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ja3hwa · 11 months

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♡ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐔𝐬, 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬 ♡

Day 31 : Trick Or Teat

【Synopsis】 : The dead of night, creatures hide. In the light of a fire, those same creatures can become more.

『Word count』 : 7.01k

-> Genre: Supernatural. Smut. Angst. Fluff.

Paring: Yungi x Reader | Seonghwa x Reader [Eventual ot8 x Reader]

[Warnings] : Self hatred. Abusive family. toxic family. Cult-like religon. Myths and supernatural concepts. The reader is giving off Genderfluid in some parts [not me projecting whoops]. hints of sexual abuse. Blood. Gore. Dark themes. Blood drinking. Kissing. Swearing. All the boys have a corruption kink cause why not. Fingering. Seonghw has a bit of a superiority complex. Details of torture and killing people. Unprotected sex. Yunho and Mingi are little shits. Eheh

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Surprise!! This is the very first chapter and introduction to my new mini series I'll be writing. I know a lot of you have been wanting Vampire Ateez ot8x reader for a while, and I've been trying to find a good story, and i finally got one, hehe. Also, I wanted to make this fic extra long as well to say thank you for 4k followers. I still want to do an event, but I'm taking a little break first, so I hope this is okay for now.

I LOVE YOU ALL ♡♡♡

Check out the mini series masterlist -> [Here]

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List | Part Two

The Destiny Castle was filled with darkness and death. Guard dogs, the size of cows and strange beastly noises echoing in the forest surrounding. And warnings to anyone that enters the ground will never be seen again. Well, that's what the priest of your village says over time and time again. Blabbering about how god left the family that lived in the castle many centuries ago when they invited night-crawling creatures inside. Ones that drink blood and care little for the human race.

Vampires.

You sighed under your breath for the fifth or sixth time this evening as the sermon read on the large dusted book in front of him. Your hands were beginning to ache from having them clasped together for so long. Why were you even praying? It's not like you believe any of this bullshit. Yes, granted, some of it might sound true, and you had doubts on multiple occasions whether this man in the sky was, in fact, real or not. But did you really want to stick around and find out? When you die and you go to hell, so be it. You weren't scared of where you ended up. You were more scared of wasting your life away. Not finding the adventure you so desperately craved. But your picture-perfect parents with their picture-perfect kids shall have no such dreams. No such idea of living other than to tend to the market stall and be married to yet another picture-perfect family.

You felt your mother's god-awful stare as she clearly heard you sigh yet again. You hated her the most. Always finding new and improved ways to punish you for "your sins." Like rolling your eyes or talking back to a man. Or worse, not showing any signs of being a good future housewife so when she's finally ready to sell you off—oh I'm sorry, give you away—to some rich Christian suitor to be your husband. You could be the perfect version of yourself for her.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

You hated that fucking word. A loud bell chime caught your attention, signalling that Sept was finished with his blabberings for the evening. So you stood up straight, your annoyingly over-layered dress before turning on your heels to leave.

"Oh wait, Dove. Come here, please." Your mother's overfaked and sugary sweet tone rattled in your ears. The use of the nickname Dove also annoyed you. Dove, meaning white pure bird that is trapped in a golden cage. Everyone had called you that since you were born, most people in the village not even knowing your real name, only know this nickname.

Why, you may ask?

Simple, your mother hated your name. You were named after your father's mother, who she hated. But it was tradition to name your firstborn after the father's mother, so here you were. Not only were you a disappointment to your mother, but you also bore a name that resembles hatred. Lucky you.

"This is Lucas Wheeler. He's Mary and Robert's Eldest son." Your mother's voice buttered up the introduction, leaning in with an absolutely disturbingly fake smile that everyone seemed to fall for. You turned your lip slightly, making a poor attempt to smile, which your mother did not approve of. "Luca, darling, this is my daughter."

His grin was wide and overexaggerated. His tunic was buttoned all the way up to his Adams apple, looking as if it was constricting his airflow. And his hair was perfectly brushed back. He was the definition of a good pure religious boy. A book nerd. You couldn't hide your disgust as he licked his lips, eyeing you like some piece of flesh. You knew what he was hiding. That filthy lust that men seemed to only be forgiven for. He has probably dreamed about shoving his cock in every woman that passes him and he was definitely only thinking about his needs while staring at you. Not marriage, not husband duty. No, the sole idea of finally getting his little dick wet was driving him crazy. And it made you want to chuck your guts up all over his clean shoes.

