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brighttears · 10 months

Note

heyy bright 😁 so i’ve been realizing that i think most of your fics are Jackson/ after QZ joel (correct me if i’m wrong though, this is just what i think i’m noticing) and i’m wondering what are your thoughts on QZ Joel? would you ever write for him? (^з^)-☆

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description except female sex organs and having hair, no use of y/n

Word count: 9.7k

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), unprotected PiV, dirty talk, pet names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart, angel, good girl), creampie, Joel has a big ol weiner, drinking, mention of violence, blood, mention of prostitution (does not occur, has not occurred in the past), smoking (cigar, cigs briefly), sad!Joel for a minute but happy ending :), Tess doesn’t exist (sorry Tess)

A/n: you are right i’ve been noticing that i lean too much on Jackson so thank u for this request and i’m gonna try not to do that. had no intention of this being this long it just kind of happened lol. i know i didn't explicitly answer your question but i hope this explains some? idk this just came out of me so here it is i hope you enjoy !!!

—

Boston is ugly. It’s impossible to breathe a clean breath, impossible to get clean. Joel’s lungs are black and he doesn't smile. He may sleep, but he gets no rest, and you can see it easily in his eyes. The QZ is full of sickness—lying, cheating, stealing, there's no honor here. It's impossible not to have some of it rub off on you. It's almost impossible to see anything past it. Almost.

The first time Joel saw you he felt like a rat stepping onto a glue trap. He hadn’t realized he had stopped to stare until someone bumped into his shoulder, taking him back into the bustling street, and then you’d disappeared and he honestly wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen that beautiful girl or not. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, dropping dreams or ghosts down just to make things interesting. He mostly shook it off. Still, only half believing that you were even real, he’d catch himself scanning around, looking for you out in the streets. And then he saw you again, and again, minding your business somewhere across the street, painting over Firefly logos while under guard’s watch—never somewhere that he could get to. Every time he saw you felt like taking a hit of you, and he always wanted more. Whenever he found himself with too little to do, he’d set out, treating Boston like a maze to find you, slipping around booths and through speakeasies and alleys. Despite how packed Boston is, goddamn, you were hard to find. He was aware that it wasn’t… normal behavior, but that’s as far as he got in caring about that. It was a frustrating hobby, though, like an itch he couldn't scratch, because he didn’t understand what he was feeling, or what he wanted, or who the fuck you thought you were, doing this to him, or how he was going to get himself out of this one. He had to interrogate himself to figure out that what he wanted was for you to need him.

He wanted you to be with him, never leave his side, never want to leave, and he’d be so good to you, he’d be the knight to your queen. You had him bad, you were driving him crazy.

You had burrowed your way into his head. It was nice to have something to daydream about, though—your smile, a smile that he gave you, that’d be for him. He’d daydream about you dancing, you’d be twirling with your eyes closed, arms out, all lit up in orange light like evening sun but holier, and he’d reach out and your fingers would brush his and you’d smile with your eyes closed because you wouldn’t have to open them to know that it’s him. And then he’d spin you into his arms, wrap you up, hold you safe. He’d daydream about his hands on your stomach, holding your back against him, your hair on his face. He would dream about you taking his face in your hands, kissing him, loving him, fucking him. He imagined your voice—put together from small bites of ‘overheard’ conversations—telling him you’re his.

They used to make rings for this shit. Now all you’ve got is metaphors and sex. What a world to love in.

The problem with all of this, however, is that he wanted to know you already. Joel doesn’t know how to develop this kind of relationship, with anyone, actually, and he cringed at the idea of actually trying to do it. If he did even end up finding you, what the fuck was he supposed to say? He genuinely could not come up with an answer. So, thank god for Robert—never thought he’d be saying that, but on this day only, thank god for his cheap, dumbass tricks, and Joel’s dumbass for agreeing to trade with him, and being ripped off again, because that’s how you met.

Being the coward he is, Robert had sent a third party to meet with you and him—apparently buying the same product—that somehow thought you wouldn’t check the goods, and then you spent the whole day together hunting that fucker down. You were the one who threw the first punch once you found him, and Joel liked that because he didn’t feel bad for hitting him, too. And then you got your ration cards back, and you came home with him.

In just those few hours, a bond had formed, and all those days he’d spent looking for you fell away. Cliches were clicking in his head. He offered you his smuggled jungle juice and somewhere to clean off your bloody fist.

Now, you’re here in his apartment, the door swinging softly shut behind you. Joel stands frozen across the room from you, a knee sticking out, unsure if you can feel the rope of tension between you or if it’s just him. He wants you here and it makes him uncomfortable. Mind blank and swimming at the same time, he’s not sure what to say. When he does, he can’t find the correct conduct, weakly and awkwardly jutting his chin out in a sort of nod. Finding himself unable to speak softly, his cadence is a mess that rolls through almost incoherently. He can’t believe how silly the sentence that came out of him is:

“Have you been lookin’ for me as hard as I’ve been lookin’ for you?”

You shift your weight. “Maybe.”

Joel barely ever has company. To be frank, the few times he’s had women over, it’s been for sex, and the longest they stay is if they fall asleep, and they’re almost always up and gone before he wakes. So, here is a beautiful woman in his apartment, and he wants you, so his first instinct is to get you in bed. That doesn’t feel right though—not because he doesn’t want to fuck you, but because he wants more than that. He doesn’t want a one night stand. He wants to savor you. He wants to know you. He wants you to stay.

The unfamiliarity and lack of clarity of what to do here frightens him.

“So you got a rag I can stain?” You break the silence for him, holding your hand to massage your palm with your thumb.

“Yeah, uh,” Joel walks into the kitchen, flicking his eyes around. He knows what rag you can use but he forgot that it might be too embarrassing to bring out. There are not many options though, he can’t let you use the one clean rag he does have.

“If you can’t find one it’s alright, I can use my shirt, I just need the sink.”

Joel turns to you, taken off guard, but catches telling details when he looks you up and down. Your jeans are dark so you can’t immediately see that there are brown stains around the ripped knees, and lines of more old blood are swiped over the side of your thigh, which he knows come from wiping off a blade. Realizing that you do in fact live in the same world as him, Joel opens a crooked drawer and pulls out a rag that used to be white but is now mostly brown with dried blood. Without looking at you, he wets the somewhat stiff cloth in the sink and hands it to you.

You barely pause, taking it casually. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He mumbles, hiking up his jeans and trying to covertly watch you wipe away at your hand. A large part of him wants to take your hand in his, wipe and dab at it himself, make sure it’s clean, and then bandage it, slowly and carefully. He wants to take care of you, show you gentleness and kindness, but, no matter how much he wants to be soft and personal, to connect, he seems unable to actually act on it. His face flashes in self depreciation before he instead goes to the floorboards in his bedroom, fishing around for that drink he promised you.

A smile spreads over your face as he emerges back with the bottle and Joel almost stops dead in his tracks at it, at him, because of him. Well, because of alcohol, but he was the one providing it, at least.

He trades you the bottle for the rag and you waterfall it while he scrubs drying blood from between his fingers. Your face twists up as you swallow and you laugh.

While he watches yours, Joel can feel his lip curling up and he asks, “What’s that for?”

“This shit is pure. I’m used to it being watered down.”

“Oh, yeah. Got that from Robert, actually.” He tells you, motioning towards it. “One of the only times he’s been useful.”

“What are the other times?” You stay smiling.

Joel mindlessly circles the rough cloth over top his hand and looks down when he answers, “Well, today.” Because he brought me to you. These half–admittances are escapees, like his brain can’t help but be truthful with you. No matter how much one side screams ‘danger’ at the other, he needs to do something to make an attachment, he needs you to know that he wants you around, he can’t let you slip away. He can’t get himself to say that last part, though.

You hum and hold the bottle out to him. He swipes the rag over his hand one last time, then tosses it onto the table and takes the bottle, wishing you’d let your lips around it so he could get a taste of you without taking any risks.

Risks. What is he willing to do for this? For this feeling? How far is he willing to be taken with it? He can barely grasp the ideas behind it. It’s familiar, but what is it? How much does he care about its definition? He swigs.

“Have you traded with Robert a lot?”

Joel nods as he swallows with a grimace, then elaborates, “You could say that. More like been ripped off by ‘im a lot.”

“So you’re a chump?” You smirk.

Joel halfheartedly glares at you and you only smirk further. “No. Just desperate. Not a lot of options.” He passes the bottle.

“So you’re the kind of guy who takes what he can get.” You say before raising it, to your lips now.

He almost chuckles, watching your mouth, “I didn’ take shit, remember?”

You shrug and hand him back the bottle. “So what are you gonna do with all those ration cards now?”

Joel focuses on being able to tell what of what he’s tasting is the alcohol and what is you. He licks his lips after he swallows. “Don’t know yet… What’re you gonna do?”

“I was thinking about buying a really expensive coat. Like a mink's fur coat.” Joel gives you a look like he’s not completely sure if you’re being serious or not. “I’m kidding. I’m getting fucking food. I’ve been skipping a meal a day for the last two weeks saving up for what we didn’t get.”

As he hands you the bottle again, the thought of that pangs Joel’s chest. If you stay with me, you’ll never have to do that again. I can provide for you. “I have food.”

You stare at him as you lift the bottle to your lips, and after you swallow, say “I’m not asking for your food.” Your face is straight and voice bristled.

“No, I know,” Joel stammers, “I was just offerin’—”

“I don’t want your food.” You shove the bottle at his chest and cross your arms once he takes it, leaning back a foot.

An offer like that is no longer simple friendliness, but Joel didn’t think about that before he spoke. Intentions mean less than jack shit and social rules are more like laws to live by these days; you probably think he’s trying to bargain for sex. “I’m sorry,” Joel closes his eyes and shakes his head, “that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, ok, well, thanks for the drink, I’ll see you around.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry,” he reaches out for your arm, and even though he lets go as soon as he closes his hand around it, it’s enough to scare you away entirely and you rush out of his apartment without looking back, slamming the door shut behind you. He jerks it right back open, holding himself in the doorway with another “Wait,” as he watches you barrel down the hallway and disappear down the stairs. “Fuck.” He whispers. Joel retreats back into his apartment and slams the door behind him, stopping just inside to rub his hand over his forehead. It’s a fair reaction on your part, he just happened to be the 1% of people to make a move like that not intending to harm you.

This is the exact opposite of what he was going for. His hand slaps to his side as he lets it fall.

As Joel’s eyes wander over the table, he catches something in his peripheral, and spots two ration cards. They’re not his, they must have fallen out of your pocket.

Like a shot, Joel snatches them up and is out the door, bounding down the steps and throwing himself out through the front door. He skids to a stop just outside, turning left and right until he spots you still making haste away from his place. “Wait!” He calls out again as he weaves through the street toward you. When you stop and turn to him his hand shoots up, showing you the cards.

You shoot daggers and as soon as he’s in front of you, bark, “I’m not a fucking prostitute. I’m not gonna fuck you for food.”

