happy he’s able to get close enough to a girl to do it.

I- I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

- First day. You’d get through one date, converse over your shared interests, and as soon as you start yapping on and on about your favorite things he’s smitten. It feels nice to know that a girl, especially a hot girl, can be as obsessed with something as much as he is. When he says it for real he nearly cries when you say it back. He didn’t know that someone could find him likable enough to love.

J- Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

- Insanely jealous. It’s not to the point where it’s overbearing, but he will shoot dirty looks at cashiers if your transaction takes longer than normal or will immediately assume a guys normal common decency towards you is their attempt to take you away from him. He never blames you, it’s always the other guys who are trying to get you all for themselves.

K- Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

- Bill has absolutely no preference for when or where you want to kiss him. It’s only when he’s in front of his friends that he wants you to tone it down a little. He just doesn’t want them to use it for their own perverse imaginations. His kisses always start out gentle but he just can’t help himself with you sometimes. If his lips can reach it, you’ll get a kiss there.

L- Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

- Absolutely awful. He doesn’t like children, he finds them to be too annoying, and he can never see himself having any in the future. They’d want to get their grubby little hands all over his still boxed action figures and he’s never going to let that happen.

M- Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

- Surprisingly enough he does quite well in the morning. He has routines that does morning and night, though sometimes his ‘mornings’ are closer to 11 AM. On weekends he’ll lay in bed for a while, but other than that he’s up earlier than you for the most part. He just doesn’t want to wake you because he’s too busy focusing on the fact that there’s a girl asleep in his bed.

N- Night (How are nights spent with them?)

- He never goes to bed earlier than midnight, and that’s on a good day. How nights are usually spent in the basement with the guys doing their normal club things, but when he comes upstairs after they all leave he wants to get into bed with you as soon as possible. Most of the time you have to remind him to brush his teeth and take off his glasses before he gets into bed, but it’s only because he’s so eager to get you to lay with him and watch one of the Star Wars movies for the millionth time.

O- Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or do they open up slowly?)

- He’d be very open with the things that are easy to read about him. He’ll go on and on about his interests, telling you every minor detail about every one of them as if theres going to be a test about it as soon as the conversation is over. It would take about a month, give or take, before he actually starts telling you about his own personal life. He needed to make sure you weren’t dating him on a bet before he gets too comfortable.

P- Patience (How easily angered are they?)

- He’s angered pretty easily but it’s never at you. You know that he can get into heated arguments pretty often with the guys, you’re used to hearing them scream at one another every time they’re together, but if he ever yells at you it’s only when he’s relaying the arguments from earlier on.

Q- Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they mention every little detail in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

- He’d memorize everything about you like it’s his job. He can remember the most minute detail of a horror movie he saw once years ago and it’ll still come back to him like he watched it five minutes ago. He likes being able to know everything about you, especially when he sees how giddy you get when he remembers the little things. He sometimes has to keep himself from pointing things out when he’s with the guys and saying “(y/n) would like that!”

R- Remember (What is their favorite moment of your relationship?)

- When he first saw you. That moment replays in his head over and over again every time he thinks about you. Of course he gets some of the details mixed up, sometimes when he thinks about it he’ll imagine it as if you were a princess and he was a knight that was so captivated by your beauty, or an alien priestess who warped his mind to make him become obsessed with you. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

S- Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

- He’s not necessarily overprotective, but he’s definitely a little bit possessive, he does question a lot of the other guys that are around you. He says that since he knows how they think, he knows how they act, and he doesn’t like it when the other guys in the comic shops or the movie theaters imagine you in all the ways that he likes to. He never thinks you’re doing anything to intentionally make these guys want you, it’s not your fault that you’re an absolute smoke show. He likes to always be around, just in case someone tries something with you.

T- Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

- At first he wouldn’t be the absolute best at remembering things like that, he’s just not used to it. In order to remember better he keeps lists of everything important: your birthday, anniversary, and he even has things like your favorite color, movie, restaurant and order. He tries his hardest with the little money he has, but he’ll always pick up something for you whenever he sees you. Plus, he knows that whenever he gets you something, he’ll always get something in return.

U- Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

- A smaller list would be his good habits. He’s gotten better overtime, especially when you tell him he’s not getting any until he does what you say. And in those cases, he does it happily. If you tell him to shower, he does it. If you tell him to clean, he does it. It’s just a little more difficult to get him to do these things on its own. The most difficult thing about him is his constant need for new things for his various collections, though you were able to find a compromise when you agreed that every time he bought something, he had to get something for you too.

V- Vanity (How concerned are they with their appearance?)

- Not very, though when it comes to specific occasions he makes sure to really focus on himself and how he might be perceived. For the most part, he’ll shower at least two to three times a week, he doesn’t mind if his hair gets greasy but when it gets unruly it becomes a problem. His routines make sure he brushes his teeth at least once a day and he never leaves the house without making sure he doesn’t look a complete mess. He’ll rewear clothes until they either smell or have a noticeable stain, or if he runs out of clean clothes entirely.

W- Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

- Absolutely. He can’t imagine life before you, and any time he can recall times before then he was in misery. He still gets into physical fights with the guys, and he still goes out and causes disturbances in all his local spots, but now he gets to do all those things with a girlfriend. One who listens to him and cares about him, and it’s nice to know that even with all his flaws he’s still got you.

X- Xtra (A random headcanon for them)

- He wants you to sit in with the club so badly, and it’s not like you’ve never been around them before, but he knows that if you’re around them for an extended period of time he knows where their minds might wander. He’s shown you things like all the movies and games and books they talk about, but there’s no possible way he can have you be around the guys for more than an hour.