"You seem to have such a um, polite daughter here, Christine. She seems shy?" Lucas's mother, Mary spoke up trying to take a look at you but you kept your face pointed to the ground. You didn’t want to be there and you weren't about to fake a smile for a family you did not need to know. you wanted nothing more than to slip away and become invisible like you always did in these types of situations. But turning twenty has now made you in the public eye. Twenty and without a husband was rare. Normally women in your village were betrothed at sixteen and married at eighteen. But you have managed to wheezle your way out of it from your parents being too worried about your younger sisters. But you’ll be twenty-one soon and your mother, Christine was becoming impatient.

“She is a shy one. Sweet too. Micheal and I have been trying to find the perfect man for her, but her shyness seems to not be a lucky charm.” Your mother battered, throwing a sweet chuckle making Lucas’s parents laugh.

“Well, how about you both come over? Bring all your kids, for dinner. I’m sure my Luca would love to get to know her.” Mary pinched Lucas’s cheek making him push away slightly.

“Yes. I’d love to know more about your daughter. I’m sure we will be able to entertain one another while you get dinner ready.” his dark words made your stomach turn and flip. Now you were definitely going to be sick.

“It’s settled then. We will see you at sundown.” Your mother bid goodbye tugging you away by your arm out of the church, not letting you go for a second. Knowing you’d just run off the first chance you got.

Night came quicker than you would have liked and no matter how hard to tried to slip away your mother made sure that one of your sisters was always with you, ready to shout if you tried to bail. What was this some type of house imprisonment? You didn’t want to go, that was more than clear. But your mother couldn’t care less and your father well it was ‘whatever mother says goes’. so you were alone in the more honest terms. Your brothers were too young to know any different, your sister who is only two years younger than you was a cutout of your mother. And your little sister was daddy's little girl. She didn’t care about anything but her daddy.

What a perfect family you seem to have. Everyone fitted in somewhere but you. You were the experiment. The first batch of cookies to come out of the oven that no one touches cause they were too burned or not fully cooked.

“Come on we are going to be late.” Your mother's voice rang through the house, your sister's eyes not leaving you. She had muttered something before heading for the door. You had told her you just needed to put on some garments before meeting her downstairs. She was hesitant for a moment thinking this was a plan to escape but you had said that there was no time now and what would be the point. Sensing your defeat she left you alone. Finally.

You pull on some pants under your dress, hating having to wear such feminine clothing. It wasn’t that you were against wearing dresses or lace or even frills. It was more that sometimes you wanted pants. Was that so bad? You sighed putting all the clothes your sister had pulled out for you to try on, on the end of your bed. That was later you’s problem. You noticed your book laying on your pillow making you swear under your breath. Tucking it back under the sheets you wonder if your sister saw it. You hopped not, if she saw what you wrote or worse what you drew, she’d be telling the church to burn you at the stake.

You ran down the stairs quickly, not wanting to waste any more time, hoping that if you go over and get this night over with you can come back home and hide away in your room, wishing you were anywhere other than with this family.

This night seemed okay as far as talking about our lord and saviour over supper was. Mary was busy finishing up the final dish, letting Lucas and your parents laugh over a blessed bottle of wine. They had sent you and Lucas away to, get to know one another and Lucas had to perfect idea to show you his barn. A place where ‘he could be himself’. God, everything he says annoys you. Climbing the old rusty ladder, you stand in an empty hay loft. Your gut felt strange, like your body was warning you of something but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Until you felt a hand grip your shoulder softly but tight enough to make you freeze.

His breath was so close, pooling on your neck. fingers were ghosting along your corset strings making tears build in your eyes. Even though he was a little boy in your mind. He was much bigger than you and he could easily take advantage of you if you didn’t play your cards right. So you had to act. “And what might we get up to here hmm…”

His chuckle sickened you. “Well, we have some time before mother calls. So I thought we get to know each other. Just like our families wanted.” he pulled away, making a grunting sound behind you. You turned slowly to see he was sitting on a blanket that had been laid out on some hay. Was this disgusting excuse of a man really thinking he could charm you into sleeping with him? God, his ego was bigger than you thought. You giggled, waltzing around the small room pretending to think but in truth, you were looking for an exit. You could go down the ladder but he’d probably grab you before getting that low. Maybe over the side onto the beams. He won't be able to get to you then. But then you’d be trapped until you eventually have to climb back over. And you know he’s the type to wait you out.