“No, no, count your cards, these aren’t mine, they’re yours. I swear.”

Still glaring, you pull the stack out of your back pocket and flip through them. When you finish, you bite the inside of your cheek, shove them into your pants instead of your pocket, and hold your hand out for your missing two. You’re staring him straight in the eyes as he hands them over and you add them to the rest, and then your expression softens. Joel takes this opportunity to try to have you give him another chance.

“I swear, I didn’t mean any a that like that. I know how it sounded, I wasn’t thinkin’. I’m not lookin’ for anythin’ like that. I swear.”

You chew on your lip for a moment. “Okay. Fine.” You blink and pull at your waistband.

Joel takes a deep breath, but his relief is short lived. Shit. Now what? I can’t ask her to ‘come back to my place’, and if I ask to walk her home she’ll probably think the same fucking thing. Joel is not used to trying to gain someone's trust. What would convince him? No answer comes.

Gravel shifts under your foot as you turn more towards him, resting a hand on your hip and cocking your head. Suddenly, Joel feels pressure under your gaze and readjusts his posture, straightening, but struggles with his gaze. The interaction is one of assessing dominance—more of you checking his. Joel grinds his jaw with his eyes focused down on the hand on your hip. This goes against instinct, which would be to puff out his chest, cross his arms, raise his chain to glare down his nose. He is not afraid of you, you’re not trying to threaten him, and he understands what you’re doing and that he needs to convey a level of submitance; he owes it to you now that he’s made you suspect he’s trying to manipulate you into sex. His throat bobs as he swallows his pride, then shifts his eyes back up to yours. When you relax, he lets out a breath and follows.

“Okay, look,” you begin, “I’m not helpless just because I’m a woman, I can carry my fucking own, you should know that by now, but… I know Robert’s got guys, and I am aware of the risk of being a woman, and I also respect the buddy system. So, walk with me?” It’s your turn to struggle with your gaze, flipping your eyes between his and the ground.

A confetti cannon goes off in Joel’s head. “Alright.” He nods.

“Alright.” You nod back, take a step backwards, then turn back to where you were heading originally. The two of you fall into an even stride, silently focusing on your death stares as you journey through the loud, filthy, reeking streets of the Boston QZ. Joel thinks he spots a couple suspicious characters as you walk and is grateful that he came after you and that you let him walk you home.

The sky’s blue is beginning to darken and the crowds are dwindling. Curfew is fast approaching, but Joel doesn’t want to ask you how much further, because, for one, he doesn’t want there to be a whiff of doubt that he’s no less than happy to be doing this, and, if it does get to be too late, maybe you’ll let him spend the night. It’s unlikely that you’ll be having sex, but that’s fine; he guesses you’re right, he is the kind of guy who will take what he can get.

“Okay, you’re free to go.” You snap Joel out of his thoughts, pulling out a bit of disappointment that you’re already here. Your building is short and wide, with graffiti littering the bottom and most of the low windows boarded up or taped over with rustling plastic. A burly and sunburnt young man smokes a daring cigarette on the steps and you exchange amicable nods with him.

Joel pauses, looking around and hiking up his pants trivially. The lack of promise that he’ll ever be able to speak to you again stirs anxiety in him and he searches again for the right thing to say. “Alright, well, it was nice to meet you.” He struggles again with some kind of cordial inflection, nodding and clearing his throat.

“You, too. I’ll see you around.” You nod back, then add a reassuring “Okay?”

Joel nods again, staying to watch you go. Once you’re out of sight, he takes a deep breath. The man on the steps spits and eyes Joel, so he leaves, hustling back to make it before curfew.

Back in his apartment, Joel returns the alcohol back under the floor and his bloody towel into its drawer. He strips his flannel, removes his boots, and lays back on his bed, the setting sun casting a sheet of orange over his body. Pulling his pillow under his head and folding his arms behind it, Joel sighs loudly and shuts his eyes. Today was fucking exhausting, more for his mind than body. It has been the strangest day he’s had in a long time. Laying with his eyes closed, Joel picks through his mind for explanations and answers. What’s happening inside of him? What is he looking for? What happened today? His brow pinches as he wracks and wracks.

Friend. When the word surfaces it breaks with panic and Joel jolts into a sitting position. Girl–friend. He forgot that that’s even a word. He rubs his face with his hand until he feels like he knows where he is again. What the fuck going on with him? Does he think, what, that he’s gonna take you on a ‘date’? And go where exactly? One of those slimy speakeasies, stay for five minutes until a fight breaks out and/or FEDRA fucking crashes it? Oh, yeah, how about spending the night sitting in opposite cells? That would allow for a lot of alone time, except for the fully armed and immoral guard. He could take you out past the walls, maybe find an abandoned restaurant and hope neither of you get bit or killed while checking it out so that you can sit down on dust caked chairs to clink glasses full of dirt.

That shit isn’t possible. Joel lets himself fall back into the mattress.

Maybe a quick fuck will do the trick after all.

But, still with that thought comes a gust of dread as he imagines then seeing you out on the street in the days following and having to avoid eye contact. Well what if you could just keep having sex? And just, hang out, you know, maybe if you could… come to live with him and then that way—fuck. That’s like dating.

‘Dating’ sounds so stupid, like you’re going to go sit at a diner sipping the same milkshake with two straws.

Well what if you’re just as fucked up and broken as he is? Would that make it any better? Then he wouldn’t scare you if he gets night terrors because you get them, too, and you’d understand about the violence and bloodshed. Thinking more on it, though, Joel realizes that all that that would really mean is that you probably have the same amount of fucking issues with ‘friends’.

“Shit.”

Joel flips to his side, shoving his arm under the pillow again to press his face into it. He’s lost, and fucked. Maybe the answer will come to him in the morning. Probably not, but he’s fucking tired, so let’s just say it will.

—

The morning brings no answers, only more confusion and anxiety. His head has become jumbled in the night and Joel’s not sure about any of it anymore.

Too close. He doesn’t even know you. You could be one of Robert’s guys, for all he knows. No, that makes no sense. If you were going to rob him you would have already. What else could you want? Jesus, did you drug him? He knows the truth, that he has feelings for you, he just really does not want that to be the case.

But, at the same time, there is the brown haired puppy dog that still lives in him, dreaming up how to get you flowers and how much he likes your hair and your eyes and how you talk. You’re a beautiful person, both in the surface level, physical sense, but also as an individual being. Even though you’ve only known each other for a day, he has seen enough to understand that you are, at least to a level, a safe person. Tulips, he needs to find tulips for you.

Either way, he just needs to find a way to slow this all the fuck down.

He shouldn’t get involved with you. You shouldn't get involved with him. He shouldn't trust you. You don't know who he is. He could change for you. You’re gonna get him killed. He’s gonna get you killed. The life he wants with you isn’t possible. He’s the kinda guy who will take what he can get. God, he needs to fuck you at least. Goddamnit, he doesn't want you to think that's all you are to him. Can’t you at least just be friends? What does that even mean? He wishes he never met you. He immediately takes that back. Why is this happening to him? Both sides of him can dig that last one.

Joel groans and rubs his face with his hands. He stands, stretching his arms up and squeezing his eyes shut against the bright yellow morning light. His arms drop down to scratch at his chest over his sleeveless undershirt. Socked feet sweep over the hardwood floor over to the kitchen where he slaps cold water from the tap onto his face. Noticing wisps of blood still on his hands, he scrubs at them with his nails under the water. He forgot to sign up for any work today because he spent all day yesterday dealing with Robert, and… hanging out with you.

With another whiney groan, Joel swats the faucet’s handle off and plants his hands on either side of the sink, letting water drip from his nose as he stares into the drain. Hanging out? People do that. He’s seen people just kind of sit around somewhere and talk, not doing deals, but, like, on their porches, sitting on side by side folding chairs. Yeah, people hang out. He imagines himself asking you if you want to ‘hang out’; he’s chewing gum with sunglasses and a backwards hat on, you’re in pigtails and reject him and he kicks rocks on his way home.

He has had friends before, but it was from traveling in a group, trying to survive, when you kind of have to spend all your time together. There’s little choice and little room to decide if you actually like this person, little time to even actually get to know them, and they die a lot. That’s what he’s used to, and that is not what he wants with you.

“The fuck am I doin’.” Joel mutters to himself, watching trails of water shine as they trickle down towards the drain.

Soft, fully brown haired Joel swings his legs on one of his shoulders: “Go out n’ see if she’s around.”

Baggy–eyed, forever frowning Joel digs his fingers into his other shoulder: “If you ever see her again, you better walk the other fuckin’ direction.”

Puppy dog Joel furrows his brow and leans over to look at the other: “She’s a nice girl.”

Morose Joel glares back: “No such fuckin’ thing. An’ if she is, we’ll fuckin’ ruin ‘er.”

“Jesus. You’re paranoid. Can’t you just let us be happy?”

“No such fuckin’ thing.”

Joel smacks his hand to his forehead and pushes away from the sink. He lifts the bottom of his white shirt to rub his face dry and goes to sit back down on his bed to pull on his shoes, grabbing his other flannel and finishing buttoning it as he walks down the hall to exit his apartment building. He’s not sure what he’s doing—not admitting that he’s going to end up heading in the direction of your apartment—but he needs to get out of his head, and the QZ offers plenty of distractions. Here’s one now, as soon as he steps outside—

“Hey friend,”

Joel whips around to the voice at the corner of his building, a man his size but wiry, with saddle brown skin and an overly genial smile.

“You look lost.”

Joel narrows his eyes.

“Well, if you’re feelin’ lost—”

“Give me a fuckin’ break.” Joel cuts in. “That shit is meaningless. Hope is dead, jackass.”

The man’s face instantly falls, disheartened, and he leans his shoulder against the brick. Joel huffs and moves on, shaking his head. That look makes a small part of him remorseful, like a thorn in his side, so he decides to stop at a speakeasy.

He has to squint against the rising sun as he walks, so he doesn’t catch you until you’re right on him, asking, “Where’re you headed?”

Joel freezes, placing his hand on his brow to shade his eyes to see you smiling. Like remedied, all that anxiety and apprehension rolls off of him like water off a duck's back. “For a drink.” He answers, returning a serene smile.

“Don’t you have that at home?”

“Yeah, well I jus’… wanted to get outta there.” He shifts out of the suns glare.

You hum and nod. “I get that. What about my place? I don’t have alcohol, but I do have a cigar.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. “A cigar?”

You nod. “Well they didn’t have any mink coats, so I got the second best thing.” Your mouth twists up into a mischievous smile and you swivel your torso back and forth. When Joel’s lips start to curl, you turn, watching him over your shoulder as you walk until he joins you.

When the two of you get to your apartment, the young burly man is still on the steps; he winks at Joel as he follows you past, and Joel stares back until the door shuts behind him. Inside, as he follows you up the narrow, winding staircase, he spends the entire five-flight journey to the top floor conflicted about where to let his gaze fall.

“Alright, this is my floor.” You glance over your shoulder at him then grab the door frame to swing into the tight hallway. “End of the hall.”

