Pronouns: Preferably She/Her but I don't mind if you refer to me with other pronouns
Age: 19
Languages: English & French, although I am more comfortable in English
Extra info: Self proclaimed secular and love witch
Interests
Music: I listen to a lot... to name genres I listen to a lot of black metal, death metal, melodeath, classical, gothic industrial, gothic EBM, IDM, aggrotech, punk, dark wave, post punk, goth in general, trip hop, raw rock, and much more that I forgot about. My favourite artists (in no specific order) are She Wants Revenge, Wesele, Nachtmahr, Children of Bodom, Moby, Aphex Twin, and more
Shows: American Horror story, Hannibal... and for now that's it, I don't enjoy watching shows that much
Movies: The love witch, dead poets society, napola/before the fall, Like minds, Nosferatu, Interview with a vampire, Secretary
Hobbies: Writing poetry, reading, drawing, playing the guitar, playing the drums, reading tarot, studying astronomy, making music
What to expect
Poetry
Rants
Movie reviews
Reblogs
Oneshots
Essays on quite literally anything
Spells
Disclaimers
I'm a secular witch, which in short means I don't implement deities or gods in my practice, I do not want to be preached to
I don't have a DNI since it's pointless to me, all sorts of freaks are welcome to my page
I am NOT comfortable with sending any sort of pictures of myself
My best friend is also on tumblr, check out her blog @brownblob
Manias
Blood
Sadism
Dacryphilia
Biting
Knives
Wax
Everything occult
Vampires
To end this off, I am open for moots and love talking to people, don't feel shy to send me any type of dm
Synopsis: How they react when inappropriate thoughts of you engulf them, the desire for you in bed not leaving them alone.
Part 1
TW: Very suggestive, implications of sex, impure thoughts, mentions of insecurities, mentions of guilt, (Fluffy but spicy)
Part 2 (Separate): Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia
ᥫ᭡. Vil Schoenheit ᥫ᭡.
Simply perfect. That is what Vil is in every way possible, isn't he? Not a blemish in sight with unwavering composure and confidence unmatched. Just a look from him would send someone into a coma for his sheer beauty in all forms is unmatched. In fact, just looking at him seems like an honor. All of that is true. Though there are times when even the fairest of them all crumbles in front of the beauty of his lover.
It's been along day for Vil, as it is most of the times. Managing classes with a celebrity's life isn't easy, especially not as a Housewarden. Not to mention, managing his beauty. The night is really only when he has time to unwind nowadays. His hands massage moisturizer and various other creams onto his spotless skin, hydrating it further. He tuts at himself, noticing an imperfection that no one else - even the most observant - would. His taste for excellence, his addiction for flawlessness takes a toll on him wheather he realizes it or not.
He's working away, slowly but surely - perfection cannot be rushed. It's only when he spots your reflection from the corner of the mirror that the thoughts appear. You're laying on his bed with a giddy smile, looking through a magazine - one of his new works. It's an endearing sight really. The way you're admiring him, it's different from the way others do - it's real. As if you don't have an ideal for him, as if he isn't perfect to you but simply someone who gets better with every taste. As if he's human, and that he doesn't have to be perfect. Even a fool could see how utterly in love you are with him. That does something to a man.
However, it's not only your face his brilliant eyes catch.
His observation moves from your expression to your figure. You're laying on your stomach, propped up on your elbows with your legs up and swinging leisurely. It's like you're teasing him, inviting him to take a bite of a deceivingly sweet fruit. It's as if you secretly know what you're doing.
Although he knows he shouldn't delude himself, after all you're only resting in your innocence. Unknowing of what he's concocting in his mine.
It's when you look up at him, smiling with big wholesome eyes fawning over his photo on the magazine does he approach you. You're really cheeky, praising him sincerely knowing how he begins to feel after. A stunning smile finds it's way to his gorgeous face, manicured hands caressing your hair.
You continue to blabber but all he can do is stare at your lips down to your neck. He's not one to act on impulse, especially such actions. But there are times when even he can't control himself and that only ever seems to happen around you.
He's powdery with the scent of elegance wafting around him, robe left open to invite you to him just as he's inching towards you. His violent eyes are unfocused looking at every part of you at once. It's hard to keep still and only listen to you talk when you're distracting him so. Quite odd when all you do in the moment is nothing - as if he's the one who's unable to resist temptation.
