#jschlatt live

[star4skull]

@payton.petus on TikTok!!

[thgegooberguy]

schlutt.

[yourleastfavoritesimp]

I like when he spreads his legs U^ェ^U

[slattlicker]

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * walking red, talking sweet ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: he takes you out. someone looks at you wrong. he handles it. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✧✧✧

the night starts sweet.

you’re in his jacket—big, dark, smelling like cedar and sin. your dress glimmers beneath it, legs bare in the breeze. he keeps one hand in his coat pocket, the other resting on your lower back as you walk home, the movie you just saw still lingering in your bones.

he’s not much of a romantic. but he’s warm, and he listens, and he always brings a second drink just in case the theater’s soda tastes like sugar water again.

and right now, under the halo of streetlights and city noise, it feels... good to be with him, beside him.

✧

you’re halfway to your block when a voice slices through the quiet.

“damn, sweetheart—dressed like that, you sure you’re not for sale?”

your body locks up.

it’s disgusting. sudden. sharp. but it’s not the first time you’ve heard something like it—and tonight, with schlatt next to you, you’re not about to shrink.

you stop walking. turn halfway, eyes narrowing. “what was that?”

he’s leaning against a streetlight, some no-name asshole with beer breath and a smug grin. the kind that thinks women existing in dresses are public domain.

“i said, if you’re gonna be walking around like that, might as well start charging.” he laughs at his own joke, like it’s the first time anyone’s ever said anything that clever.

you open your mouth to fire back—something fierce, something mean—but schlatt’s already moved.

he steps in front of you, slow and deliberate. hands planted on your shoulders.

"keep walkin', baby," he mutters, jaw like iron. "he’s not worth it."

"you’re real proud of yourself, huh?" schlatt calls over his shoulder, voice like gravel. “you talk to girls like that when you’re alone? or just when you think nobody’s gonna flatten your teeth?”

the guy’s still chuckling, but quieter now. uncertain.

schlatt’s grip on your shoulders tightens.

"babe,” you whisper, not scared—but your pulse is pounding. his is, too. you can feel it.

he leans in, presses a kiss to your temple. “don’t look at him. let’s get home.”

you let him lead you away, but your spine stays stiff, shoulders squared, head high.

you don’t flinch.

and neither does he.

✧

at your steps, he walks you all the way to your door.

you dig your keys from your purse, turning to say goodnight—but schlatt’s patting down his pockets, brows furrowed.

“shit,” he mutters. “my wallet.”

“your what?”

he slaps his back pocket, shakes his coat out dramatically. even unzips it and checks the lining. “it was right here. must’ve dropped it on the walk back.”

you eye him. “we can go look—”

“nah,” he says quickly, waving you off with a lopsided grin. “no need for both of us to freeze our asses off. i’ll retrace, probably left it near the corner.”

you cross your arms. “you sure you didn’t leave it at the theater?”

“positive.” his voice is smooth—too smooth. “i'm pretty sure i felt it when i was holding all our snacks, remember?”

“huh,” you say, not buying it. “how convenient.”

he steps in, presses a kiss to your cheek, then one to your temple. soft, but final.

“go inside, sweetheart,” he says. “be a good girl. leave the street crawling to me.”

you squint at him. “this is the most suspicious you’ve ever been.”

he flashes a grin and starts down the steps. “love you too, baby.”

✧

fifteen minutes later—

you’re in your pajamas, halfway through your makeup removal and skincare routine, when a knock hits the door.

he’s there.

his hair is a little windblown. knuckles red and scraped. the corner of his mouth split in a way that almost glints.

“hey, doll,” he says, too casual. “you alright?”

you blink. “me?”

“mhm.”

his tone is light. almost teasing. but there’s a flicker in his eyes—something that hasn’t cooled off yet.

you step aside without a word.

he walks in like he owns the place. drops onto the stool like it’s any other night—like this isn’t the sequel to a felony.

you follow him slowly, going over to a shelf and grabbing the first aid kit you now have to keep stocked.

“find your wallet?” you ask.

he lifts a brow. “didn’t need to.”

“no?”

“nope.” a grin, sharp as broken glass. “found something better.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re bleeding.”

“am i?” he glances down at his hands, like he hadn’t noticed. “oh, yeah. i slipped.”

“uh-huh. on what, the guy’s jaw?”

he grins, winces as you dab his lip. “he had it comin’.”

“you really went back?”

“someone talks to you like that?” he shrugs. “they learn what a mistake feels like.”

you pause mid-wrap. stare at him.

he doesn’t blink.

you press the last bandage into place.

he catches your wrist before you can pull away. thumb brushing along your pulse.

“you’re not mad?”

“mad?” you breathe. “i’m—”

you stop. because you’re not.

you’re flushed. warm. still keyed up. he’s close. he smells like cold wind and blood and your shampoo.

he leans in. presses a kiss to your wrist, then neck, then cheek, slow and soft.

“nobody talks to my girl like that,” he murmurs. “not when i’m around.”

your voice is barely a breath, playful and daring. “so...you always going to be this violent when someone tries to hit on me?"

“you think that was flirting, toots?” he laughs—low, dangerous, amused. then he’s got you by the waist, pulling you close, breath warm against your skin.

his grip tightens. not enough to hurt. just enough to make your heart stutter.

“flirting gets a warning,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your jaw. “disrespect gets blood.”

you inhale sharply—but you don’t back down.

your hands slide up his chest, slow, deliberate. “so what do I get?”

he looks at you. really looks.

and grins like the devil just gave him permission.

“you?” his voice drops to a growl. “you get ruined, sweetheart.”

✧✧✧

[schlunk]

ohhh the schlii....

[panteaterconar]

thing ill never finish

song

[schlauttism]

anyone here thinking about the connection between schlatt putting emerald blocks on the monument to quackity's demolished white house where they lived together

and the fact that schlatt used emerald blocks to mark places on SMPlive that meant something special to him when the server ended

has anyone thought about this or have I been suffering alone

[xoxave]

one of my best friends is in new york rn and i get this on fyp. WHAG IF SHE MEETS SCHLATT. ITS OVER.

[l4ndoflies]

He’s so cute I need him killed

[flamingpaige]

HELLO???!???

[the-home-of-innovation]

Gambler

[stonedficz]

schlatt talking ab losing weight this past stream is killing me. omfg. you’re kidding 😭he looks so good chubby i can’t lose my boy

twink schlatt was cute but not my type. love him parasocially. 😭

[greeniscosmic]

im going to nyc again this weekend to visit family and every time i go, im irrationally scared of schlatt popping out of an alleyway like fuckin freddy fazbear

[tricemp4-butsecret]

hahah hey schlatt.... *leans against my arctic monkeys scarf* i heard you like the car by the arctic monkeys..... (he definitely didn't JUST mention listening to it on stream) anyway.... seen em live twice on that tour.... pretty cool i know..... i was guest list for one of the shows......

[pumpkin-duo-forever]

murder duo though the years

[mack2732]

Just Schlatt and unannounced name dude