A window. Probably leads onto the roof. Not practical but if you recall you did see a bunch of hay bails just outside so if you jump you’d be able to land on them. And a broken ankle or wrist was better than….”Where is your mind wondering, baby? Do I scare you?”

Your head snaps back to him, giving him a small smile. “Oh, no…no…” You step closer, looking him deep in his eyes. “you don’t scare me…baby…” You stood right above his laying figure, his legs spread, enough for you to place a foot in between them. A grim smirk painted his unpleasant features. he went to sit up and you used this as your now or never, kicking him right in the balls without another thought. His groan was loud, knowing if it weren't for how far you were from the house. Everyone would have heard.

“You little bitch!” You ran for the window, crawling out as quickly as you could. The top of your dress got caught on a nail ripping the fabric. But you didn’t waste any time to cry about broken material, looking for the hay bails. It wasn’t as high of a jump as you thought, sliding down the straw, making some of it get caught in your dress. You could hear Lucas groaning in the distance as you started to run. Run fast and run far.

You needed to go home. Quickest route is through the forestry back towards the centre of the village before turning off from the church. Jump Mr Smith's fence and climb the vines into your room. Simple enough. But it's dark, a little too dark and all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and rabid footsteps in the distance. The forest was thick. Trees tightly snug together. You almost tripped several times over branches and roots. Your heart was racing now, panting as your mind was becoming hazy. Need to get home. Need to get home.

“Ohhhh Little Dove, where are you.” Lucas’s deep sinister voice echoed through the dark forest. He was too close, you needed to stop. Hide. Maybe he’d go past you or head back. “Come out, baby. We were just having some fun.”

Quiet. Be silent. don’t move. Not a mucsle.

He called your name this time your real one making you gulp. His voice was maybe two or three trees away from where you stood. A twig snaps and you feel tears in the corners of your eyes. He was so close it was like you could still feel his breath. “Come on princess...” His hand wrapped the tree you were standing against and everything stopped. You closed your eyes thinking for a moment, trying to play thousands of scenarios of how you could get away. But nothing would work. He caught you. He danced the bend, slipping right into your view. Before you could run his hand gripped your throat making you freeze. “Don’t worry baby. I don’t bite.”

His words were short... sinister, like he had achieved his ultimate goal of capturing his prey. Your eyes widened going to spit back a comment but your words caught in your throat as you saw a figure suddenly appear behind Lucas. Tall, dark. Red eyes glowing through the night. Everything happened so quickly, the beast grasped Lucas the same way he had you, pulling him back with fright. “But I do…”

The creature's fangs pierced the disgusting man's neck making him scream out a noise that would make your blood curdle. His grip dropped from you, trying to scratch and fight off the larger figure. You took this moment to run, not even caring if the creature was going to kill him or not. All you knew was you needed to run. But you couldn’t run home anymore. There’s blood on your hands literally, Lucas’s blood splattered on you. If this wasn’t a perfect situation the priest was looking for to burn you at the stake you don’t know what is. “Hey, this way.”

You physically jump hearing a high-pitched voice cooe at you through the wind. It was a hooded figure, and normally you would of not gone with a stranger but in this case it seemed fair. You followed the person who seemed to be always a few steps ahead of you at all times no matter how hard you tried to catch up. It was only then, when you stopped focusing on the person to look around you noticed they were leading you to the castle grounds. Where myth reads vampires inhabit. That must have been what got Lucas.

A blood sucking vampire.

You stopped in your tracks not knowing to go back or forward. It’s not like vampires scared you per se. It was just. You were human and they are beasts. They would certainly eat you before you could plead your case. But one of them saved you right? That’s what it was doing? Not just finding two humans and deciding to have a late-night snack right….

“Hey over here.” The figure called for you again but when you looked up everything suddenly went black.

Your head was ringing. Heartbeat thumping slowly in your ears. Black splotches clouded your vision as you tried to look around. You were in a room. A Billiard room, to be exact. You have never seen a room of such a size. The bottom of your house most definitely fitting in this room alone. The leather under your fingers felt expensive, seeing the brown with bubbled texture. It was lavish, elegant—

"Beautiful, isn't it." A smooth voice swayed your attention, having caught you admiring the fine fabrics of the furniture. Your eyes locked with deep crimson ones. He was like nothing you've ever seen before. He was stunning, tall, and broad. You had to gulp at the sheer beauty of the man. But you knew he wasn't just a man. From his eyes, you knew he was a beast, a night crawler.