Y- Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

- Interestingly enough, he would hate having someone that does everything he says. He wouldn’t want to have someone listen to everything he says and does anything he asks. Though he’ll never admit it, he likes having someone challenge him and tell him what to do.

Z- Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

- He always needs something on when he sleeps, wether it’s a TV show or a movie, he needs something for background noise. It’s a lot easier to sleep with nothing on when you’re over, he says it’s because it’s comforting to have another person there, but even when you’re over he insists on putting on a movie to fall asleep to.

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #bill dickey #bill dickey x reader #bill dickey x yn #bill dickey x y/n #bill dickey x you #bill dickey headcanons #bill dickey fluff

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littlealienproducts · 1 year ago

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AI and PDF Crochet Patterns

AI generated images can be great for inspiring projects, but most of the time it's used online to generate revenue for scammers and the like.

Just scrolling through Etsy rn looking for crochet patterns, I've come across several listings (some with false 5 star reviews to boost engagement/trust) where the patterns and images are clearly AI generated and people, unfortunately, have fallen for the listings.

Some of the images might look totally obvious to you, but to the untrained eye they can be convincing.

SOOO, how do you spot AI crochet patterns?

Look at the stitches. Are there pieces that don't seem to stitch into one another? Are the lengths and sizes inconsistent? Some are more obvious than others, but AI fails to replicate consistent textures.

Lighting and saturation. AI images often are vibrant and cartoon-ish. Especially the eyes of projects - usually this is a pretty good giveaway. Additionally, is the image smooth? What's in the background? Does it make sense?

Limited photos on listing. Most legitimate shops are going to have multiple photos of the finished project on the listing - AI is fairly advanced, but not the best at recreating exact images. Does the listing only have one photo? Does it have multiple but with variants between projects (that are meant to be the same)? Are there any videos?

Is it even possible? This can be tricky if you are new to crochet, but as above, take a moment to look at the stitches and the overall shape of the project. Does it look plausable? Especially if they projects say 'no sew'. Additionally, if you have already purchased the pattern - does it tell you how much material you need, and does it make sense? Does it tell you crochet hook size?

Legit photo but AI generated pattern. Sometimes the images are real - but they've been stolen from another creators account and the scam shop has simply asked AI (such as ChatGPT) to write up a crochet pattern. These are less obvious at a glance, but most reputable shops will have social media, consistent themes of crochet projects and reviews with pictures of finished products uploaded by customers.

6. Ok, but what if they use AI but the reviews seem legit? Crochet Baby Duck - this is an AI generated picture and pattern, and while the shop has posted several pictures of the finished project it is clear that it does not match up with the AI generated duck pictured in the listing. The hat, feet, and bill are all different sizes and this is even noted in some of the customer reviews. While this isn't as scammy as straight up using AI generated images/patterns without showing how the finished project looks - it is still taking away from legitimate pattern makers. Being able to design and execute good patterns is a skill, and the prices of legitimate patterns often reflect this. Why does the shop even use AI pictures if they post the real life projects anyway? Cus it drives traffic, and lets be real - the real life plush dolls look no where near as good as the AI images.

This is the same as the walrus - AI generated image and pattern, this is even endoresed by Etsy so you cannot rely on 'Etsy picks' being legitimate as they choose profits over morals.

These patterns are not just limited to Etsy, they are often on Pinterest or websites for 'free' to generate traffic and collect data (asking for your e-mail for the free pattern). Such as this Peacock Crochet IRL figure by u/Echo-o_0 on Reddit.

This is not just limited to crochet, I've seen it in sewing, knitting, and any other PDF downloads that you can purchase or get for free. Unfortunately, it is a simple way for people to make a quick but and face little to no consequences as their store *might* get deleted and even then, they can just start a new one up.

#ai pdf #ai generated #ai generated patterns #scam alert #spotting scams online

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batboyblog · 7 months ago

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In the almost month since the election I’ve gone through so many emotions. I’ve felt hopelessly crushed, furious, overwhelmed, and just plain exhausted. I hate that this has happened, and that the orange shitstain is gonna put the most awful people in power. I’m not gonna lay down and die, but I’m just so tired of this. That man has slowly drained the hope out of this nation for the last ten years and I’m sick of it. I know this didn’t start with him, but he certainly emboldened blatant authoritarianism. I know every generation feels at some point the world is ending, but at this point it feels so difficult to try to have hope for the future. I believe we as a country can be better than this, but I’m not sure at the moment how we can get there.

I know the feeling, the tired part any ways.

in 2016 I was in the Hillary campaign and like we talked about HOW! bad Donald Trump could be, Hillary had a tweet "we can't trust a man who can be baited with a tweet with the nuclear codes" and for us inside the campaign we took all that very seriously for us it was not talk we meant it, we believed he was really dangerous, deeply corrupt possibly criminal already, and totally unqualified and unfit. And we said so, and no one took us seriously, I always remember a nice middle aged couple stopped at our office to get some signs they weren't from the state and were just passing through. But Democrats, supporters and I was trying to push them to maybe volunteer (as was my job) and I talked about how a Republican President (Ie Trump) could appoint up to 4 Supreme Court justices and they would surely do away with Roe V Wade. And They literally rolled their eyes at me and said "I know thats a good line but do you really believe that'd happen? they'd do away with Roe?" yes, yes we did.

So any ways I believed Trump 1.0 would be every bit as bad as it turned out to be, it was even on January 6th a little worse. So I went through the emotional roller coaster in 2016

2024 has been just sad, and tired.