Your apartment is much smaller than his, and wide. Cracked, off white paint cries uneven, chipped stripes that reach up to the crown molding. Your bedroom is to the immediate right, a narrow room opened by two glass double doors. At the opposite end is another glass door, tall, that opens up to a fire escape. To his left is your kitchen, which is just the wall lined with cupboards, a sink, and white refrigerator. In front of him, a couch is half visible, the rest hidden behind the corner, under a row of three windows. Like his, the curtains are thin torn pieces of fabric. Just before the corner next to the entrance to your bedroom is a gray folding table with three tan metal folding chairs. Walking in, Joel can see in your room a twin bed with rosy sheets and no headboard, its head shoved in the space between the tall glass door and the wall with a thin pillow and singular white sheet. He hopes you have a bunch of other blankets shoved somewhere he can’t see, because it’s only barely summer anymore. The long wall opposite is taken up mostly by bookcases, which hold some books but mostly by all sorts of other things, including clothes. A ragged chair sits next to it, back facing him. Shoved in between the shelves and the tall glass door is a tall lamp, a thin piece of pink fabric laying over a disfigured shade. The carpet is worn and somewhat cluttered; right next to that chair is a pair of lacy black underwear. Joel rips his eyes away from it back to you in front of him, disappearing around the corner for only a moment before reappearing with a fat, half smoked cigar. You twist it in your fingers with a wide smile, flipping open a Zippo lighter in your other hand.

“How did you get that?” Joel asks, astonished. He hasn’t seen a cigar in years but has dreamt about smoking one more than once.

“My friend on the steps outside. Don’t tell anyone, though. Come on,” you nod your head back around the corner and he follows you into a cramped, mellow blue and yellow tiled bathroom. You push out a small broken crank window high up on the wall, pull the door shut behind Joel, and light up the cigar. Leaned against the sink, Joel watches you, very aware of the close quarters. The end of the cigar lights up deep orange and crackles. Your brow is furrowed, Joel can see the hairs of your eyebrows and lashes, a tiny scar in the corner of your eye over the bone of your eye socket. When you pull away, dense smoke snakes out of your mouth. You look down at it as you attempt smoke rings, getting one good one but failing at the rest. When you laugh the rest of the gray puffs out of your mouth.

“Damn it.” you giggle, and hand the cigar and lighter to Joel.

He has to relight it and watches the flame over the end. He sucks in stale, earthy smog; it tastes ancient, but still has some of that discernable cigar flavor. As it fills his mouth, Joel closes his eyes, leans his head back and moans before opening his mouth to let the smoke leave. His eyes are on you as they open, and yours are half lidded, focused on his mouth, a slight smile on your lips. They slowly crawl back up to his eyes, and you look away. Joel takes another puff and makes a sound to get your attention, attempting rings as well, not doing much better than you did.

You hold your hands out, “Ok, let me try again.” You take your time and Joel watches your tongue working in awe. You make a good three rings. Smoke puffs out of your mouth again when you smile at him and pass the cigar back.

Joel focuses his efforts on the rings but keeps his eyes on you watching his mouth. As you do, your smile grows, eyes half lidded again, and you lean your back against the window’s wall, turning your head to see him blow four perfect rings.

“You’re good at that.” You chuckle, staying on his mouth even after he’s done. He takes another puff.

“Practice, I guess. Even though it’s been awhile.”

You hum and finally tear your eyes away from his mouth. He offers the cigar but you shake your head, “That thing is nasty, I’m afraid I’ll throw up if I take one more puff. You can keep it.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. All yours.”

“Thanks.”

“I got it with you in mind, anyway.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. You look like a cigar guy.”

“Well, what did I do to deserve this?”

Your eyes go back to his mouth. “Nothing, I guess… I knew it’d get you over here.” You look down and smile.

Joel sucks in murky smoke, letting it fill his mouth, and wonders how you taste. He’s never wanted someone's saliva in his mouth so much. He reaches behind him to balance the cigar on your sink to let it extinguish on its own. “I won’t make you watch me smoke that whole thing. I’ll take it home with me.” Turning back, he looks you up and down, admiring you, and says, “Thank you.” Those are another set of words that Joel cringes at, but he means it, and he needs you to know that he is grateful for this. The last gift he got was a box of bullets from Tommy on his birthday—not to say that’s a bad gift, or that he’s ever expecting anything on his birthday, but, you gave him a gift, just because, and it’s a luxury. He can’t believe you’re real, he wants to reach out and touch you just to be sure.

“Mhm.” You smile, lifting your fist to rest your lip on, laying your other arm over your torso to support your elbow. Joel drifts over the details—the edge of your lip poking out from where it presses on a finger, the muscle and bone structure of your wrist. He fully appreciates the color of your skin as he follows it until its end at what he can see of your collar, how your chest shapes around the position of your arms. He sees you briefly squeeze your arm around yourself and his eyes are on your hips when he hears your foot shift under you and your body moves a little closer to him.

“Joel?” Your quiet voice brings him back, and you’re blushing.

“Hm?”

Your eyes flutter and you push yourself off from the wall, moving your hand to scratch the back of your head, then face him, though still not looking at him, “Nothing, um, I dunno,” you chuckle nervously.

“What?” He coaxes, growing a light smile.

You finally look at him, folding your arms over your chest and cocking your head as you ask, “Do you have anything going on today?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

Could this be what he thinks? Are you asking him to ‘hang out’?

“Do you wanna… hang out?”

Good lord in heaven, you are.

“Yeah.” He says, then blinks, shifts, and repeats more enthusiastically, “Yeah.”

“Cool.” You offer a small, twitching smile. “Well, we can get out of this tiny bathroom.”

“I don’t mind it.” The truth suddenly jumps out of Joel and as soon as it’s out, he looks at his feet. Please, please, please, don’t let this be him ruining it, again, because second chances are basically extinct.

“Why not?” Your tone is light, not angry or affronted. He looks back up, pausing to consider you, how beautiful you are, how much he really does enjoy being this close to you. The more he realizes how few inches are separating you, the more he aches for your body on his. He swallows hard. Is he being sleazy?

You shift closer and his heart rate picks up. “I mean, I don’t really mind it either.” A light blush blooms over your face and Joel’s lips inadvertently part. When you move closer still, Joel straightens up from the sink, letting his hands rest at his sides, hoping you want them on your hips. “I like being close to you.”

“I wanna be closer.” Joel tells you quietly, then swallows hard again.

Out of the corner of his eye, while he focuses on your face, Joel sees your hand rising cautiously, then feels it rest on his shoulder. He permits his hands to your hips.

From there, naturally and easily, you connect. Your lips touch softly when they meet, then promptly conquering more of each other’s, and finally he tastes you, a pure elixir, and hangs onto your lip with his teeth so that he can raise the dose. Joel breathes deeply through his nose as he savors and his hand brushes up your hip, catching under your shirt and pulling it up slowly with it; feeling your skin warm and bare under his touch shoots directly into his veins. You remove your mouth from his to instead purr into his neck and Joel moans, then adds quietly, “Jesus.” You chuckle before refocusing your lips, gently nipping at and skimming over his skin. His hand glides up to the back of your head and he softly moans again. Lazily, Joel allows you to start slowly unbuttoning his flannel, appreciating his contact with your body and your sensitive touch on his neck. The only way he knows he’s not dreaming is because of your pinching teeth. Once his flannel is undone you smooth your hands down the length of his torso, fingers slipping off of him just before his belt, then come back up, slowing on his shoulders for permission to slip the shirt. Joel takes his hands off of you for the three seconds it takes to pull his flannel off, feeling your hot breath on his neck as you pull away with his shifting. Your eyes meet again and Joel’s heart flutters at how large your pupils are. He watches them move down to cross over his shoulders, your hands following your eyes, and then you look back up at him and bite your lip. Like you’ve flicked a switch with this simple movement, Joel takes your mouth with his tongue and grabs your hips to pull against his. Briefly, he regains composure to check, “Is this ok?” and you confirm with a nod back into his lips, slinging your arms around his neck and rolling your hips. “That a girl,” it escapes him, scaring him for only a moment, but you whine an encouraging moan and press yourself into him. The force leans Joel back over the sink and he has to throw a hand back onto it to keep himself steady.

“Shit, ok, this room is too small now.” You chuckle into each other’s lips and then you pull away, keeping a grip on his hand as you turn the knob and take him around the corner into your room.

Standing just before your bed, you turn back to him and take his face in your hands, sliding your palms over his beard, fingertips on rough skin. They slip into his hair as you bring his face to yours, working back in your welcome tongue. His hands slither around you and then he squeezes you into a hug, relieving his ache for your body, relishing in the pressure of his hold. As you breathe out your head falls back and Joel moves in, licking into a hickey, too absorbed to give a shit about leaving marks. When a hand travels down to your ass and squeezes, you make a sound and hitch your body up.

“You like that?” Joel purrs, fully loose lipped and glued back on yours. When you ‘mhm’ into his mouth he squeezes again, hiking you up himself.

“Joel,” his lips force you to mumble.

“What is it, babygirl?”

All you do is whine, but your answer is in the hand that slides between your bodies to cup the stiff bulge between his legs.

“You want me to fuck you?” He basically growls, sliding the hand up from your ass to grip your side and the other up to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek and forcing you to meet his eyes. There’s a desperate tweak in your brow that tells him all he needs to know but he waits for you to say it.

“Yes,” you whimper, and then he walks you back onto your bed, the two of you falling onto it with little pause with mouths and hands. Messily, he licks and nibbles at your lips and paws at your chest. Your hands spread over his thick, bare shoulders and biceps, legs shamelessly widening more than they need to under his hips, then hook and pull when he doesn’t bring them down himself.

“You’re fuckin’ horny, huh?” He asks with a slight smirk.

“I just want you. I just want you.” You mumble.

Joel’s brow twists up and he kisses you deeper. You want him, you want him, you want him. “I want you so much, baby. God, I need you. I’ve been wantn’ you so bad since the first time I saw you,” the words are doing nothing more than spilling out of him, but he’s gone now, “so beautiful, such a beautiful girl. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, tugging his shirt up his back.