"Are you going to respond? Or are you more of a staring type?" Another voice scared you slightly. Looking to your left, you see another man, but he was sitting on the couch next to you. His black undercut fitted his features perfectly. He kind of sounded like the hooded figure that was helping you get away before...

"Definitely the quiet, staring type." A cheeky tone to your right. He was leaning on the pool table, his Cheshire cat grin painting his features smugly.

So there's three of them that live here?

"Now now, Woo, San. She's probably just scared." A shorter but beefier male suddenly stood next to the first one that spoke. He wasn't even looking at you, mostly paying attention to the two he called Woo and San. You were now sitting straight up, moving your gaze from each of them. As they were all in their own worlds arguing about why you might not be talking.

"You're bleeding, Tiny?" A voice growled behind you, startling you. You turned to see two very big men standing behind the couch. "When did you cut yourself?" He dragged his two fingers through your wound, making you hiss, pulling away from him.

He put one of his fingers in his mouth, closing his eyes as if he were savouring the taste. Once he was done, he placed his other bloody finger in the male next to him, mouth. The other man groaned his eyes, glowing a harsher red as he stared you down. "You taste delicious, Sugar."

You went to stand, trying to get away from them, but your legs gave out, making you fall forward in front of the high-pitched boy who still sat on the other couch. "Be careful, Dollface. Don’t want ya gettin hurt."

"Okay, let's give her some space. Wooyoung, take San down to the kitchens and see if dinner is ready yet. Mingi and Yunho can go set the table." The one that stood at the door, the first man directed all the men with ease. They will followed without another word, heading for the door. "And for the love of Lillith, Jongho, can you please find your lover and Hongjoong. I think they were still cleaning up from..." He looked at you briefly. "Dealing with that disgusting human."

You knew he was talking about Lucas, and that meant this Lover boy or Hongjoong had been the one you saw ripping through Lucas's neck. They all left soon after, leaving you alone with the dominant man. You managed to sit back on the couch, but you wanted, needed to stand. So you tried your luck again, and your knees buckled, making you slip forward, but instead of making an impact with the ground, two large arms were wrapped around your waist. Your hands gripped the creature's biceps, feeling his muscles taught and tense. "You do need to be careful, Darling."

Unlike Lucas's or any man, you've ever met really. These creatures don't seem to set off any of your alarms. You didn’t know if that was a bad thing or not, but you chose to brush it off, ‘cause in the end, you had never felt such kindness from anyone in the village. You were out-casted, unloved. You might as well be the witch they all wanted you to be. The kind smile that painted his features made your heart skip. He was indeed handsome. You finally spoke up saying who you were and the man looked at you with surprise before laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Seonghwa. It’s nice to meet you…”

Your name rolled off his tongue so beautifully. No one had ever used it to address you before. It was almost strange, foreign even. “Honestly you could call me anything. I was never called that name sadly.”

Seonghwa hummed in response, still holding tight on you. In truth, he knows much more about you than he leads on. When he and the others go on hunts he had found you a year ago. Ironically you were having your nineteenth birthday. On your own of course. He remembers the way you spoke to yourself, wishing yourself a happy birthday while you drew in your book. Your feet were in the cool water of the watering hole in the forestry just outside the village. You went there almost every second day. And so did he.

There was something about you that caught his eye. Caught all of the boy's eyes. You were special but none of them could put their finger on it. So of course when they found you running for your life from a disgusting man. They couldn’t stand by and let anything happen to their precious little human.

Dinner was quick as you just sat there and ate in silence. The others were loud though, making it seem almost normal. Like everything that was happening was something you all were used to already. Seonghwa had told you about all the boys and what all their names were. It took you a moment to put names to faces but once you got it. It was easy. Seonghwa never left your side. Making sure you were safe and comfortable. You appreciated it, understanding it must have been weird to have a human walking around. But you quickly learnt that all the maids and butlers were human. They got paid and some even lived on the estate.

Everything the village said about vampires and creatures in general was so wrong. And secretly you always wanted it to be wrong. So you were glad they weren't purely just bloodsucking beasts. But every now and then that face you saw popped into your head. You still didn’t know which one killed Lucas. And on top of it, this Hongjoong and Yeosang—Seonghwa had told you his name—were nowhere to be found.