But I do feel something growing in the guts of my soul, rage, pure burning rage. Someone once said that the thing that fuels every good activist is rage at the world for being imperfect. I don't know if thats right or true.

But it's whats getting me up in the morning, we offered hope, and kindness and a better world and they threw it back, well fuck 'em. This is my patch of dirt on god's good earth goddamn it and they can't fucking have it without a fight, I'm a miserable cockroach motherfucker, I will out fight them, out last them, and win and stand on the ashes of their fucking fascist dreams.

more to the point, I did feel like giving up, and saying "well they picked this, eyes wide open, now we all suffer, w/e" but I don't get to give up, Bill Clinton said "there are no permeant victories or defeats in politics" and he's right, this is the call and the cause, to struggle unendingly for the better world and if you're very lucky you live to see it turn a little and a new battle for the better of man kind than the one you spent your life on be engaged. For me personally, my nephew is trans, he's 17 looking at colleges, picking states that are safe for him. I don't have the power to protect him, I did EVERYthing in my power to stop this, because of him, and for him, I'll be out there again and again and again. I wish deals with the devil were real because I'd just go to hell so he could be safe and happy, but sadly only hard work and uncertain outcomes are real.

I have no easy answers, no clean hope of a better world or a better America about to be born from the bitter ashes of this election. Harvey Milk said "I know you cannot live on Hope alone, but without it life is not worth living" And the last 10 years, the forces of darkness have across all of society, wearing many different faces tried to take hope out of our souls, and its brought us here. My favorite speech is by Ann Richards and I quote the end a lot, but here I'll quote something she said way way back in 1988

This Republican Administration treats us as if we were pieces of a puzzle that can’t fit together. They've tried to put us into compartments and separate us from each other. Their political theory is “divide and conquer.” They’ve suggested time and time again that what is of interest to one group of Americans is not of interest to any one else. We’ve been isolated. We’ve been lumped into that sad phraseology called “special interests.” ------ No wonder we feel isolated and confused. We want answers and their answer is that "something is wrong with you." Well nothing's wrong with you. Nothing’s wrong with you that you can’t fix in November! We've been told -- We've been told that the interests of the South and the Southwest are not the same interests as the North and the Northeast. They pit one group against the other. They've divided this country and in our isolation we think government isn’t gonna help us, and we're alone in our feelings. We feel forgotten. Well, the fact is that we are not an isolated piece of their puzzle. We are one nation. We are the United States of America.

in the 2020s we're doing it to ourselves but its helping the cynical just as much. Each of us trapped on our phones in our own personal self made hell, well not self made, there are algorithms feeling you stories designed to make you feel like shit, because when you feel like shit you stay on-line, and keep doom scrolling. We're divided and our culture, the way we speak to each other it only makes us more divided, we're rubbery and inauthentic.

So I guess, you want hope, get out there and find something you believe in and fight for it, there's a local candidate near you I'm sure you can believe in, a ballot measure, a local group, something, and break the isolation we have to talk again because if we don't, well its already eaten us alive and we're trying to get out of the whale.

#political #politics #rambling #Democrats #american politics #us politics

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irawhiti · 2 years ago

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no tagging please lol

hey so uh. a little while back i was forced to leave where i lived for my own safety due to racist violence. i'm currently homeless living in an uninsulated caravan full of holes with my parents in the middle of nowhere (literally, it's over an hour to the nearest small town and 30 people live in an entire hour radius. i'm very remote.) with no electricity, water, or plumbing. we had a generator but it's been broken for several weeks now and we have EXTREMELY limited power because of it which means we have no heating at all. on top of that, since we have no heat or plumbing, if i want to take a shower i have to pay a minimum of $30 ish for petrol and the shower cost to get a lift into the nearest town and back. i can't really wash using a basin as often as i want to because of disabilities that are severely affected by cold and i'd have to wash out in the open in a field since we have no shed to wash in which is uhh... haha not ideal lol. as you can imagine. we don't really have any neighbours (they can still see us but they're not here right now) but it's extremely paranoia inducing. it also means i have to handwash all my clothes which has been causing issues with my disabilities too.

i hate to ask but could i please get some help to buy some warm clothes and bedding or something? several people on the block have contracted hypothermia in the past week and due to where we live we get hit with antarctic storms fairly frequently. i've been trying to stay positive but i'm honestly so fucking cold and getting increasingly malnourished, like i'm australian and all my clothes are only really good to keep warm if it's above like 15c/59f. it's also just very expensive just to exist here because it costs $40 in gas to get to the closest town we can actually buy groceries from + we need to buy and scavenge firewood wherever we find it because campfires are the only way we can heat up water or cook anything right now. i've been foraging and trapping invasive animals to supplement my diet but it's really not enough and i've been getting sick from malnourishment again. we also had e-coli in the household recently and three of us have gone into hospital (including myself) in the past month and i'm kind of at my limit. since we have no power i've had to pay a stupid amount for my phone bill and data also like everything is truly so fucking expensive.

pāypāl.me/hoodypet

please specify that it's for irawhiti, this is my friend's paypal. thank you so much if you can help me at all, i'm trying to take this shit in stride but i'm kind of absolutely fucked right now as much as i hate to admit it

#i hate doing this lmfao but uh. i'm not doing too well.#i don't even have a bed #i have some fabric on a base we made up but it's not a bed and it causes a lot of pain

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thisapplepielife · 6 months ago

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Written for @steddiesongfics.