Joel pushes himself up to stand on his knees and pull his undershirt up and off, then stays over you, panting. Slowly, mindfully, his hands smooth up your body, hooking his thumbs under your shirt, lifting it. You watch his eyes and lift your arms when his hands ask. He slips your shirt off carefully and lets it fall on the floor, and then you’re bare underneath him. The adoration is palpable in his touch as he smooths his calloused hands from the V of your waist over your belly, splitting to slide over your sides but meeting again on your chest. He pets your breasts, teasing your nipples with fleeting touch, and then suddenly dips his body down to lick and tenderly nip one of your nipples. Then his wet lips drag up your collar, your neck, and back to your lips, and his mouth and tongue are gentle but passionate. Joel cherishes every touch you share. Then, your hands go back down to the bulge under his jeans, one rubbing over the cup while the other tugs at his belt. He chuckles into your lips and then rises again to undo his belt. When you try to tug down your pants you both understand the trouble and Joel hoists his legs over you to stand beside the bed, letting you up with him so that you can both undress as quickly and easily as possible. For a moment all there is is the sound of belts clicking and fabric brushing against skin. For whatever reason, you both start to laugh breathily until reattaching mouths smother it out. You fall back on the bed, your legs back open, and Joel wastes little time getting his hands on his dick, unable to help himself from a few strokes before he positions himself at your entrance, swiping his tip up and down your wet slit. Laying his forearm on the bed allows him to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

Nearly slurring, Joel asks, “You ready for me baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I want you, Joel, please,”

“You don’t need to beg, sweetheart, I gothcu,” he kisses you tenderly, but it breaks as he fills you and you both moan. Joel’s forehead rests briefly on your lips when he looks down to watch himself pushing into you, his fingers pinching his base to guide himself, he prizes this picture of him in between your legs, opened wide for him. As he fits his large, stiff member inside of you your fingers comb through and then grip his hair, making him moan. “Goddamnit baby, what a good girl, takin’ me like this. I know it’s a lot. I know.” He assures you as you squeal, toes curling as he plugs you up. Joel swings his head back up, biting his lip as he watches your face, impressed with himself when he sees your pupils almost disappear back into your head. He nips at your lips but your mouth stays open until he stills his cock inside of you.

You groan, “Oh my god, Joel,”

“Yeah?” He mumbles as he begins to move. You clench around him when you moan and he swears, moving his head down to bite your neck gently as he continues to take himself in and out. He smiles when your hands claw at his back and release his teeth to speak, “Such a good girl for takin’ me like this. You’re a fuckin’ angel.”

“Ok, Joel, I’m good, I’m good, please fuck me,”

Joel growls and links his teeth on your lip again. “Told you darlin’, no need to beg, I’ll give you what you need. How do you want it? You want it hard?”

“I don’t fucking care just fuck me,”

Jesus, if heaven’s real this is what it’ll be.

Joel trusts your word and starts to fuck you how he wants—deep and hard, pounding your pussy in final satisfaction of the need he’s been pinned with since the moment he saw you. The room is full with the sounds of your moans and skin on skin.

“God, look atchu, pretty girl, god, your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight for me.” The sensation of him bumping your cervix and your cunt enveloping him fully is keeping him going like he’s a quarter operated ride that someone slipped fifty cents into. “That feel good, baby? Huh? Does that feel good?” You slap your hand onto the wall above you to keep your head from hitting it with the force of Joel’s thrust and repeatedly breathe out yeses. Joel groans at how your nails dig into his shoulder. “Tell me, tell me how good it feels,”

“Yes, Joel, it feels so good, you fuck me so good,”

“That’s righ’, baby. Gonna treat you so good. So good. So good baby you feel so good.” Joel leans his head back as bottoms out. When you almost scream, Joel stops, frightened, “Shit, you ok?”

“I’m fine Joel,” you laugh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. It was—it was good, that felt really good.”

“Oh, alright, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“No, no, I’m fine, Joel it’s good,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, fuck—ok—” you push Joel up and his heartbeat quickens with anxiety. Unsure, he simply follows your movements, climbing off of you, letting you tug his arm and flopping back on the bed for you to mount him.

Now sitting up on your knees on top of him, you study him. “You’re so fucking hot, pretty boy.”

A wide smile spreads over Joel’s face, pumping rosy cheeks, and he throws an arm over his eyes modestly. The reaction is spontaneous, Joel being unprepared for such praise.

“You are!” You giggle, moving his arm and dropping on your elbows to kiss him. One of his hands goes to your hair and he squeezes your hip with the other with eager grip. You rise back up, a line of spit briefly linking you, and your hand trails down over his chest until it comes to his cock, bulging over his stomach. He twitches and breathes out as your hand slides over it and he beholds you above him.

“Fuck,” you purr when you slip him in. Joel strains his arms down to grip your thighs, breathing out a loud moan. “Shit.”

“Goddamn,” he whispers, then says, “come on, baby, take all of it.” You sit down on him slowly, hands landing over his chest, and he brushes his hands up and down your arms. “Thas’ righ’ baby. So good for me.” Joel moves to your hips, pulling them down and in to start to move inside you, forcing himself to be gentle. Your head flips back as you let out a loud, pornographic moan, and Joel can no longer keep himself reigned in. Gripping your hips, he’s now moving them more than you are, one hand gripping your ass, guiding you to angle down, taking more of him.

Riding him like a mustang, your fingers skim over his wrists, unable to grasp them. “Fuck,” You whimper, brow twisted up, eyes closed.

Joel takes his hand off of your ass to grab your face, squishing your cheeks, “Eyes on me, sweetheart.” You moan and obey, he keeps your face in his hand to make sure you stay. “Good girl. Stay with me baby.” He grunts and briefly bits his lips as he begins moving his hips up into you, thrusting his cock even deeper inside of you until he’s bumping your cervix again. You squeak and close your eyes, leaning your head back until he jerks your face, reminding you softly, “Eyes on me.” Your hand slaps on his chest as you adjust your posture, though Joel’s grip stabilizes you enough, holding you in place. He releases your cheeks but keeps his hand on your face, letting his palm and fingers brush over the side of your head as you bounce, his thumb on the back of your neck, supporting your head up when you try to let it fall back. “You’re so beautiful. Bet you look so pretty when you cum.”

“My god, Joel,” you pant, “I knew you would fuck me so good, you’re gonna make me cum,”

Joel’s eyes light up and he inadvertently smirks, “Yeah?” Eagerly, he tells you, “I wanna make you cum, baby, I wanna feel you fuckin’ cum. You’re bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck you so hard like this. God, I wanna make you cum,” His hips bump up into you and he tugs on yours in a tempo that buries him as far as he’ll go inside of you. Prizing his view, Joel notices a bulge, coming and going at a suspiciously similar rhythm as how he’s fucking you, and when he realizes that it’s him, heat spreads through his chest and he only fucks you harder. “Oooooh, baby,” he looks back up at you and your chest and face are flushed. “My angel, look at you. Go ahead and cum on my cock, babygirl, I know you’re ready to.”

Your pipe out desperate moans as you bounce on his cock and your hands shoot up, one twisting your hair behind your head the other on your face, smoothing down over your face and mouth down to massage your breast.

“Does that feel good baby?” He almost whines out the question, desperate for praise, for affirmation that he’s being good for you.

“Yes, god, fuck me Joel, I need you, oh my god please,” you cry out.

“You gonna cum for me? Cum on my cock like a good girl?”

You close your mouth, whining through sealed lips, then pop them back open to moan almost unrealistically pornographically, but the way your pussy squeezes him proves it unmistakably genuine.

“Ah, fuck,” Joel lets out loudly as your legs shake and tighten around him, just like your cunt does, and his thrusts are basically out of his control. His mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze shut, almost seeing white, a sweet taste filling his mouth as the euphoric pleasure you provide him trembles to a peak and he groans as he cums in a pussy–drunk frenzy.

As he comes out of it embarrassment starts to run over him at his gusto, but the look on your face calms it—your brow is furrowed up, eyes closed with your mouth slack like his. Your back is arched with your hands resting on his thighs, panting.

You let out a loud breath and flip your body back to look at him, smiling, “Shit.” A breathy laugh shakes out of him and you sit back, still with him inside of you. Then you rise up off of him, “Oh, fuck,” you stand, almost tripping, “I gotta go clean myself up. I’ll be right back.”

Joel basks in the glory of your figure walking away, still fully nude, pattering through your apartment, then disappearing around the corner. He leans back, turning his head to view the sky from the dirty glass door. It’s a picturesque baby blue, dotted with a few puffy white clouds. Fuck the other shoe, if it drops it drops, he just wants to be here right now, with the sun warming his bare chest, nose full of your scent, his lips swollen and dick still wet with your cum. Joel takes a deep breath. Maybe it’s dramatic to say he’d be happy to die here, and it’s not entirely true, but it’s just that he feels content for the first time in fucking years.

When your padding steps sound again, Joel shifts his upper body up, watching you approach, and then you slip into bed, nudging him so that you can lay side by side facing each other. The top sheet is cast lazily over your bodies and a comfortable silence falls over it. Joel tries to memorize the details of your eyes and admires the way his mouth has plumped your lips.

Lying in bed with you here in this cramped apartment feels like a dugout, and he wants to go back in time, to any point over the last ten or so years, to tell himself that this is waiting there for him, just to let himself know that it’s gonna be ok. He can’t believe he’s still in Boston.

“Can we stay here for a while?” He asks you.

You nod, “We still have all day, pretty boy.” Joel smiles and you move to kiss him, long and light. He hooks your lip in his mouth, asking you nearer, and, without breaking the kiss, you lift yourself up, only your chest off of the bed, supporting your body up with your elbow. To hover over him, you reach your hand over to plant next to his head. Joel’s hands slither up your face to the back of your head, assuring your connection. All he wants is your lips.

“Baby,” He whispers, his voice high.

“Hm?”

“Nothin’. I dunno.”

You smile, peck another gentle kiss, and then lay back beside him. You shift closer to each other and your legs tangle.

After a couple of still moments, you take a deep breath and address him, worry in your voice, “Joel…”

“What is it?” His brow pinches in concern.

“I’m just worried… maybe I should have waited.” You say quietly, brow slightly furrowed as you gaze into his eyes, raising a loose fist to your lips.

He pushes his hand out to brush the back of his finger over your wrist, “Why’s that?”

You pause. “Cause… I don’t want… I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to have… you know, a one night stand. I mean, for this to be a one time thing and then I never see you again.”

Joel’s brow furrows as he assures you, “Me neither, no, no baby, I wanna see you again. I want you to stay. I wanna stay. I wanna know you.”

You uncover your mouth to smile and your eyes twinkle, “You want to know me?”

“Wull… yeah.”

“That’s such a nice thing to say.”

“I mean it.”

“Well, I wanna know you, too.”

Joel’s contentedness pauses. He didn’t think about that part and he’s not sure if he wants you to know him. Yes, desperately, god yes he does, but, no, his soul is covered in soot. You shouldn't, he doesn’t want you to see him, know him, because he’s bad.

“What’s that face?” You ask.

“What face?”

“That face you just made. You don’t want me to know you?”

How did you read him like that? He’s not sure which side he should take with this so he says nothing.

You sigh and blink, then place your hand on his cheek, stroking it with your thumb once. It’s warm and solid against his skin and flowers bloom in his chest.

“If I’m gonna let you know me, you gotta let me know you. That’s the deal. I think we’re pretty similar, Joel.” You take another deep breath, “I haven’t had someone in this bed with me in a long time. I haven’t touched someone like this in… forever. I don’t like to let people get this close. I’m letting you get close, though. Because I really, really want to. But part of me really, really, doesn’t. For some reason, I trust you. I hate saying that. But I just do. I really like you, Joel. Maybe you’re gonna break my heart. I decided that that’s ok. I just really want to know you.” Your hand slides down to his neck, over his shoulder, then down to the middle of his sternum. “So, that’s the deal. If I’m gonna let you in, you gotta let me in.”