It's peculiar how he, the desire of many, is unable to satiate himself around you.
It irks him when you don't look his way when he's yearning for you, for your touch. To feel you embrace him, to let him consume you as you do the same. How is he to voice his thoughts when feeling like a chaste maiden? As if what he's thinking is wrong - he's not one to feel this way. He voices what he wants and how he wants it. So why can he not do so now?
It's in the way you move your hair showing your shoulder, the way your flimsy shorts seem to ride up as you move to face him properly. And the way you look at him, as if he's your world. What are you doing to him?
He can only lean into you, wanting to be yours for the night and every other night. His hands hold you gently, guiding you as you remain there in awe. His lips find yours, connecting in rhythmic movements. It's his invitation for you to cling to him.
It's one of the few times he lets his ugly side out, the part of him that's ravenous and selfish openly. The desire to bed you only gets stronger with every kiss, the synchronized waltz of your tongues.
It's his turn to make you depraved and beg - for you to feel even a morsel of what he's feeling. To see you arch and lose yourself in pleasure. To watch you bathe in his affection.
Tonight you can be the star of his show, in the comfort of his bedroom lights and vanity mirror.
ᥫ᭡. Idia Shroud ᥫ᭡.
It's not odd for Idia to be holed up in his room, his sanctuary away from normies and whatever they do. It's also not abnormal to find you holed up alongside him - knowing he doesn't feel comfortable leaving, you have no issue coming to him.
It's another day like that, as you lounge around in his room. He's gaming at the moment - fixated on winning the final level. You're simply scrolling and snacking, occasionally watching Idia's score. Meanwhile he's occasionally watching you, subtly just making sure you're there. He's not sure why he checks if you're still there, but it's comforting to see you there as if waiting for him. Wanting his company.
It's when he beats the level that he looks to you one final time, you're already looking at him. He's got that sharp-toothed grin on his face as haughty words spill from his mouth about his puny opponents.
And you're there, just looking at him and letting him ramble on and on. If this were any other time he'd become all shy and want to embrace you. But right now? It's something else.
You're all pretty and perfect, inviting him to sit next to you. It's a normal gesture between the two of you - cuddling and watching some anime together, maybe even playing a game. All you crave for is this innocent intimacy - but something's bubbling inside him, blurring his vision as he starts to notice at parts of you no one else should look at.
Why is it that he's so hot all over? His heart's thumping and all he can think about is why life doesn't have choices unlike video games. After all, how is he meant to react? What does he do?
Is it the fact that you're on his bed or maybe how you're sitting. You're on the edge, knees touching one another - yet he's looking right there, at your legs and then you all over. You're doing absolutely nothing and he just can't help look at you with the worse thoughts in his head. He feels horrible. He's already such an outcast and now he's simply proving why.
But he can't help but keeps his eyes on you, they simply won't leave. Then come the vivid pictures of you and him - and none of them are things he could voice. He should stop, maybe look away from you? That should help since looking at you on flares up his hair and stimulates parts of him. But before he knows it, you're approaching him and all he can think of is how good you'd look down on your-
His hair is tinged pink alongside his ghastly pale skin by the time you're in front of him, wrapping your hands around his neck only for him to jerk and flinch. He's all stuttering and hiding away - he can't blame you for teasing him.
You're gonna kill him someday and today might be that day with how you're taunting him. But even he has a limit. If you're able to voice what he hasn't, then you should be prepared for what you've started. You've allowed him to create a burrow in your heart and you've always stayed in his - so don't stop him now. Not when he's so desperate for you, not when you've lit the match.
You joke around about how flustered he is, and how you've been waiting all day long for him. Yet, you can't see how much he's writing in embarrassment, but then again - if you're provoking him, you must have a plan? The joke hits the target and no matter how lightly it was meant to be taken, it's the fuel that invites him right into your arms. It's a routinely played game at this point. You call and he bites the bait, only fro you the realize the weight of the consequence. How even the outwardly meek can become insistent and bold. How the flustered can make you all red and warm.