You, Me & A Christmas Tree

December Prompt: You, Me And A Christmas Tree by The Steve Carlson Band | Word Count: 1725 | Rating: E | CW: Sexual Content, Blow Job, Grinding | Tags: Future Fic, Long Term Relationship, Park Ranger Eddie Finds His Perfect Tree, He Already Has His Perfect Partner in Steve

Inspiration song here on Spotify.

Eddie looks over at Steve, only lit by the glow of the dashboard lights. It's impulsive, leaving before dawn, hitting the road with Steve behind the wheel. It makes Eddie feel twenty-one and free, out on the road together. Falling in love. Starting this thing he plans to hold onto for life.

This morning, before the sun has even risen, they've hopped in the car to go get a tree at a farm up north in Tacoma that he's only heard of by word of mouth. It's thrilling.

"You sure you'll be okay cutting down a tree?" Steve asks, and that's a fair question. They could absolutely drive seven hours to this tree farm, only for Eddie to get cold feet looking at the gorgeous, living, breathing trees he's spent his life admiring and caring for, with pleasure.

He loves the trees.

"Maybe," Eddie admits.

"I'll take maybe," Steve answers, and Eddie smiles. It's not about the tree. It's about the adventure. He knows that, and so does Steve.

He can't do it.

They have a perfectly good artificial tree at home. He can't kill this one just to make their living room pretty for a month.

Eddie runs his hand along the needles of the tree, feeling them between his fingers, and leans in to get a good whiff of that earthy, pine scent.

"You can't do it, can you?" Steve asks, squeezing both of Eddie's shoulders from behind.

"No, but look how pretty they are," Eddie says, looking out over the rows and rows of trees. Park rangers take care of trees, trying to keep them alive for generations. They don't chop them down for sport, and he's just realized he's most definitely a tree-arian? Treean?

Whatever it's called, he's an advocate for trees, a friend of them.

"They are," Steve interrupts his train of thought, and Eddie looks back at the trees.

So, maybe they've just driven seven hours to admire trees. They live amongst the trees. A trek to see them isn't exactly necessary. But these are different trees than the ones in their backyard. Eddie's not mad they came all this way to see them, and he knows Steve well enough by now to know that he's not mad either.

A cheerful worker comes over, trying to help when he sees that they are just standing there, and Steve is honest, telling him that while they can't cut down a tree, that they are gorgeous.

The worker looks left, then right, like he might be preparing to offer them a drug deal, before dropping his voice to a whisper, "Sixteen miles north. Living trees. You get one, return it, and get it again next year as it grows."

Eddie's sure the smile that splits across his face is wide and bright.

Steve digs in his back pocket, getting out his wallet, fishing out a fifty dollar bill. A tip instead of bribe this time, but still offered up to get Eddie out of a tight spot, and Eddie is delighted.

Sixteen miles.

There are rows and rows of trees in pots, and Eddie wants one. He wants all of them. But he also recognizes that hauling a tree back and forth across state lines seven hours each way, twice each year, at Christmas, seems more than impractical. Eddie tells the owner that he's a park ranger, that he loves trees, that he has chosen to spend his whole life surrounded by them, and just couldn't cut one down. He tells him that he loves this new model. To keep the trees alive, growing, to be used for multiple years by the same family.

But he also explains that they just live too far away for this to be a realistic option. He's scared it'll be too hard on the tree being hauled back and forth that far, year after year.

He still loves the idea, though. Maybe there's an adopt-a-tree program? Like with whales or bears? He can have a tree, but not have the tree?

The owner takes pity on Eddie, and spends over an hour giving him all the trade secrets to keeping a potted tree alive year-round at home, and sells it to him outright for far less than the cost of renting it each year.

So, now they own a Christmas tree. It's small, maybe more like a Christmas bush this year, but it's a tree. It's gonna grow, and when it's too big for the house, Eddie thinks he'll transplant it into the yard. He knows people. They could do it.

And then they could have it for decades to come, and that delights Eddie.

Settling back into the car, Eddie smiles over at Steve, "Okay, sweetheart. It's just you, me and Christmas tree. Let's go home."

They only make it as far as Portland before Eddie hollers, "Stop, look there!"

Steve brakes gently. Eddie knows he's not surprised by Eddie shouting that he wants to stop somewhere along the road.

"Where am I looking?" Steve asks, awaiting further directions.

"Three o'clock," Eddie says, "Look at all those roses!"

Someone is selling garlands made of fresh roses at a roadside stand, and Eddie wants some for their brand new tree.

"Oh, so roses you can kill without remorse," Steve banters, but turns the car into the parking lot.

"Yep. Fuck them flowers," Eddie declares, teasing as he hops out, heading over to pick out several of the white ones.

He's never had a tree with roses on it before. Never even knew that was an option. He asks the vendor a thousand questions on how to keep it alive, and they are definitely gonna need a spray bottle to mist it.

Then they head south in their weighed down, sleighbound car.

At home, Eddie takes great care of the potted tree, and the rose garlands, following all the instructions. He's gonna keep them both alive if it's the last thing he does. Especially the tree. The garlands will only last a few weeks even if he does it all perfectly, but the tree? The tree could outlive him if he plays his cards right.

After everything is settled in, Eddie starts stripping his clothes. He needs a shower, and then he's gonna show Steve just how thankful he was for this impromptu adventure. Another in their ever-growing history.

They are made to be on the road together. It's where Eddie feels at home, a map in hand, Steve at his side, in search of adventure.

And trees.