Joel isn’t sure why there are tears wetting his eyes. He wasn’t ready to be spoken to like this, to be cared about. The longing to hear words like these has long been buried and he never expected any of that to be fulfilled. He blinks the tears back, swallows hard, and murmurs a tender “Ok.”

Your hand slides back up to caress his cheek. The affection in it floods him and he melts into the bed, eyes falling closed. When he opens them again, it’s like this is all there is; he can’t see anything else except for you, and those pink sheets, and the light behind you coming through the window.

He can’t help this feeling of safety with you. He smiles. You smile back.

You can’t make Boston any better, but now, Joel is taking his first clean breath of air, and it smells like you. The world is ugly, but love makes it bearable. And now you’re here, and he’ll wait to tell you, but he figured it out, he’s sure he loves you.

…Metaphors and sex, sex and metaphors.

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dark-side-blog3 · 2 months

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I feel like if you want to escape the house of lamentation, you have to be REAL careful what method you use.

If you make Leviathan or Asmodeus bored of you— not hate! Just bored, and make them realize they would get more of a reaction from someone else, spending time to show them some prime examples of partners while also showing that when you do try you just can’t compete, and they’re ultimately putting too much effort into a relationship that even if you agree to, you just aren’t going to give them enough… If you bore them, you’ll walk away scot free.

However, boring them won’t work with everyone. Some of them you have to make hate you. Lucifer for example would be able to find contentment in a less than glamorous life with you. So, you need to do your best to just be horrible for his image. Every intimate act is public and you gush over him, lowering your self worth and by extension: his. He can’t be associated with someone who embarrasses him so often when he tries to be nice, in his roundabout way. And you shouldn’t be telling everyone his business!

Mammon is a bit trickier, because he’s got such a tolerance for being bullied, and for cringe, so you can’t embarrass him. But you can nag him on his faults constantly, throw away parts of his hoard with the reasoning that it’s “unsanitary” and trying to “tidy up” his room. Always rat him out to debt collectors, demand he throw away the biohazard’s in his room, discreetly deep clean his car and throw out any trash you find. Don’t be cruel to him, it’ll only make him cling harder despite being unhappy. But make it known that if you are in his space, his things aren’t safe. And he’ll slowly pull away, years at a time. Try to remain friends, knowing full well you won’t be. He’ll find it too weird, given his previous obsession and possessive tendencies to you.

And again: you have to be really, really careful what method you choose. Because if you over or under do it, any of them may just become worse.

For example, it’s best to make Beel feel like you can protect yourself for the most part, and he only needs to step in occasionally. Don’t feed into his delusions, but don’t deny them outright. Let him feel like the best way to help you is to be distant. Because if Beelzebub feels disillusioned with you, you’re not going to have a more obsessed demon.

Beel, if throughly annoyed and no longer enamoured with you, will stop seeing you as this whimsical and cunning human, and will begin to just see you as human. You’re about as special as any other human, about as in need of protection. But that doesn’t change your species. Did those other humans have interests, hobbies, ideology, friends, family, a vision for their life? Maybe. But that never stopped him before.

You were kept alive, like one might keep a pet pig or chicken. And though you can put a ribbon on it, it is what it is in the end. And since you’ve outlived your purpose as anything else: Beelzebub is going to eat you.

#yandere obey me nightbringer #yandere obey me #yandere obey me shall we date #yandere lucifer morningstar #yandere lucifer #yandere mammon #yandere levi #yandere leviathan #yandere asmo #yandere asmodeus #yandere beel #yandere beelzebub #my writing!#reader death #death tw #cannibalism tw #yandere x reader #yandere obey me x reader

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shygirl4991 · 1 month

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Chapter 4 Perfection

Art done by @alianarepasa do not repost Summary: After the event of Splits into Three everything felt like things were back to normal, that is until Three’s boyfriend kicks down his front door announcing he has fallen under the same spell he did. Together they will learn the secret of the cherry potion and with SMG4 splits put an end to the evil gang's plan. Sequel to Split into Threes

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Tags: Fluff, Angst, Comedy, Romance, action and adventure, Trauma, IGBP

Parent let out a sigh of relief when the crew finally found the kids, he turned to the others with a huge smile “Now that we know the kiddos are safe, let's head back to the castle and I will make us all dinner!” Ringmaster glares at Parent as he turns watching Three and Four trying to stop Beeg from stealing candy, he then turns to the other group where Delinquent and Producer got tied up by Karen's kids as Artist giggles at the chaos. “Parent, I know you're a naive one. BUT HAVE YOU NOTICE THE CHILDREN HAVE RUN WILD TO GO BACK HOME?!” he sighs as he changes the form of his cane to a lasso and throws it catching Beeg and bringing him over. With a clap he unties Beeg and hands the child to Parent to then tie up the other kids “The day is saved by your favorite character, your welcome!”

Still giggling Artist unties Delinquent and Producer, with a growl Delinquent walks up to Ringmaster “Your not the favorite character, i bet the whole internet sees you as a fucking joke!” hearing this Ringmaster chuckles “Oh D just cause you act like our local bad boy, doesn't mean you earn the title of favorite! Shall I show you?” Delinquent gives a knowing grin “Oh please, search your name.” Parent gives a gentle head pat to Beeg as he starts walking to the castle. Seeing Parent forgetting Karen's kids, Artist went and took them home with Four to watch over the personality. Ringmaster waves his cane telling them how excited he was to see fan art of himself, Three was holding Producer’s hand as they walked together to the castle. Three couldn't help his eyes moving towards the man in orange. Something about the personality felt off, he would make sure to step away from the others and seem to have a hobby of glaring at him every chance he gets.

As they reach the castle Parent attempts to place Beeg on the floor, still upset about the candy incident he reaches for Parent sweater pulling it. Noticing too late the meme child tugging at the sweater Parent ends up slamming down to the floor. Seeing this Delinquent breaks into small giggles while Three sighs letting go of producer to check on the green four on the floor “You okay? That looked pretty bad, I'm sure SMG4 felt it.” Parent starts crying, slowly he gives him a strained smile “Never better honey, my kiddo was just pulling a prank!” Three helps him up and checks to make sure no damage was done to the personality. Producer gives Delinquent a small smile and walks up to him “It’s nice to see a real smile from you,” Delinquent hearing this glares at Producer “shut it PD, i need to go show our almighty main character what the internet thinks of him.” with that Ringmaster walks into the room with a smirking Delinquent. It took only a few moments before screaming caught everyone's attention “I LOOK NOTHING LIKE A RAT AND FLYING TEETH!”

@lizaluvsthis drew this!

Parent removes his sweater and hangs it up before turning to Three “Should we be worried about that?” SMG3 chuckles as he sees Ringmaster walking out of the room in shock “Nah tumblr will do that to you.” Three walks up to Ringmaster and pats his back “Congrats you're popular, as a meme!” Ringmaster pouts as SMG3 chuckles at the personality. Delinquent dashes out the room not noticing that Three was in the way, he bumps into the man causing a drop of the hidden coffee to fall on Three’s arm. Delinquent cursed as he looked up “Move out of the way asshole!” Suddenly Three started to feel weird. He growls as his teeth get sharper, the spade pin glows as he turns to look at Delinquent “THE FUCK YOU SAY TO ME YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

The personalities turn watching the fight concerned, Delinquent chuckles walking up to Three “Ah finally showing yourself, i always knew you had this in you.” he smirks at the man then frowns feeling someone pull him away. Prince glares at Delinquent “You have upset our fair maiden, I request you apologies or stay away!” SMG3 blushes at Prince's smile making the heart pin glow. His head was starting to hurt as both the spade pin and heart pin glowed, Three lets out a giggle winking at Prince “Aren't you a storybook romeo~” Prince's face goes red as he lets out a nervous giggle “Ah yes i um…i guess i am?” flustered, the Prince had no idea what to say next as Delinquent rolled his eyes. SMG4 walks in and notices the commotion “Uh what's going on?” Artist sighs walking up to them. The moment Artist gets close, the last pin glows, the pain in SMG3 head gets worse as he falls to his knees. Concern Artist and Prince run to check him, their touch causes SMG3 to scream “SHUT UP YOU ALL ARE TO LOUD!” the pair take a step back while Delinquent lets out a dark smile “Interesting…”

SMG4 runs up “Guys move!” The personalities step away as Four helps SMG3 up “Come on Three let's go to the cafe.” They walk to the cafe where Four gently places Three on the couch in the back room, he starts looking around for a first aid kit. He can feel anxiety sinking its teeth into him, the feeling he is failing Three on his first day of being his boyfriend. He lets out a shaky breath catching SMG3 attention, slowly he gets up gently taking Four’s hand “Hey idiot, you're overthinking so much you're shaking like producer.”

Four lets out a giggle, if you told him back then that he would find comfort in being called an idiot, he would more than likely fight you. Turning, he lightly blushes looking at Three’s face “Sorry, we just started dating and I have no idea what I'm doing. Then the personalities happen and that's even more stress!” SMG3 nods giving him a smirk “Wow the youtuber SMG4 not knowing what to do? Stop the presses." The teasing tone made Four roll his eyes as he lightly hit his chest. They both smile at each other as they lean in giving each other a soft loving kiss. They pull away when they hear the door to the cafe slam open “SMG3 WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” Meggy walks to the back to see the pair glaring at her “Did i…walk in on something?”

Three sighs turning to Meggy “Squid, there better be a good reason why you walked in on us.” she nods “We came over to hang out only to see six different Four’s!” hearing her words they exchange a look nervously.

Four follows Meggy telling Three to rest, he wasn't a fan of staying behind but decided it would be best due to what happened. As he watches them run off an idea comes to him, he takes out an old sewing kit and hums as he starts to make something. He wanted to give something that he hoped would give strength to Four, seeing how stress these events had on him made Three worry.

SMG4 walks in the castle to see each member with a different personality. Artist was with Melony showing her better ways to draw manga, Ringmaster and Saiko were getting along over their stage set up ideas. He turns to see Parent humming, making spaghetti as Mario breathes down his neck. And lastly, Producer was getting a motivational speech from Tari and boopkin. Delinquent was writing in a notebook as Bob walked past him “I UH HAVE TO GO MAKE A CALL!”

Four nods letting Bob leave as he looks over his different personality “I thought things would have been worse?” Meggy shakes her head “They are you, no matter what you will always have a spot for your friends.” hearing her words make Four bite his lip. That's When Parent, Producer and Delinquent eyes start to glow. Seeing this Meggy slightly shakes Four “Hey uh Four?! What's going on?!” He blinks looking around causing the three to relax as their eyes go back to normal. Delinquent rubs his eyes “When our original gets triggered, be it with inspiration or whatever that personality eyes will glow. So stop looking at us like we are some kind of alien, you dumbasses have more to worry about.” Meggy frowns hearing this and looks at Four “What… were you thinking about?” Four lets out a laugh as he walks away from her “Nothing! We have a new castle so anything in the past is the past!”