“Okay well, sun will be up soon. Let’s get ready for bed.” Seonghwa again spoke up, dying down the chatter. It was like he took on a motherly role in the house. It was cute.

“Come Sugarcube. Yunho and I will show you to your room.” The one named Mingi flashed you a smile making you smile in response. Bidding Seonghwa goodnight or would It be morning now? Mental note to look out for a clock. The halls were lavish and carpeted, matching all the rooms you’ve seen thus far. Everything was perfect, vintage and beautiful. Yunho and Mingi had caught onto your mind wandering and had stopped for a moment, seeing how far you’d walk without them near you. You were very cute to them. Like a clueless bunny, with wide innocent eyes.

“Hey, Tiny. Your room is over here.” Yunho’s far voice snapped you out of your thoughts making you turn around to see both large men. Their arms crossed, with big grins. Your face was redder than a tomato in seconds making them both groan at how you waddle back quickly. Cute. Too cute. “This is where you’ll be saying. We’ll try and get some of your personal things tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Hongjoong had said something about grabbing some stuff while your family are out tomorrow.” Mingi rubbed the back of his neck as you slipped past both men to look into the huge spacious room. Only hours ago you were about to be married off to some pig and live on his farm until your death to now staying with not one but eight vampires.

And what was worse. You couldn’t go back. Not that you’d want to that is. But still, all your life you’ve known one thing and now… “You okay Tiny? Not the style you like? We have like ten other rooms if you want to-No it’s okay it’s just…” You cut Yunho off before taking a seat on the olive green and black silk sheets that lay on the large king bed.

“Did…Did Lucas die?” You don’t understand why you were asking about that pig but you needed to know. You needed to know would your parents found his mangled body and thought the beast that did that also killed you. Or would they think you did it? Yunho sat on his knees in front of you, placing his large hands on your thighs in a comforting manner. His smile was soft and his fingers grazing on your exposed skin was gentle.

“No. Yeosang left him alive. But he won't be wanting to live with the way he looks now.” You don’t know if Yunho’s words made you feel better or worse.

“Hongjoong helped him drag him back to that barn. His parents found him and they are looking for you at the moment.” Mingi revealed, knowing you’ll just keep asking questions so there was no reason to hide anything from you.

“Do my parents think I’m dead?” Deep down you knew they’d be happy either way. Dead, alive. Murderer or innocent. Your family would plead their sob story about the monster you were regardless of the truth.

“No…Lucas told them you ran. They think you were a part of it. Luring him out there for your vampire lover to have a meal.” Yunho felt disgusted with himself for repeating what Hongjoong had told them your parents said. But what else should they do?

“Vampire lover….hmm.” You smiled, starting to laugh. That’s what they probably thought you were sneaking off to at random hours of the day or night. Both of the men looked at one another with confusion, letting Mingi sit down next to you.

“Something funny with that Sugarcube?” Mingi’s voice was so deep, velvety. It made your core tingle and heart race. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, but still giving him a smile.

“My mother has wanted nothing but to pin some devilish thing on me and now she gets it. Something that said I did not serve the lord. Argh…” Tears ran down your cheeks “Fuck the lord. Why should I have to care what an old man did for humanity?! I just wanted to paint. Find adventure. Not marry and be a baby maker for some lowlife pig.” All your pent-up anger. All your disappointment. Every single thing you wished to say to your mother was pouring out, in front of two vampires you had only met hours ago now. It felt like a weight being pushed off your chest and you were no longer drowning. Mingi’s hand rubbed circles on your lower back making you fall into his embrace, letting him hold you while Yunho straightened up so he could hold you as well. They were beasts that could drain you in seconds yet they held you like they’ve known you for years. They listened as if they cared. They spoke as if you were the most important person in the world. why?

“There, there baby. It’s okay. You’re free now. You can do anything you want.” Yunho’s voice was quiet almost barely above a whisper. But still still heard him. You pulled away letting them still hold you but you could wipe your face. You can do anything? No one has ever said that to you.

“Well...I guess since this my first time of freedom…” You had both the vampire's attention now with your words. “I want a bath. One with lots of bubbles.” You’ve never had such a thing in your life only settling for quick showers or sharing bathing pools with your siblings. Not something lavish. Mingi laughed a deep hearty laugh. As if you couldn't get any more cute, there you went.