Eddie finds Steve sprawled out on the bed dozing, and Eddie needs no other invitation. He slots his body on top of Steve's, pressing their lips together. When he pulls back, he says, up close and personal, looking into Steve's eyes, "Thanks for the adventure."

"You say when and where, and I'm always there," Steve answers, rubbing his hands up and down Eddie's bare skin. It's nowhere near cold in their house, but it makes Eddie shiver, nevertheless.

He's won the lottery several times over with Steve Harrington. He knows that.

And now he's gonna show him how grateful he is for that.

Eddie slides down Steve's body, settling between his thighs.

"Big plans, huh?" Steve asks, his voice trailing off into a giggle.

"The biggest," he banters back, cupping Steve's cock through his underwear, then moving the material aside so he can reach bare skin.

Eddie slides his mouth down, taking Steve all the way in, resting his open palm against Steve's hairy belly as he bobs his head.

"Jesus," Steve says, and Eddie smiles as best he can with Steve's dick in his mouth. That he can still be Steve's undoing all these years in, thrills him. He likes the power of it, it's more of a turn on than anything else.

Steve loves him.

And he loves Steve.

He wants to fuck him. He wants to suck his cock. He wants to ride him. No, he wants Steve to ride him. He wants Steve to settle across his thighs, and sink down, bottoming out, moving together in Steve's favorite position. Eddie wants to look into Steve's eyes and be that connected, always.

Eddie grinds against Steve's calf, working himself in the same rhythm as he's sliding up and down Steve's cock, mouth wide, Steve's hand in his hair. Petting, not guiding, just enjoying the ride.

There's no doubt Eddie's gonna get off on this alone, it's just whether or not he beats Steve to the punch. He better bring in the big guns.

He wraps his fist around the base of Steve's cock, and works his hand with his mouth in tandem, twisting upwards on every stroke.

That's all it takes. It's all it ever takes. Eddie can read him like an open book, and could get him off blindfolded. He wouldn't want to, he'd miss seeing Steve coming undone. But he could.

Steve tenses, his dick hardening further against Eddie's tongue, and Eddie is more than accustomed to what comes next: Steve, against his tongue, down his throat. Eddie keeps bobbing, keeps grinding, and finally Eddie comes against Steve's leg, not to mention surely on the comforter, as he swallows. Steve's definitely gonna have thoughts about him coming on the bedspread, but he couldn't help it. Steve in his mouth, the taste, the feel, is always irresistible.

He licks at the head of Steve's cock, and Steve jumps, oversensitive, but Eddie wants to get it all. Waste not, want not.

And he laughs at the thought.

"Laugh it up, you're doing the laundry," Steve says, but he's smiling, relaxed and rooted to the spot.

Eddie smiles and crawls back up Steve's body, settling in and letting Steve hold him close, as Eddie tucks his face into Steve's neck.

"I will. Later. Nap first," Eddie wheedles, and Steve nods against his cheek, wrapping his arms around Eddie tighter, pulling him into his body as close as possible. Eddie loves it. Loves him. Has loved him for fifteen years and a handful of change.

And he doesn't see that changing anytime soon.

"That tree is gonna outlive us, you know?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles against Steve's skin.

It definitely should, and when it does, it'll just be part of their love story.

Deeper than the holler, higher than the redwoods growing up on their hill.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics to follow along with the holiday song cheer! 🎵

Notes: This feels like it's at least loosely set in the Take the Money and Run universe. I didn't go back and re-read that fic to make sure everything fits, but them already living up in that corner of California felt like the most likely reason they'd ever be in Tacoma or Portland, lol.

And it's not a holiday song, but the last line is also a play on lyrics from the song "Deeper Than the Holler" by Randy Travis.

#steddiesongfics #holiday song prompt #stranger things #established steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #fic: take the money and run #thisapplepielife: steddiesongfics #thisapplepielife: short fic #christmas #christmas fic #holiday fic #steve x eddie

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nooneelsecomesclose17 · 15 days ago

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Just a little idea that came to me...I'm taking all medical knowledge from google so if anything is wrong, take it up with them.

It also goes against the grain to have John be this successful at punching him, but what the muses want, they get.

*****

Aaron barely heard his phone over the cacophony in the pub. He went out the back of the pub to answer, thankfully he'd not had much to drink so far so he was with it enough to listen.

"Is that Aaron Dingle."

"Who's this."

"I'm a nurse at Hotten General. I have you down as a emergency contact for a Robert Sugden." That stopped him in his tracks. He knew Robert had changed all his paperwork when they'd got married but he'd assumed that when he'd sent the divorce papers he would've changed it back again.

"What's he done?"

"Mr Sugden was brought in suffering from internal bleeding and is currently in surgery...would you be able to come in to be with him?"

"Um..." He shouldn't, he was going on honeymoon for christ's sake, but at the same time, just like on the bridge, he couldn't just ignore him. "Yeah. I'll be about an hour."

"He should be out of surgery by the time you arrive. Thank you Mr Dingle."

He sinks onto one of the benches as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He has no idea how he's going to explain this to John, not least to his mum, but Robert's hurt and when has he ever been able to stay away from him when he's hurt.

He doesn't go back into the pub, just runs down the village to fetch his car. He'll text everyone when he gets there, at least that way he'll delay the inevitable earache he's in for.

*****

A&E is heaving when he arrives and it's ages before he gets to the front of the queue, his phone burning a hole in his pocket. He wants to wait until he knows more before letting anyone know where he is but surely they've noticed his absence by now. He knows what they'll all think and they're partly right after all.

"Can I help?"