Meggy shakes her head “Four you can talk to us if you're not doing okay, you know that right?” SMG4 glares at her as his eyes start to turn pink “WHAT POINT OF IM OKAY DONT YOU UNDERSTAND!” Everyone stays silent while Parent and Mario hug each other in fear. Delinquent sighs as he sprints out of the room, Meggy stares at the guardian in shock. Before anyone can say anything, Four shakes his head in fear and runs to his room locking the door. Prince, seeing the fear everyone had, walks to the center of the room “Don't worry everyone, I shall contact our maiden and everything will be okay!” Four throws himself on his bed drained, he wanted this nightmare to end. He spent months perfecting his act, only for some curse to cause this mess. He closes his eyes slowly drifting to sleep. That's when he heard a jingle it was familiar, he opened his eyes to his castle being dark with only the sound of the commercial like song playing. He gets up and goes to the door “H-hello?” opening the door no one was around, he ran out panicked “PARENT?! MARIO!? RINGMASTER?! SMG3!” his voice echoed through the room. He felt a chill as the jingle stopped. Then static from a TV was heard, he could hear whispers from a room “It has to be perfect.”

He turns his head to the room with the whispers and approaches it, shaking as he opens the door to only see his personality sitting there. They looked up, staring at him, “You must accept the truth, meme guardian,” they all said, causing panic to rise “What do you mean?” Ringmaster points at him “Discord will be your end, if you don't accept the truth.”

Before he could ask more he is shaken awake, blinking he sees Prince smiling at him”You were silent for a while, we got worried so I broke the door to check on you!” Four blinks as he looks behind Prince to see a broken door “That will be something to explain to Three.” Bob was walking in the woods panicking. Not only did he lose his chance at making money, he was surrounded by colorful SMG4’s. He keeps walking only to notice he wasn't going anywhere, he looks down and curses at the shadows from the trees making it impossible to know what has a hold of him. He hears a stick break making him turn “WHO IS THERE?!” a chuckle is heard as a shadow appears in front of him “Discord.”

Three walks in the castle to see Four wrapped with blankets alongside Mario as they both drink hot chocolate “Uh what i miss?” Tari smiles as she hands Three a cup “Four had a nightmare so we are cheering him up!” Three sighs, ignoring the cup in Taris' hand and going to his boyfriend. With a gentle smile he takes out a small box from his hat. Four gently puts his cup on the floor taking the box “Whats this?” SMG3 rolled his eyes “If you used those things called eyes, that is a box with a gift that people get for others!” Four glares at his partner.

Delinquent walks into the room writing in a notebook when he sees the box, he tilts his head staring at it. Four hums opening it, he lets out a gasp as he takes out a pair of gloves with a glitchy number four on them. Excited over the gloves he tackles Three down kissing his cheek, the crew giggled at the affection as Mario took out his phone taking pictures “GAAAAY!”

The pair glare at Mario before smacking him, once done Four gives a bright smile to three “Thank you, i will always wear them!” SMG3 smirks “You better, no matter what happens I hope those gloves give you strength.” Delinquent eyes go wide seeing Four put the gloves on, in a panic he hides the notebook then covers his hand “No, please no.” Then a bright light covers the personalities confusing everyone, Artist then screams in joy seeing his gloves “LOOK! Our gloves changed to match our original!” Ringmaster smiles seeing his logo “We love the gift Chang Noi, we will cherish it.” Three stood there looking around seeing the personalities look at their hands with joy. Slowly Delinquent looks at his gloves, his eyes go wide in shock “Oh fuck.”

#smg4 #smg3 #smg34 #shygirl4991 #smg4 smg3 #smg43 #smg34 fanfiction #alianarepasa #split into threes #six splits for fours

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ego-meliorem-esse · 3 months

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Do you ever think that François relationship shaped how he connects to others, specially the younger ones? Arthur is pissed off about it, Feliciano is worried and lovino thinks he's an idiot but Alfred kind of digs him as a older figure while Matthew got the burnt of the perfectionistic french

I think there are two sides of other nations perceptions of the French rat.

Arthur openly and publicly bickers and argues with him. But, despite their perceived rivalry, when alone it's much more "domestic" in a sense. For Arthur it's the classic of " It's rotten work. Especially if it's you. By god, I'll do it, but damn,". A very big simplification would be those parents that should have gotten divorced 37 years ago, but aren't. And they won't be. Because despite what it may look like to the outside world, François and Arthur understand each other in a way no one else does. When François is talking and arguing about philosophical thematics or past grudges, Arthur bickers back. It's a way of relaxation and stress relief for the old fucks. But when, for instance, François genuinely is having the worst time imaginable, isn't his usual self and has stopped talking about his problems or Arthurs past shortcomings, it's serious. And Arthur listens. It's their dynamic that is constant and both of them need the stability of an ever changing world and falling empires.

Feliciano has a much more relaxed relationship with François. As much as the fandom likes to portray Feliciano as a soft uwu Doitsu~ guy, i don't think thats what i am going with. He's hardheaded and passionate. Something that rivals François' own personality. They share interests but disagree on other topics. Like politics and even social problems. But there is not really any hard arguments. Feliciano is not an idiot. He is smart and engaged to his own interests and hobbies. Knows a lot too. François feels the need to one up Feliciano in knowledge on certain matters, and I think that's hilarious.

Lovino doesn't really find François all that interesting to be around. Irritating even at some points. But again, Lovino is smart and he doesn't need the drama of actually arguing with the man. They do share a passion for food and food preparation and that's enough for Lovino. Their hangouts mostly happen when Feliciano is present. It's rare for those two to get a coffee by themselves. I find this dynamic very interesting and i might expand on it hmmm

Alfred is very much part of that dual perception of the French man. Everything on Alfred says he deeply adores the older man. If asked, most nations would put François in Alfreds fav people category. And to a point they are right. François has a form of idealism rivalling Alfreds. But the methodology and approach as well as general beliefs are different, and that irks Alfred to a certain point. He does look up to the man and there is a crucial aspect of respect the boy holds for François. But their worldview is different in the parts that matter the most to Alfred. Arguing with Alfred is extremely rare, and it happened maybe four times throughout Alfreds life. In a sense, Alfred has grown out of the need to prove himself and grown out of accepting whatever opinions a person he holds in high regard might have. They do share interests in literature and music. As those are big parts of Alfreds life, he finds a vast common ground with the man.

Matthew. Oh, Matthew... To me their dynamic and relationship is the most interesting one. I've talked in depth about this, but in short François is almost disappointed in his son. Matthew is timid and quiet. Not very ambitious and overly kind. When he was a child, Matt asked for little and never really threw a tantrum over anything. He accepts whatever he gets and whatever comes his way. François in his core is very different. Adding to that the fact that François is not meant to be a father. To say he was distant is an understatement. Distant in an emotional sense and a literal as well. Matthew was expensive and the trade off to England might have been inevitable. But regardless, his coldness towards his son started much sooner. Matthew sees François as the man that made him. His "biological" father, and there is a form of love for him regardless. That love however is pushed very deep inside Matts heart and soul. Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, they have been talking normally and interacting normally. However, their conversations are akin to those of colleagues, not father and son. Even if François might have a tinge of "regret" for their destinies, there is no way he would act on it. But i do believe that even if subconsciously, they are talking more outside of work these days. Even if it's just a text from François saying "Saw some American tourists pretending to be Canadian. Ruined my day." And Matt responding with "lol". Baby steps, ya kno.

#i need to expand on francois and ludwigs relationship bc i live for that one #hetalia #ask meli #hws england #hws america #hws canada #hws france #hws italy #hws south italy #hws north italy #my headcanons #hetalia headcanons

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webxgal · 3 months

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[Ⅱ] ab origine

from the beginning.

There is something beautiful about temporary things. The thought of immortalising something into the film of your camera, knowing you cannot snap a picture of them again both saddens you and fills you with pride. For that reason, butterflies have been your primary muse. Their withering lifespan of a month filled you with sentiment, and you always took care in sneaking a photo every time you saw one. Even if one with similar wings appears next time, it’s still not the same butterfly. It will never be reborn.

People are like butterflies too, you realise after your father’s death. You will walk around Iwatodai and sometimes pass by a middle-aged man with the same hair colour as your father, or a woman will have your mother’s eyes. The fact of the matter was—they were still not your parents, who purposefully chose to move on from the world and you.

Nowadays you take pictures of people too. Rarely, because you still feel so weightless and lost in Port Island. Yet, it was better than being in Sumaru City where ghosts you’d rather forget lay dormant. Even if you couldn’t be surrounded by the familiarity of your hometown, or your friends attending Seven Sisters High School, you rationalised it was better than meeting your ex-landlord as he griped about how the apartment would no longer sell after two people had committed suicide in it.

A year passed in Port Island, and your only friend was Yuko Nishiwaki who had also been isolated by her junior high friends (boy troubles, you recall). You both formed some kind of solidarity for being the two girls who were too absorbed in your own hobbies to give a rat’s ass about whatever else happened at school. Yuko would throw herself into sports, and you’d throw yourself into photography so you both don’t acknowledge how you have nothing in common, other than the need for having someone to talk to when the silence becomes too much.

The second year begins with cherry blossoms, a cliche but charming beginning to an otherwise repetitive school year. You stop at the entrance to take some photos and ignore the bitter grumbles of others about how you were blocking the way. Just as you lower your camera to gently tuck it back in your bag, your eyes land on a figure standing just a little ways away.

He is lean, with a droop to his shoulders. You couldn’t catch any of his features through his blue hair that curtains his face. It is the unfamiliarity around him that catches your attention. Your lunchtime habit of people-watching had helped you be accustomed to the appearances of students in your grade. You easily recognise Yukari Takeba walking next to him and you falter for a bit. If he is a new student, how did he already know Takeba? Are they friends from before? Or perhaps that is her boyfriend? You have never interacted with Takeba before, but you did know she is popular within the student body. To you, in your shallow worldview, it makes perfect sense that someone like her has a boyfriend. The passing classmates did too, seeing as they were practically spinning their heads around to take a second look at the couple with a silent promise that rumours will be spread. Nobody had anything better to do at Gekkoukon High, and you were part of the populace of perpetually bored students.

Your thumb, which had been mindlessly resting on the shutter button, clamps down suddenly when someone briskly bumps past you. The familiar, audible shutter rings through the ambience and you watch in horror as the boy turns in your direction, catching you in your hurried attempt to stuff your camera away. Your breath hitches in your throat when azure eyes meet yours. In between your frazzled panic and the widening of Takeba’s eyes, you can’t help but feel that the world has fallen into silence for that brief second. He is undeniably pretty, and despite his big eyes, he holds an air of neutrality around him, unbefitting the stereotype of someone innocent. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his lack of reaction to you only adds more mystery to him.