It starts with soft kisses peppered from your nape then to your jaw, hair flared bright pink the entire time - his heart's beating out of his chest but it feels so good. And when he finally kisses your lips, waiting for you to respond - that's when the dam breaks.
That small sign of permission was all he needed to guzzle up your very being.
Don't blame him anymore, because you've given him more than enough to act on for what he needs. And right now he so desperately needs you - weather that be you under him to devour or you above him to worship. Needless to say, by the end you'll be covered in more marks to count and both of you too shy to admit what just happened.
ᥫ᭡. Malleus Draconia ᥫ᭡.
Lonesome, that is how Malleus felt with the responsibility of being the future Monarch of Briar Valley. Being a fae, he wasn't accustomed to many social cues either that often left him unsure of what he did so wrong. People would run at the sight of him or flatter him with lies - still, there wasn't a single person who approached him with the desire to understand. He wasn't only powerful, he had interests too - he wasn't invincible as many thought. What was true on the exterior might not be the same on the interior - for all the little fae inside him wanted was a friend.
He was used to solitude and fear of people that it became normalcy. That was before you entered the picture. So utterly unafraid that it was foolish, so stupidly silly. At first he doubted you, only to realize that he couldn't be more wrong. You weren't sure who he was, you even called him a silly name - that bravery of yours cracked open a part of him he'd hidden for so long. The side of him that wanted company had finally recieved what he wanted in the form of his "Child of Man". It wasn't too much time before he'd given you all of him - from friend to lover, it was fate.
It's not easy to understand you, though he wouldn't trade anything else it. He truly finds happiness in deciphering you, what you mean by the things you say. It's not easy, but it brings him joy. Oh, and when you listen to him? He simply melts.
Though it isn't this smooth always, especially when he's not sure if he's hurting you. You're a first for him, and you're meant to be his last. You're his as he is yours. However, the sentiment alone doesn't make it simple - he doesn't want for you to feel scared. Not of him, never of him.
That is a reason for restraint, to keep his carnal yearning a secret - closed off and shut away in his mind. A part he's terrified that you'd fear if he were to let out fully. But there are times that even he cannot control the calling, where his shameless love simply seeps out.
It always creeps out during small interactions. When you're studying in his chambers, all quiet and focused. It's not what you're doing but how it's you doing it. You're simply existing, focused with your pretty eyes set on the book, as your hands scurry to write down notes.
And then you look up at him, offering him a smile. Maybe it's small to you but not to him. For you to be so fearless, they have repercussions in the form of affection.
Maybe it's how much smaller you are in stature or maybe strength, maybe it's how different you are - but those simple facts give him a rush. And then it's the manner in which your hair falls down, the manner in which you absentmindedly shove it behind your ear. The manner in which your lashes flutter and the silly expressions you make - one's he's left in awe looking at. How could someone be so lovely?
It would be so much better if it was only awe and endearment. But It isn't. It's something ugly, unruly, and beastly. Monstrous feelings gnaw at his heart when he looks at you. He wants to tear you apart and consume your heart, feel the beating from inside you.
Here you are presented to him, in his chambers. Do you really not know the implications? Then comes how you're sitting, so carelessly that he can see every curve and every slope of your figure. It's temptation wrapped in naivety.
He can only step towards you, catching your attention. Can you truly blame him for acting like this? For wanting to pin you down and make sweet love to you? To become one with you? To see how you'd struggle and whine when he teases?
It starts with a kiss before his tongue meshes with yours. He only wishes to monopolize you whole, leave you breathless and trembling. Simply trust him and let yourself go, it's alright.
If it's truly so wrong why do you ignite him so? You shan't play with fire, you must know. It's a given that you need to take responsibility for your actions, look at how feral you've made him. He can't wait much longer.
And when it's over he'll be sure to care for his lover who's sore all over, body covered in markings he'd been dying to carve - soft hues of red and purple scattered all over, blemishes left from suckling and nipping.
You'll melt into him as he melts into you, both becoming one.
Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!
Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!
Note 3: Here is part 2, hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm thinking of (maybe) doing this with the rest of the cast too, lmk your thoughts on that!!
Summary: As if you'd ever fall for Lane, yet you have. The realization dawns on you and with how Lane's acting he might also want more than just a fuck. Is it meant to be?