"Robert Sugden, I got a call." Thankfully he's directed to a ward quickly enough and then to his room.

He frowns when he sees PC Swirling outside the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Well I should've guessed you'd be turning up. Tell your husband when he wakes up that missing your probation meeting isn't the wisest decision in the world. And that he's lucky I'm not billing him for the mess in my car."

"What?"

"I'd barely even picked him up and he's throwing up blood in the back of my car. Made a right mess. Oh don't look so worried lad, he'll be right as rain in no time that one."

"Yeah, thanks." He really doesn't want to have a conversation with him so he pushes open the door to Robert's room and there he is. He looks pale against the white sheets.

"What are you doing here?" He hadn't even noticed he was awake.

"They called me. I'm still your next of kin apparently. What have you done to yourself?"

"Oh this was your husband's work I think you'll find." He groans as he tries to sit up and Aaron tries to help before sitting back down, ignoring the jibe at John. "He can punch I'll give him that."

"John did this?"

"Well no one else has punched me today! A few might've wanted to but he was the only one who got lucky enough." He doesn't want to believe it but then he remembers Robert being doubled over while he'd been concentrating on calming John down. "Anyway why did you come?"

"I told you, I'm still your next of kin."

"That only tells me how you know, not why you're here. Not three hours ago you rejected me and now you're by my bedside and if I'm right missing your wedding reception."

"I can go if you want."

"Did I say that? I'm just confused."

"Just because I chose him doesn't mean I don't still care about you. Now I know you're ok, I'll call Vic and she can come and be with you." He gets up, already searching for her number, ignoring the mountain of missed calls and texts he's received.

"Wait...Does he make you happy?" Aaron doesn't answer because yes he does, at least happpier than he's been in six years but if he tells Robert that it'll just hurt him and he'll end up admitting that no one has made him as happy as Robert and he doubts they ever will.

"I married him."

"You're avoiding the question. I only ask because he hasn't exactly made the best first impression on me. I mean, I know I can be difficult to like but putting me in hospital and dobbing me in to the police is a bit much."

"You what?"

"Oh he didn't tell you that, what a surprise. Your hero of a husband, and by the way the medals were a nice touch, was that bothered by me that he decided to get me out of the way one way or another."

"You're being ridiculous. How would he even know you'd missed your meeting?"

"Lucky guess? I don't know, but I could tell from Swirling's face. Maybe it'll all come out when they question him about this." He waves his hand at the equipment all around him. "Assault on your wedding day, nice."

"Why are you being like this?"

"I'm in hospital and when I'm lucky enough to leave here I'm going straight back to prison. What do you mean why am I being like this?"

"You interrupted our wedding! Did you expect him, or me for that matter, to welcome you with open arms?"

"Maybe not, but I didn't expect to end up on the operating table."

"Are you sure it was the punch? I mean did something happen in prison..." He can't miss the flinch but Robert schools his face quickly enough. "I'm not defending him, I just..."

His phone goes off again and he sighs, he'll have to answer or they'll end up calling the police and reporting him missing or something equally dramatic.

"What?"

"Aaron, love, where are you?" At least it's his mum and not John. He's not sure what he'd say to him right now. He's not sure what he's most angry about, him hitting Robert or reporting him. Either way he's not sure he could keep his temper.

"Um...I had to nip out."

"Where?" She knows, he can tell. Not the details but she knows it's to do with Robert. He glances at Robert and he's got that knowing smirk on his face, he knows her too well just like Aaron. "I knew it..."

"It's not like that. He's in hospital."

"Then call his sister! He's not your problem anymore!"

"He is when John's the one who put him here! I'll be back soon." He hangs up before she can say another word. "Don't say a word."

"I wouldn't. Nice to know she hasn't changed though." He stops smiling. "Is that the only reason you're still here?"

"What?"

"Because he did this? You worried I'll report him?"

"Well won't you? Be ideal for you, get him away from me."

"Knowing my luck he'd end up being my cell mate. No Aaron, it's my word against his because I can't see you, your mum or Vic backing me up. Maybe I deserved it."

"No. No you didn't. Look Rob..." He trails off because what can he say. The only thing Robert wants to here is that Aaron wants him back and he can't say that. He's just married John.

"It's ok. You gave me your answer didn't you. You should go, get back to your party before your mum calls out the navy or something. I'll tell them to change my emergency contact. I won't bother your anymore."

"It wasn't a bother." He doesn't want to leave. He knows he should, but he really doesn't know if he can.

"Yeah but I'm not your problem anymore. You should go."

"Are you...are you coming back to the village when you're out?"

"I don't know. Probably, got nowhere else to go really. Don't worry I won't cause trouble, for you anyway." He smiles, the little lopsided smile of his that always had Aaron slightly weak kneed. "I'm ok, promise."

"Yeah. Ok. I'll see you around then."

"Bye Aaron."

*****

Well that didn't quite turn out how I expected but hope you like it.

#robron fic #vix writes #idk what this is #but my brain said write #so i wrote

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 months ago

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All I Long For - Chapter 1 (Billy Russo x fem!reader)

So I recently joined The Punisher fandom and oops, now I'm obsessed with Billy. The idea for this series wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. A huge shout-out to @e-dubbc11 for their fantastic Billy fics and the encouragement to write my own!

One thing to note- in this fic, Billy never worked for Rawlings and Frank's family is alive.

Summary: You were there for the job only, just make it through the weekend and get paid. But it's never that easy or simple when Billy Russo shows up. When seeing him uncovers feelings you thought long buried, tainted by heartache. You just had to keep your head down and survive the weekend, then things could return to normal. Unless Billy had his way…

Words: 2400

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Staring up at the vast, brick mansion, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into.