But that moment ends quickly and upon the couple’s staring, you knew there was no way you could justify yourself standing like a creep with your camera in hand. Again. So you make a lightening decision. Doing practically the most incriminating thing you can do in that situation—you make a run for it. You let your legs, practically unused over the spring break, take you inside the school building. You are met with strange looks, again which you ignore because it couldn’t even scale to the shame you felt for ogling at the new guy. The new, taken guy who is Takeba’s boyfriend. Your embarrassment does not let you think of the fact that you aren’t even certain of the nature of the two’s relationship, and just wander over to the corkboard in hopes you will be shielded by the bodies of students searching for their names and new homeroom.

2-F.

You read through section ‘N’ for Yuko and let your shoulders drop in disappointment when you notice she is not in your class. It had been comforting during your first year to have her desk propped beside yours, making you feel less alone in a room full of strangers. Thinking of the girl, you wonder if she has arrived at school yet but a quick survey in the corridor didn’t let you spy her familiar visage. You guess you will be seeing her during lunchtime then. The shrill of the first bell causes you and several other students to perk up, realising you have mere minutes to head to class before you are declared late. You haven’t even put your bag away. As you turn around to head back to the lockers, you miss the pair from across the room, who were similarly heading to their first lesson of the year.

(“Huh?” Yukari blinks as she watches you dash away as if the devil itself were nipping at your heels. “You’re asking about the girl with the camera?”

Minato nods patiently.

“Erm…” Yukari rakes her memory for any recollection of you and finds it to be extremely sparse. “Well, she’s in our grade? I haven’t talked to her before so I don’t know much. She into photography, I think.”

There was no particular reason for him to ask, other than the fact he recognises your camera to be a new model from a flyer he read recently. He quickly forgets about you as he and Yukari are distracted by much greater things. Your name isn’t brought up again for a long time.)

(Yuko has to hide her laugh by practically shoving a spoonful of ginger rice into her mouth once you finish recounting your humiliating morning and subsequent first impression on the new student. You are frowning, barely touching your iced coffee that is warming up under the spring heat.

“Welcome to the club,” She grins, poking sharply at your shoulder as she teases. “Where we both get accused of being homewreckers.”

Your eyebrows furrow together, your frown only deepening. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you contemplate, looking up at your friend with genuine worry flooding your expression.

“That’s terrible! I don’t want gum stuck to my locker just like you…”

She immediately claps you on the back of your head.)

#p3 protagonist x reader #persona 3 x reader #persona 3 #p3 x reader #p3 #persona 3 protagonist #minato arisato #minato arisato x reader #makoto yuki #makoto yuki x reader #p3 protagonist #x reader #reader insert #memento vivere #webxgal writes

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olderthannetfic · 2 months

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People going to you to say they didn't like a book instead of just posting that in their own blog and blocking the rabid fans is so fucking sad to me. Is this where we're at? Instead of blocking the sea of lost teens and 20-somethings in the dark academia tag who try to use "dark academia" as a substitute for having to develop their own interests and hobbies, we're now going to whisper on anon, "I don't like this one book"? That's how scared of negative interaction people are? It's the dark academia fandom. They're morons. They don't even argue with you that The Secret History is good, they reply with your post quoted and emojis inserted inbetween every sentence and think they're big smarty smart-smarts who showed you, or they say you didn't get it. "The fandom is absolutely insane" by what metric? Speaking as someone who's been sent suicide bait, death threats, rape threats, pictures of dead animals, Holocaust pics and actual CSEM by other fandoms, if you're too afraid of someone replying, "wow lmao ur not smart like us u no get it" or spamming your original post's text with emojis, maybe you're not old enough to be on tumblr or be reading a book aimed at adults.

The fact that people are now so afraid of pushback that they won't even say they dislike something off anon is honestly really pathetic. This is like people on Reddit who say, "I wouldn't say this if I weren't deleting my account later today, but I don't like MCU movies." It's the same vibe and I have the same question: you know you can just block people if they cry about shit you say, right? I got sent a dead rat once by a Yandere Simulator fan and the police + a restraining order is basically blocking but for RL, but most people in the fandom for The Secret History aren't going to actually interact with another person. They don't even usually bother to write fic or make art for it, they just repost quotes from it with some pics they swiped off of Pinterest for it.

Those are the people who you're so afraid of that you can't even say, "I don't like a book" lest they hurt you. You're afraid of Pinterest moodboard makers who ask things like, "what religion is the most dark academia? I want to convert to that" with a straight face who think wearing a white button-down shirt and brown pants makes them the embodiment of wealth and class and quiet luxury.

As someone who's actually had interactions with crazy fans IRL - especially Star Wars fans, as they're almost all frothing at the mouth to rant about how much they hate Star Wars - I am happy to report that this is a survivable thing and not one you need to be so afraid of that you don't dare mention it for fear of backlash.

Speak freely. Block people. Move on. Their tears are embarrassing for them, not you.

I spent some time in anon spaces, and it felt like a nice break at the time... but I have to say, I really notice the difference now that I'm findable again. For all the shit that comes my way, a hell of a lot of people have tried to befriend me over the last few years. I wouldn't have met any of them if I hadn't been visible.

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squigglewigglewoo · 7 months

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Masterlist!

this belong is on hiatus, I'm no longer taking requests. this used to be a hobby to take stress away, but it's instead adding more stress. taking a mental break, I don't know how long it'll last.

fluff~♡

smut~♧

angst~♤

dark themes~♢

drabble/imagine~❇

head cannons~※

full fics~✢

I do not write character x character, though nearly anything else is on the table for me to write! I may feel uncomfortable with certain requests, and seeing as writing is a coping mechanism, I will reject requests if I feel needed! I am not obligated to write what you ask of me. thank you!!

strictly ❝Bungo Stay Dogs❞ at the moment, I apologize if that disappoints anyone. I may start to write for ❝Moriarty the Patriot❞ if requested.

❝Chuuya Nakahara❞

virginity loss ~ ♧❇

what's it like to lose your virginity to two of the finest men in Yokohama? 424 words

drunken sex ~ ♧✢

sometimes they get a little too drunk and they just cant hold them back from such a pretty thing like you. 859 words

jealous sex ~ ♧✢

what happens when someone gets just a little too touchy feely when they're around? 1283 words

❝Dazai Osamu ❞

virginity loss ~ ♧❇

what's it like to lose your virginity to two of the finest men in Yokohama? 424 words

yandere dazai ~ ❇♢

a peculiar volunteer at the pet shelter, one who has a distaste to dogs, seems to know a little to much about you. 324 words

drunken sex ~ ♧✢

sometimes they get a little too drunk and they just cant hold them back from such a pretty thing like you. 859 words

jealous sex ~ ♧✢

what happens when someone gets just a little too touchy feely when they're around? 1283 words

yandere dazai smut ~ ♧✢♢

oh, when you finally agree, although with a little bit of help from being under the influence, who is Dazai to say no? 519 words

❝Fyodor Dostoevsky❞

virginity loss ~ ♧❇

what's it like having your virginity taken by the russian rat? 540 words

jealous sex ~ ♧✢

what happens when someone gets just a little too touchy feely when they're around? 1283 words

dividers by @/cafekitsune

second blog @chuuyasprettygirl

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myths-tournaments · 5 months

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Awful Characters - FINALS

Propaganda under the cut

IANTHE TRIDENTARIUS

Her number one hobby is ruining every person's that she knows life. Her second hobby is being soooo slutty about it despite looking like a literal wet rat. Her third hobby is having an extremely unhealthy relationship with her twin. Her other hobbies include cannibalism, wearing a maid outfit, being extremely convinced she is the main character, the badboy sexy love interest and the villain. 'Why', you may ask. Well, the answer is, for shits and giggles #justgirlythings i, aswell as literally everybody else in the fandom have gone through the pipeline from hating her to desperately wanting to fuck her. expect for i still fucking hope she dies and doesn't come back for good. (that would literally solve all of everybody's problems) as god intended (EXPECT FOR. one of her hobbies literally is gaslighting god) She is fucking horrible i will love her until i die and even after that

parks and recs jean ralphio voice she's the woooorst!! The moment she learns she has to kill someone to become a Lyctor (aka a more special necromancer), she doesn't hesitate to kill and cannibalize the guy who has been her cavalier since childhood… cavalier who she also totally bullied as kids, she was allowed to choose one guest for her and her twin sister's birthday party each year, and she would always pick whoever she thought her cavalier didn't want to see there! While other characters are shown to regret the process of becoming a Lyctor (which involves someone close to them dying)/were forced into it because of circumstances, Ianthe has absolutely no regrets, she believes she did what she had to do

The author once said of Ianthe: "I don't think she's been nice to anyone, if she has I'll go back and change it." She killed and ate the soul of someone she has known all her life so that she could become a necromantic saint and tormented him plenty before that. General negging, ganging up against him, always inviting people he didn't like to their birthday parties. She doesn't regret killing him. I think she is repulsed by the idea that his digested soul is affecting hers. She helped her crush lobotomise herself so she would be in Ianthe's debt, and later lied and said she didn't see the corpse of a woman her crush killed under her bed (why did she do that? I do not know). She has a bone arm because her original arm was cut off, she hated the replacement so her crush cut THAT off and grew her a new one out of just bones. She had it gilded and only after that did she decide to help her crush deal with the person who had been repeatedly trying to kill her. She wants so badly to be the main character but people keep interrupting her villain monologues.

she has her own content warning tag

She's such a bitch to everyone all the time, she causes nothing but problems, she tries to do a villain speech but fumbles it because her tummy hurt, she is the awfulgirl of all time

MAKIMA

The number of times I've seen people call others 'groomer apologists' or questioning if they actually like Makima for 'proper reasons' and aren't just sexualizing her are astronomical. She's truly a diabolical and fascinating antagonist. And yeah she's hot too. Who gives a shit if I like her character And her unsettling cryptic mommy energy? I have eyes. I have needs. I have love for Makima and I am not ashamed to say it.

#awful characters tournament #tournament poll #awful characters round 6 #awful characters finals #the locked tomb #tlt #ianthe tridentarius #chainsaw man #csm #makima

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rzyraffek · 1 year

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sup bestie pls do anything with Billy Lenz, Brahms and Asa. LITTERALY ANY KIND OF HEADCANON PLS I NEED THEM. USe she/her and let it be fluffly pls!!!!