TW: Slightly suggestive, Lane being himself (a little sexist and an asshole), mainly fluff (?)
There's something wrong with you, you're sure of it. There's no way the thoughts you're having would be there to begin with if you were fine. After all, Lane is the last person who you would've thought would occupy your mind.
He's lazy, dumb, sexist, a fucking dick - he's Lane. He's not a knight in shining armor and he's certainly not one for romance. He'd rather lick the bathroom floor at Mad Dog than express his feelings. And despite all that, he's all you can think of. Day, night, evening, fuck it - even when you're sleeping. You've even begun checking your phone for messages from him, no matter how stupid.
It's worse when you're at shifts.
His inky black hair tousled as he downs yet another redbull, not even sparing you a glance as he swears at the Snake game he's playing. The way his smoky yet icy blue eyes narrow at the game as if it's rigged before catching your stare. You can't help but blush at how you've been caught, again, staring at him mid-shift. Fuck. He's a cunt, really, grinning from ear to ear with the sleaziest smirk you've ever seen. His eyes darken with amusement as he holds your gaze and you find yourself unable to look away. Not to mention, unable to say anything other than incoherent mumbles.
"No girl words left?"
He's cocky, a fucking asshole. He doesn't deserve half the thoughts you spend on him, yet you can't do anything. And he's right, you don't have any "girl words" left to say. You grumble before rolling your eyes, trying to save your dignity as you swipe the mop from next to him before heading out of the stockroom.
"What? Not gonna say anything?"
You hear his voice trailing after you and then footsteps, followed by shuffling. You only make it to the rusty old door, about to open it - only for him to grab your arm and twirl you around. It's almost romantic, like one of those cheesy rom-coms or dramas. Almost. And then you realize it's Lane, all arrogant and childish at the same fucking time. Needless to say any dreams of a perfect princess romance leave your body in an instant.
"Lane, unlike you I have work to do. Someone's gotta pull their weight here otherwise RJ's gonna eat us alive-"
"The shift can wait. There's no customers, it's another fucking storm outside."
You raise your brow at his words, shifting and pulling your arm from his grip - he's stronger than he lets on. Your mop lies on the floor long forgotten, and all you hear is the whirring of machines and the drip-drop of rain.
You wanna say something, tell him to fuck off - that he's lazy and doesn't deserve to waste your time. That even BB is better than him. But you can't, you don't. He shifts closer and you notice how much taller he is than you, then his breath and finally how he's caged you against the old door.
And suddenly everything feels hot.
"I bet biker boy doesn't make you blush like this. He can't."
The jealousy in his voice is evident, followed by a "Tch". It's as if he's saying "I'm better, I actually care". He eyes you up and down and you wanna brush him off, saying he's a pervert and that staring at a girls tits isn't cute or swoon-worthy. But he's not staring at your boobs. He's staring at you, your eyes.
"You're pretty, y'know? Really pretty."
He says while simultaneously leaning closer, hot breath fanning your ear. One hand falls on your face, caressing the line of your jaw.
"Lane, stop being a creep-"
"You'e not pulling away though.."
He's right, you're not. Shamelessly you're leaning into his touch. His lips curve into one of his lazy smiles, eyes sharp. His lips lazily graze your nape, as if he's peppering it with kisses.
"The store can wait. We can have another date, pretty. Just you and me and our stockroom. We've got everything we need."
It's only when he inches even closer, a little more and he'd be kissing you, that you tilt your head to the side despite how your heart tells you not to.
"Lane...stop being stupid."
"I'm not, but if you want me to stop.."
There's silence between the two of you, neither want the moment to end - one's too shy while the other's too shameless. Neither knows if the feelings are real. One's scared of being played and the other's scared of being tossed aside. But both of them want it, the moment to last longer.
He moves away from you, his fingers brushing your cheek a moment longer than necessary. You miss the heat immediately, but you're relieved. You're not sure what the both of you are. You're not sure what he wants. You don't want just a fling, you don't want it to mean nothing so you shy away - he says he loves you randomly, you're not sure how much you trust it. You're not sure how much you trust yourself.
You stay in the same spot for a beat before bending down to pick up the mop and go along on your merry way.
He whistles. Actually fucking wolf whistles.