“I think that’s a perfect idea Sugar. We’ll get one of the maids to fix one up for you. And…” He placed his hands on either shoulder pushing you towards Yunho. Your face inches from him. Mingi inspected the wound of your shoulder blade noticing it was already closing but blood was still pooling out of it slowly. “Get this wound cleaned up…”

His tongue licked a strip upwards, following the wound. You hiccuped feeling a slight sting from him. Yunho however distracted you by giving you a kiss. Your eyes were wide and confused. He… he was kissing you. His soft lips moved slowly against yours. His tongue dipped around your bottom lip, testing the waters. Perfectly distracting you from Mingi cleaning your cut with his mouth. Your blood tasted unlike anything he had ever tasted before.

“You taste amazing… fuck.” Mingi mumbled against you while Yunho’s tongue slipped into your mouth as you groaned. Your mind was spinning like crazy, your hand finding place on Yunho biceps, digging your nails in his cold flesh.

“Y…Yuyu..” You tried to speak, finally making both men pull away, leaving you to gasp for air.

“Sorry tiny. Your lips were just too kissable not to.” Yunho chuckled licking his lips of the saliva you left behind on them. Your heart was pounding, feeling such excitement but also a tinge of fear…

“Tha… that was my first kiss..” You felt embarrassed to say so but you felt compelled to tell them. Which made both of them growl. Mingi’s fingers wrapped in your tattered dress hem while Yunho rubbed his hand over his face.

“Fuck. I was your first kiss baby?” Yunho felt so proud of himself.

“Damn Yunho the others aren't gonna be happy when they find out,” Mingi spoke as if you were no longer there.

“Wait why would the others care?” You suddenly felt small, seeing hunger in both their eyes. You had no idea what these men were planning, nor what they all wanted from you. It frightened you. But not as much as it excited you.

The bath was filled with bubbles, vanilla scent soap and soft music from a vinyl. You could have stayed in there for hours but when one of the maids came in to help you dress your wound you knew it was time to get out. The nice maid named Minnie had brought you some sleepwear, soft silk sleep shorts and a singlet. You have never felt such soft fabric before always getting hand-me-downs or second/third hand clothing.

“You look cute.” A gentle voice echoed from the door of your room. You hummed, blush burning your cheeks. Turning you see Seonghwa leaning against the door frame, bottom lip between his teeth as he eyed you, not even trying to hide that he was checking you out.

“Thanks…” You played with your fingers, standing there awkwardly as you watched Seonghwa close the door, slowly moving towards you. Like he was stalking you. No doubt Yunho and Mingi had run off bragging what they had done when you were busy bathing. God, if this was going to become a new normal you were going to develop a headache from your head spinning.

“I wanted to check on you.” For every step he took, you took one back, like a little dance until your back was firmly against the wall and his body almost flushed against you. “I heard Min and Yun had some fun with you.”

“I-..Yunho kissed me…Mingi he uh…” You felt so flustered, fanatically looking around the room feeling embarrassed about spilling what you had done even though you knew the two giants would have told everyone by now. He put his fingers on your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling on it slightly.

“I was kinda hoping to be the first to taste you. But then again, none of the boys tend to listen.” His eyes were hooded, looking at you with such hunger. He could feel your heart race against the pad of his thumb. He can hear your blood pumping quicker than normal. And your eyes never left his. His face inched closer, and then some. Seeing just how close he could get to you before you’d pull away but you didn’t, not even flinch. “Have you done anything like this before?”

You shook your head no slightly. “Have you ever touched yourself, Bunny?” his question made your face become redder. This was filthy, dirty, something you were supposed to be sworn away. And man did defying god feel intoxicating. You whispered no, making him close his eyes with a sigh for a moment. So innocent, so cute… So his to taint. “Do you want me to touch you, Bunny?”

“Yes…” You whisper… He tucked a piece of damp hair behind your ear making you shiver as his fingers grazed your skin. His cold tips slide along your cheek, down to your neck, before pushing gently on your man artery feeling your hot blood pump under his digits.

“I could drain you dry right now. Or fuck you full? Maybe both? Hmm?” His lips brushed against yours but not enough to seal his lips on yours. No, he wanted you to do it, he needed you to do the first move. So he knows you do in fact want it. And you gave him exactly what he wanted, leaning up to lock your lips to his. His one hand cupped your face to deepen the kiss while his other, snaked down to play with the hem of your shorts. Your legs spread instinctively, giving him access to do whatever he pleases. His wet tongue danced with you making you feel all kinds of filthy.