YOO RAT MEN HEADCANONS ( Brashms Heelshire, Asa Emory and Billy lenz) Request open

I wrote mostly about how they avt when they are home alone with their s/o

SFW, SHE/HER, NO TRIGGER WARNINGS INCLUDED (except billy lenz being billy lenz)

Billy Lenz

Billy Lenz would 100% hiss at people to intimidate them, also probably bite too, he is very goblinish

Probably gets scared of loud sudden noises and fights dishwashers and washingmachines. Oh and he hates baths or showers, he just hates it >:( especially when water isn't boiling hot (this little gremlin is from hell he has needs), she needs to convince him by promising some tasty cookies afterwards or whatever yall want to do idc

Will eat uncooked food

Bites and fights her as sign of affecion, please do it too he will enjoy

How to food? He does not know. But pls let him cook with you he loves any kind of attention even if its 'how to cut apple tutorial'

He is smart but rather crazy and overreactive and he might accidently do a lil upsy when he has one of his maniac episodes so you better speedrun the hell away

Oh God buy him a cell phone for Gods sake.. wait maybe not he will prank call even more then

He will complain alot about s/o having to work and leaving house every few days. For your own sake find him a hobby, like idk peace of paper and crayons or play doh or idk just some long ass movies to watch

Brahms

My men really🧍‍♂️👁👁

He has episodes when he talks sosso much but he may also go very non verbal in some situations or when he feels certain ways

Also hes the type of person that when he takes dishes out of dishwasher and puts them back on the shelf he segregates plates by colors and shapes so they look pretty ^^

He likes hair accessories! And loves when she plays with his hair

He loves baths, just sitting ans vibing, especially when s/o helps him wash hair or just bathes with him

He will randomly make random noises like, yall just sitting reading books, he will stare at her eyes and go 🦖🐬

PLEASE TOUCH GIM NOT EVEN IN ROMANTIC WAY BUT OVER ALL PLEASE JUST HE NEEDS PHISICAL CONTACT SO MUCJ HE WILL DIE

Asa emory

"Oh hi Asa i see your back from job💖😊" "i killed them all🧍" "😨you mean like??? People you kidnaped or? "Bees attacked me🧎"

Not very affecjonate but will give a lot of gifts! And spent all free time he has.

ALSO OMG GOING TO ESCAPE ROOM WITH ASA WOULD BE SO WILD!! HE SHOULD BR MAKING THOSE (legally i mean)

#slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #brahms heelsire #brahms x reader #asa emory x reader #asa x reader #collector x reader #the collector x reader #the collector #black christmas #the boy 2016 #brahms imagine

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aphroditesmoon · 1 year

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all's blood runs dry but yours

jacaerys velaryon x vampire!reader

summary; The targaryen prince gets himself lost in a forest in winterfell, and finds himself lured into the house of the lady of night.

(strongly inspired by Angela Carter's short story Lady of the House of Love)

warnings; NSFW, blood, smut (minors dni!!)

°°°°

You have many names given by the folk people. Winter's witch, night killer, bloodsucker.

What you are, really, is a moroi, a vampyr.

A murderer. Though that is a call you never answer to. Every blood shed was for survival, never pleasure, it's not your fault those two things seem to go hand in hand everytime.

The stories people spread of you though, are almost always never true, most of them mistake you for the first lady of the night and of the house, your maker, the monstress you owed your life and pain to. Your mother.

From her womb you came from, her bite you were made of, and now her dress you wore.

It's the only dress you have, in your defense.

Years come and go like rain drops for you, as all the clothes wither and fade like the state of your house, only your mother's wedding dress survived somehow.

The blood stained ball gown with ripped sleeves eaten by rats (you ate them back so it's fine) worn every night as you lay out your tarot cards on the dusty wooden table.

A hobby did you well to survive these lonely last years, having less and less lost villagers to devour and too lazy to wonder out of the comfort of your hiding, you settle for rats and stray dogs by midnight after your little fun of cards, then by day you strip yourself bare to your last nightgown and rest in your coffin until dark comes again.

That was the repeated routine of the scary bloodsucker of Winterfell. No one could ever imagine the bore of settling for bitter blood of rotten animals and getting the same fucking card of 2 and 8 of Swords whenever you lay them by yourself to pick.

This night though, the wind feels colder and the trees shake harder, and the card you flip over is The Lovers. What ever could that mean?

Surely you're mistaken, what a confusing card to get in your state. You wipe your rat stained lips smudging the blood even worse and frowned as you put the cards back in it's stack and lean over the grand cow-webbed filled chair.

I'll need to clean the chandelier one of these day, such a shame for a beauty like that to be covered by spiders. You tell yourself as you stare up at it.

Your thoughts were fast interrupted as you feel the wind outside shake through the forest faster.

A dragon. haven't had one of those in years.

You wonder, who you assume would be a Targaryen, might have business doing in Winterfell.

And even more, you wonder if pure valyrian blood tastes any different than any others.

You heard the crash of the dragon's landing a few walks away from your dark mansion.

Whoever it was would come to your home. it was fated. For a second, the memory of your card appear your mind, might this be another sign? A smile carved itself on your stiff face, how exciting.

You heard him then. His knock, his yelling asking if there's anyone inside.

You stay seated on your chair as you hear the doors slam open from his push and the strong wind. His footsteps entices you as you fight the urge to lunge for his neck from where your placed at.

He appears in front of the dining room, clothes wet and hair damp. You wonder if he fell in the snow. It was fine though, You've always preferred your meals cold.

He notices you too slow, seated at the edge of the dining table, one lighted candle in the middle as the only source of light for the whole house.

He takes you in as you took him. Entranced by such unexpected peculiar sight in front of him. A ghostly girl in a white dress too big for her, red stained and patches all over, contrasting the paleness of herself.

"I apologize for the lack of welcome. Haven't had a visitor in years I have to say." Your voice broke the magic he was caged in. He snapped out of the trance he was in and stuttered as he realizes he's been standing there staring at your for a full minute.

"I- my lady- I hope I'm not intruding-" He starts, still falling over his words.

"Intruding? No, never, though visitors were unexpected, doesn't mean they're unwelcomed. You and your dragon both shall stay the night to shelter yourselves from such weather." You demanded easily.

He agrees as easily too.

He walks closer and sits by the opposite of the table as you invite him so and asks him to introduce himself.

"I'm prince Jacaerys Velaryon, my lady, son of the queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. It seems my dragon has found himself in a bit of a confusion, he lost his balance of a sort in the wind and crashed." He explained himself as you nod understandingly.

"Jacaerys. what a pretty name for a pretty boy". His pale cheeks blushed at your words. You offer a rare smile and watch as his eyes beamed at the sight of it.

"I figure you'd want to know my name now. I've many names and titles as well, you know. But I'll spare us both the boasting of my reputation. You may call me [name]."

Your own name felt odd in your tongue, You haven't had the pleasure of speaking or hearing it out loud since your mother died.

And as you hear him repeat the name you were born into, you wish to lick the syllables off his tongue and bite the lips that says them until they bleed into yours.

But for now you offer a bigger smile to show your contentment.

You rise abruptly from your seat and walk over him offering your hand. He hesitates before standing with you and wrapping his fingers with yours as you pull him up the stairs to a suitable chamber for the night.

You saw him stare in confusion at the sight of your coffin in the middle of the hall upstairs by the corner of your eyes, but he says nothing as he follows your lead still.

As the door of the room creaked open, the dim shine of the moon by the window shone through the dark walls of the chambers.

You heard him gasp as he saw the walls painted in blood stains and broken lamps static on the floor.

This is it. You tell yourself, Either I kill him here and now or I kill him as he tries to leave, doesn't matter.

You are hesitant still and just when you thought things couldn't get any interesting, he does what you least expect him to.

He sits on the bed.

At the edge of it he stayed as his eyes rake over you, eyes still in shock but the fear seemingly to slowly die down as he asks you what you never thought he would.

"When was the last time you showered?"

The randomness of his words pushed a suprised laugh out of you as your eyes widen.

"Do I stink so badly, princeling?" You tease as you stalk towards him like a predator eyeing it's prey. "I wouldn't dare suggest such a thing my lady." He responds cheekier than you'd expect.

It was then you notice the look in his eyes, the way he's watching you. He knew what you were, and was not scared. He viewed you not as a predator, but more as a kitten playing ambush with a rat. Not a monster, but a damsel to be saved from the curse of her own self.

As you stand in between his legs, your fingers cup his chin making him look directly in your eyes. "Did the gods sent you to me my princeling? Are you my knight in shining armor?" You wondered out loud.

"Realistically, a dragon sent me here." He jested nervously, confidence of minutes ago faltering as you stand inches away from him.

"hm" you responded softly, a smile etched on your lips as you took in his adorable he looked up close.

"You can't save one from the dangers of herself, i'm afraid. But I could save you from myself " you whisper to him as your lips came closer to his. His breath quickens and his eyes blinked before you closed the gao between the two of you.

His hands were fast to wrap them around your waist, as yours move to the back of his head, pulling on his hair as his tongue slips in your mouth earnings a moan from your side.

A feast of a man was what you wanted today, but a kiss is as equally as pleasurable, you learned.

You patience thinning, you push him to lay on the bed as you climbed on top of him, both legs by the side of his hip, you can feel how hard he was for you making you giggle through the kiss. You feel him unable to stop his own smile as he pushes you deeper in the embrace of his lips.

That smile ceased to exist as you start to grind on his clothes cock making him groan in your kiss.

You bite his bottom lip, giving in to temptation and you continue rutting into him fast with his hands moving from your waist to your ass, gripping it hard, pushing and moving you deeper to grind on him.

Your hands paw at his chest to feel him and he immediately rips his buttons off with one hand, showing you his bare upper body as you pull off the rest of the top.

You were humping him at this point, trying to chase a high your inexperienced self isn't sure how to exactly. It seems he shared your frustrations as he snaps and pushes you off to fall on your back on the messy bed.

Pushing your clit into his hard on deeper as you start sucking and kissing his neck, hands roaming his chest and squeezing his nipples, exploring his body thoroughly as he fights moans and groans of his own, letting you do what you want with him.

He rips of the extravagant skirt of the dress easily, impressing you.

His hands move to spread your thighs apart and he growls as he stares into you wet slicked cunt clenching on nothing.

You were gripping the sheets above your head, a moaning submissive mess laid upon him, begging to be fucked.

And he complies as he fits his head between your thighs, folding then over his shoulder and gripping them apart to savour your pussy.

His tongue moves in and out of your sopping hole making you scream in pleasure as you almost rip off the sheets. His name a a curse, a prayer, you screamed out repeatedly.

Eyes fluttering close you arch your back so had you fear you'd break your spine.

What a funny way for an immortal to die, you thought.

His fingers make an appearance as he slips two of them inside your cunt, moving them in and out your tight wet hole, making wet slapping sound of skin, adding intensity to the pleasure using his mouth to suck on your clit hard.

You move your grip from the sheets to his hair, pulling it hard as you squeeze his face between your legs, riding it.

Your suffocating pussy seems to entertain him as he groans againts your cunt, the vibration making you whine as you push yourself deeper in his tongue and mouth.

He kitten licks your folds and add a third finger. As he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves again, you scream in intense high and clench againts his fingers as they continue to fuck you through your orgasm.

Your heavy breathing dies down as does his movements as his fingers leave you. Your eyes remain on eachothers as he pushes his cum filled finger in his mouth and sucked it clean before moving on top of you, spreading your legs back open.

He closes his lips againts yours In a passionate lustful kiss and you wrap your hands around his neck, reciprocating the kiss.

And as he breaks the kiss to whisper over you, you swore he'd be the death of you instead of it's supposed reversed role.

"My turn."

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