"Nice ass."
And here you were overthinking weather he actually cared. You laugh at yourself for the silly thought before walking out of the room without engaging with him.
Lane watches the door close behind you, the sound of your softer footsteps slowly fading. He settles back down on a carton of who knows what, opening up the game he was playing. Yet, he can't focus.
Somedays you're the only thing that he knows, the only thing that's warm. He can't look away from you, not when you call him dumb and not when you're flustered. He knows he's not the "perfect man", he doesn't wanna be all that. No one's worth all that effort, not after his ex fucked him over.
But then there's you. He wants to try for you. He wants to be dependable, he wants to be more than your dumb co-worker with unfunny jokes. He wants you under him. He wants you beside him, listening to all that he has to say and all that he won't admit. He wants you on him, cupping his face. He wants to melt into you.
He wants to give it a chance and then keep you forever. He wants to feel the bite of your words when you scold him, if only to make him feel alive. He wants you to comfort him like a toddler, if only to feel like someone cares. He wants it all but he's scared - scared of getting attached and you leaving, scared of hurting you in the process of his own dilemma, scared that you won't speak to him again.
And he knows what's going on. The word itches the back of his throat, refusing to come out - "love".
He hates this fluffy feeling because he knows exactly what it is. He knows how vulnerable it can make him. It's one thing to fuck you, not that he has, and another to want it to mean something. It's one thing to say he loves you and another to actually follow suit - because he is. He's drowning in his own cowardice, drowning in the fact that you shy away.
His hands brush through his hair, the space in the stockroom feeling cramped, his leg tapping the floor again and again.
It's not long before he too walks out, his eyes settling on you mopping the floor. He can't help but smile then look away, only to look back at you. He wants to make a crude comment, maybe to push you away so you don't even think about falling for him. He can't afford to lose something he wants so badly, so it's better to not try at all.
But his mouth betrays him and he starts a conversation anyway.
"Whoa there Cinderella, you're gonna make me feel mean for not doing shit."
He says from behind the counter, catching your attention as you slowly turn around. The store is bare, not a single soul other than you and him. With how shit the weather is outside you doubt any customer will drop by.
"Yeah? Well you can try to help. Yapping isn't gonna clean the floors."
Your tone starts off irritated before you let out a sigh, knowing he won't do shit. And he proves you wrong once more because all of a sudden he's next to you, grabbing the mop from your hand.
"Yeah? You sure?"
You're silent, a frown on your lips - you don't even want him to do anything because you know he's doing it to be closer to you. You're not sure why and you don't wanna know. The fear of being pushed aside gnaws at you. What if it's not meant to be?
"Lane, mopping the already-mopped-floors isn't gonna do shit."
You words ring through the empty store as you reach for the mop, only for him to pull it further back. It's then that you notice how you're losing balance and hitting his chest. Maybe you're living in a rom-com, that's the only explanation. That, or the small puddle of soapy water underneath you. Maybe mopping a bit more would help.
"Thought I told you not to fall for me? Guess it's that hard when I'm in front of you."
He says, his hand grabbing your waist and stabilizing you. He looks in your eyes, his won expression as empty as usual before his eyes land on your lips.
"Still not gonna kiss me? You prefer that biker bitch, is that it?"
He's so rude but you can't help but laugh a little at his pettiness. You're not sure what comes over you when the next words leave your lips.
"you sure you could handle just kissing me? Once you do, there's no going back."
Now it's your turn to watch how a rosy blush blooms on his face, baby blue eyes widening when you hand slides down his hard chest in slow circles.
Maybe you're just two fools in love. As fate calls its, so it willbe. There's only so much flirting left till you end up in his bed and arms. It's guaranteed that when you do, he's not letting go.
You'll be his Cinderella then and he your..not prince charming for sure. Just Lane. He'll stay the same old Lane. That's just how he is, but now with a second piece. His own version of a soulmate, a lover.
Just lane and his girl.
Note: Lane is NOT my character but one from the AMAZING GAME "Big Bad Dogs" by @where-spar0w-barks. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS GAME, I AM OBSESSED!!!
Note 2: If any one has any ideas/requests please feel free to let me know! I really wanna write more bbd fics but I need the ideas!!
Note 3: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!