You had almost gotten a man killed, ran away from home. Most likely been shunned for life from your village and on top of that kissed two men that both happened to be undead creatures you only just met, while another drank from one of your open wounds. If was indeed sins, you might as well be sent down to Lillith herself on a golden platter.

“Come on Bunny, let’s get you comfortable.” He pulled away picking you up by your thighs before walking over to your bed and laying you down on the plump mattress. His lips trail down your cheeks, then your jaw until he stops at your neck for a moment rubbing his nose along your jugular. “God I can smell your blood through your soft skin.” he sighs, drawing his fangs out.

“H-Hwa p-please…” You bucked your hips against his hardening length, spreading your legs further so he could get closer if that was possible. He chuckled, darkly. Fang pressing just hard enough to pierce your skin a little bit so a few drops of blood would spill out. He licked your blood up, trying not to get any on the bed sheets. Your whimpers were music to his ears, and your taste was heavenly. Now he’s wondering how else you taste in other places. “Fuuckk.”

The feeling of his fangs and the was his fingers play with your short made your head cloudy. His hand slipped into your shorts cupping your core making you suddenly aware what was happening. His mouth finally left your neck, kissing down the exposed parts of your chest. He was worshiping every part of your body sending your skin on fire. “Such a pretty bunny. I can feel heat pooling out of you. Do you find my devilish charms that intoxicating bunny?”

You squirmed, needed more. His index finger slide along your slit making your mouth open into an ‘o’ shape. Your eyes shut tightly, finally feeling some kind of relief that you were searching for. The pleasure was new, and strange, making you feel like you were in a whole another world. Seonghwa kept whispering sweet nothings to you as he slowly pushes a finger inside your drenched cunt. It was steady at first until he found a rhythm, inching yet another finger inside making your brows knot together. His name fell from your lips on repeat like some kind of broken vinyl, he knew he could get you close to your high without much effort given you have never felt such a feeling before. And with only a few more moments you were clenching around his digits, coming underdone while he stared at you intensely, watching every one of your features move and contort in the pure ecstasy he was gifting you. “Did that feel good baby? I can make you feel even better, all you got to do is say yes.”

“Yes, please Seonghwa. Please. Make me feel like that again. I wanna feel good.” You don’t know why your mouth started spilling such filth but you couldn’t care, not when you were so close to feeling a pleasure you have only wondered about in those lewd novels Miss Smith had down the path. She had let you borrow one and it had changed your life forever. Seonghwa got to work, pulling your shirt off above your head and tugging down the rest until it slipped off your ankles in one swoop of his wrists. You were completely bare for him. He could see all the sun-kissed spots. All the scars, and beauty marks. He could see the bruises of a handprint on your collarbone and other smaller ones littering your legs and arms.

Pathetic human. Digusting pig.

Fuck, does he wish that Yeosang and Hongjoong hadn’t kept him alive now. But then again giving him a swift death would have been too merciful. No, Seonghwa would want to keep Lucas in a cell, locked away for weeks. No food, barely any water. Watching him starve. Watch him beg for death. But Seonghwa would never give it to him. Lucas would welter away in the dungeon, cold, scared, and alone. Just as you felt when you were being chased by him. Just as you felt when he had put his hands on you. Seonghwa would make him pay.

“H-Hwa…” You sat on your elbows having seen the vampire's mind wander. Was he okay? Was he second-guessing his actions? Seonghwa was quick to disregard any of your fears as he shed himself off his shirt, before sliding off the bed to pull his pants down. They dropped to the floor with an audible ‘oof’. You didn't mean for your eyes to immediately gaze down at his fully grown erection but its angry red tip had caught your attention. Seonghwa didn’t mind one bit though, he admired your body in the meantime, letting you get a good look at him while he did the same to you. “That can’t fit inside me….”

Seonghwa laughed, physically laughed at your abrupt statement. “Oh don’t worry. It will.” he yanked one of your legs making you gasp. He stood tall at the end of your bed, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your slit, gathering up some of your cum to use as lubricant. The whole time his eyes never left yours. He wanted to see the pleasure pooling in your eyes when he entered you inch by inch. And as you bit your bottom lip, you tried your damned hardest to keep your gaze open. “That’s it, baby. Breath…”

The stretch was painful, to say the least. Even though Seonghwa had used his fingers on you, it still wasn’t enough to fully prep you for his girth. He rubbed circles in your hips, trying to settle the pain as much as he could, noticing your fingers had entangled in the silk sheets, with your knuckles turning lightly white.