This job had come highly recommended from your new neighbors, a lovely middle-aged couple who were kind enough to put in a good word for you with the business owner. Someone they apparently knew. Not long after, you found yourself working for a catering company after hastily moving to New York City. It was not the job you wanted but it paid the bills.

And it was those suffocating bills which were the only reason you were going to set foot into that mansion.

Not that you hated the job, per se. It certainly was not what you wanted to do with your life, nor what you got a college degree in; but your boss was fair and most of your coworkers were fine, so you refrained from complaining too much. The hours were detrimental for a social life but that was not why you moved to NYC. Most of the events you worked at were weddings or charity functions for fancy, rich people. Somewhere it was easy enough to blend into the background, to just be another faceless person. A fact you were content with.

Now you found yourself staring at a massive mansion just on the outskirts of NYC for a four-day weekend.

Two weeks ago, your boss called asking if you would be willing to work for a long weekend at an estate outside of the city. Some rich guy had rented out the place for him and his friends for a weekend away and he had hired the catering company to provide food. Of course, your boss mentioned that because of the extended hours, you could be getting far more than your regular rate. Apparently, the rich guy was very generous with his money for these sorts of events.

With those bills glaring at you, mocking you, how could you refuse?

So with trepidation tickling your spine and determination a helmet over your mind, you grabbed your suitcase from the back of the van you and some of your coworkers had piled into. Holding your head high, you walked into the estate, hoping the weekend would pass uneventfully.

If only you had known….

*****

“Holy shit, I can't believe we're actually here!” Beth squealed, standing by your side.

Currently, the small catering crew waited in the kitchen for the head chef to return, all while snooping around the space they would be spending the majority of their time over the long weekend.

The arrival of the rich man and his friends hung over everyone with barely concealed anticipation. The guests would arrive in several hours, due mid-afternoon on Friday, stay over the weekend and leave on Monday mid-morning. Which meant the catering crew arrived Friday late morning to settle in, get a layout for the estate and begin prep work.

The estate's manager was kind enough to give a tour, showing where the catering crew would be sleeping. Which turned out to be in the basement in several rooms set up like dorms to the disdain of particular persons. The special guests would be staying in the luxurious rooms on the upper floors. In addition, the estate boasted several rooms for the guests to wile away their time in. In a separate part of the basement was a large in-house movie theater, with an additional room set up with the latest gaming console and large TV, specifically ordered for this weekend. On the main floor was an indoor heated pool, hot tub and sauna. There was a massage room for the guests to book appointments, if desired. Near the lavish dining room was a space with a pool table, short bar set-up and tables with various card and board games.

Outdoors held a large terrace off the back, leading down to the greens of a golf course. On either side of the course were thick woods that went for acres to allow guests privacy from neighbors or paparazzi.

“It's beautiful.” You admitted, leaning back on the metal countertop. “I can't imagine how much this place costs to rent.”

Lana scoffed from down the line, adjusting her ponytail. “I bet this didn't even put a dent in his wealth. The man could burn money for fun.”

“He doesn't have to burn money to get his rocks off,” Ashley winked, then gave her shoulders a little shimmy, “he just needs to take me on a date. I'll show him such a good time, he'll beg to have me again.”

Lana laughed. “He never goes on a second date. Everyone knows that.”

“I never said nothin’ about a second date. He'll beg me to be in his bed every night!”

Beth smiled over at the two across the large island. “Play your cards right and you might get the chance this weekend. I know he didn't hire any kind of female entertainment so...”

“God, I hope so!” Lana groaned. “He's so hot it's unfair. I swear all he'd have to do is flash that big smile of his at me and my underwear will be soaked.”

Ashley hummed in agreement, running a finger absent-mindedly along her lower lip. “Mmmm…I'd get on my knees in a heartbeat for him. Hell, I bet he even tastes good.”

“Think he's a tits or ass man?”

Donovan walked past the four women carrying a crate of fruit. “Maybe I'll try and flirt my way into his bed.”

“What would your boyfriend say?!” Ashley chuckled.

He shrugged, setting the crate down along the counter. “Oh, we've already talked. Billy Russo would be a hall pass, for damn sure.”

At the name, static filled your ears. Any further conversation around you was muted by the buzzing in your mind. Fingers gripped the countertop painfully. Your heart raced, pounded within your chest as realization hit you like a sledgehammer.

“Beth…”

She glanced over at your near whisper. “Yeah? Hey, you okay there?”

“Who–” you licked your lips, forcing the words to come out of your suddenly parched throat, past the lump and turmoil building within you, “who hired us? Who's the rich guy coming?”

“Oh, didn't you hear? It's Mr Billy Russo. He's the CEO of Anvil…”

And there was that static again, threatening to drown your senses but you forced yourself to listen.

“...yeah, I guess he rented out the place for himself and some of his military buddies to come have a boys’ weekend or something like that.”

“Oh…okay. I–I'm gonna step outside for a minute. Excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, you hurried away, moving through the lower passages that were clearly meant for ‘the help’ and away from the main house.

It was not until you stepped outside, the warm, summer air filling your lungs that you felt like you could take a deep breath. Panic fogged up your mind, filling you with equal parts dread and curiosity. It had been years since you last saw Billy Russo in person. Selfishly, you wondered what he would think seeing you again. Just imagining seeing him had your heart fluttering, desperate to fulfill that childish wish. Yet accompanying that longing was the shards of pain and hurt always attached to his name now for you.

The conflicting emotions tore at you, eating away what contentment you held for the busy weekend. A rigidness zapped your muscles, making you tense as if ready to flee, to claim something had to come up and you needed to get back to the city. You knew Peter would understand, your boss was considerate, especially if you lied and said something happened with one of your grandparents. You could do it…

“Hey…you okay there?”

You looked over your shoulder at Beth, clearly having followed you out. “Yeah, yeah. Just…fine.”

“Yeah, I can smell the bullshit all over that.” She lazily walked over to stand next to you. You both stared out over the manicured lawn for a long moment before she spoke again. “Is it something about Russo? You seemed to panic when you heard his name.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the duality of hurt and hope creating a painful symphony in your chest. “I just– I didn't realize it was for him, you know? I don't know. It's stupid.”

“What? That he's walking sex on legs?”

You choked, not wanting that imagine in your head…even if you would never admit out loud how you knew already.

She laughed at your reaction, before nudging your elbow with hers. “What's it then?”

“Um, I just… I don't know. I guess I thought the party was gonna be a bunch of rich frat boys or something. Not…not Anvil and you know, military guys.”

“Will that be a problem? Do you need to leave?”

“No. It's fine.” You tried to say confidently but even to your own ears, your voice sounded strained. “I promise I'm okay. I was just caught off guard.”

She stared at you as if unsure whether to believe you or not before finally shrugging. “Okay, well say something if you need to leave. Shit, I thought you were about to pass out.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Ready to go back in? Peter is about to start passing out assignments.”

“Yeah.”

After taking a deep breath, allowing the summer air to swirl in your lungs once more, you followed Beth back to the large kitchen. Standing around and listening to the head chef, Peter, explain what everyone's role was for the weekend and how they had better not fuck it up, you tried to focus on the task at hand.

Your insecurities, your fears, crept along the edges of your mind, taunting you, but you dutifully ignored them.

The rational side of your mind repeated repetitively how you had a job here, tasks to do. You would barely have time to rest, let alone lounge around for Billy to notice you. Plus, it had been so long you doubted he would even recognize you. He would be spending time with his friends…not paying attention to you.

You knew how to be a wallflower, you knew how to blend into the background. This weekend, you hoped that was all you would be.

*****

It was hours later when you finally saw Billy.

You attempted to remain in the kitchen, picking up extra tasks to help out and finding every excuse not to leave, especially once Billy and his rowdy friends arrived. There were about twelve men total in their group and you knew feeding twelve ex-military men would mean a lot of food.

Unfortunately, your plan was thwarted when they needed help bringing plates out to the dining room and its several tables.

Girding your loins and silently praying for divine intervention, you kept your face down as you helped carry out a large tray lauded down with full plates. For the first night, Billy requested plated dinners instead of the typical buffet.

Smiling and flirting, Ashley passed out the plates on your tray, you just had to hold the tray steady. For a split second, you were immensely grateful for her more enthusiastic, outgoing personality, masking your poor attempts at subterfuge.

The atmosphere in the dining room was jovial with the men looking forward to the weekend. Riotous laughter and teasing conversations filled the air. A smile graced your lips as you listened to these battle-hardened men who currently sounded like boys off at summer camp, talking about what they wanted to do and making competitive bets.

It was then you happened to glance across the table as you readjusted the tray in your hands, only to freeze as a pair of dark onyx eyes stared straight at you.

Your mind blanked as you met his gaze, unable to read the emotion behind his eyes as they stared at you. You used to be able to know, you used to be able to read him with just a look…but that was years ago when you were both younger and different people.

Since the rise of Anvil and Billy‘s influence, you could not escape seeing pictures of him in tabloids or online of people lusting over him. Yet those pictures epically failed compared to him in the flesh. That jawline that begged to be traced with lips. Those dark eyes that pierced and entranced. Plush lips that were meant to be tasted and bitten. A lithe body that radiated raw power. There was something about Billy, a seductive magnetism that drew people around him, like he was the sun and people fell into his orbit and were unable or unwilling to escape.

He maintained keeping your gaze captive, unwilling to release you from the visual bondage. All the while, your mind was infuriatingly blank. Then after a long moment, you watched his eyes crinkle, those plush lips turn upward, that million dollar smile people swooned over…

…and your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening, as you easily read the joy in his beguiling eyes.

“Hey, can you grab the other tray, please?”

Ashley's question jolted you back to reality, like a bucket of ice water tossed over your head. A flush warmed your cheeks and you stuttered out some form of acceptable agreement before darting back towards the kitchen without looking back. Mentally, you scolded yourself for practically standing there ogling Billy in front of his friends. You wanted to die at the vivid reminder of how you lost all sense of poise in front of him, degraded to a simpering idiot. But mostly, you hated how seeing him only proved how even with a glance and a smile, he still made you yearn…

Thankfully, you were able to foist the job onto Donavan, who was happy to ogle handsome men. You fell back into step with the order and needs of the kitchen, trying to ignore the memory of those dark eyes watching you, of his breathtaking smile…

You shook the thoughts from your head. You just had to make it through the weekend, keep your head down and stay in the kitchen. He was here for his friends, not you. You just had to make it the four days without doing anything stupid. Then…then everything would return to normal. Then you would go back to NYC and to your new life. Once you were no longer in his line of sight, he would forget about you.

Again.

Thanks for reading!

#mz writes #mz edits #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher imagine #billy russo imagine #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x reader #billy russo #frank castle

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