“Ffuckk, hngmm Seong.” you mumbled, finally feeling him enter you fully, his groin flush against you. He stayed still for a moment, letting you catch your breath but man was it hard. The way you clamped around him, sucked him in for more. It made him want nothing more than to pound the living shit out of you. But patience. He needed patience. And luckily out of all the boys, he owned the most patience.

“Can I move Darling?” His words were a stutter, laying with groans and sighs. You nodded your head before responding with a quick and quiet ‘please’ letting him draw his cock until only the tip was inside you then smashing back in, knocking the wind out of you. You could no longer hold yourself up, falling onto your back. Seonghwa watched as your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts and how your thighs were clamped snugly around him. You felt amazing, looked eternal. And you were finally his.

He dreamed about what your cunt might feel like wrapped around his cock. Or how might your blood taste when you are in the middle of being fucked. Firty thoughts had always seemed to riddle his mind whenever he saw you and now he could finally get the answers. But one thing is for sure. He has no idea how he is possibly going to share you with the others. When he is going to be craving you permanently.

-♥︎

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nyxyxx · 10 months

Text

Godly Desires - Part 3

The Diluc chapter woohoo (he may be a little ooc but thats cuz im very inexperienced at writing him) The yandere stuff will gradually get more intense as the story goes on but for now its super super mild. I. II. III. IV.

Warnings: This story contains yandere content and religious themes

-3-

"A friendly drink"

You had just arrived with Diluc at Dawn Winery, and you couldn't help but notice the glances you got from all of the workers as you walked past them. Something about it seemed odd, but you didn't have enough time to figure out what was wrong. You trailed after Diluc as he led you into his office, and shut the door behind him.

"Please, sit," he said, watching you awkwardly stand by the chairs. You nodded and hesitantly sat down on the cushioned seat, and you couldn't even believe how comfy the seat was. Well, you had just been spending all of your time in the wild outdoors so having a nice chair to sit in was very unusual.

Diluc walked over to his chair, on the other side of the desk, and sat down. He pulled a bottle out from underneath his desk. "It's grape juice, is that alright?" He asked, suddenly nervous. He didn't want to give you a bad first impression, although it was already a little messy because of what happened down by the lake.

"Oh sure. I don't mind." You answered. The corners of his lips rose ever so slightly, and he opened the bottle of grape juice. You were engrossed in the way he carefully held the wine glass, gentle but firm, and the charming way he poured the juice into the glass. Something about it was surreal. Elegant even. He had an air of nobility around him life that.

However on his part, what he noticed was completely different. He felt that his hands were too shaky. That he was taking too long to pour the glass, and the silence that hung in the air was becoming thicker. He could barely breathe at the prospect that you were even here, in his home, sharing a drink with him. It was unbelievable, really.

Once he was finished, he handed the glass over to you, and you took it from his hand, your fingertips gently brushing against his. The tips of his ears turned a very light pink, but he was lucky that you hadn't been paying attention to that.

He hated that he felt so nervous. He should be elegant and charming, and leave a very good impression on you, so that maybe, just maybe you might see him favorably. He despised how weak he felt, but it was only natural for him to be nervous in the presence of a being like you.

"Mm...thank you" You said, as you took a sip of the grape juice. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and had a little bit of sourness to it. It was refreshing and cold, but made you feel warm. Out in the wild, you had occasionally found fruits and just drank the juice from them, but this was a little different.

"Please, there is no need to thank me, it is my honor," He said, taking a sip from his glass. You thought he was just being a gentleman, but in truth he was all euphoric on the inside.

In the silence, your mind began to wander. You started to doubt more and more if this was actually a dream or not. Of course it had to be, because this place wasn't real. Diluc wasn't real. That should be the case, but yet, you felt like you've been here for such a long time already. When were you going to wake up from this dream?

You thought it strange how real everything feels, from the cold water, to the rich taste of the grape juice, to the hunger and thirst you had experienced, it was all so vivid. Could this really be a dream? You've heard that it is possible for people to experience very real sensations in their dreams, but you never thought it would be as convincing as this.

Well anyway, there was no point in worrying about the details. You had no idea how long this dream was going to last, so in the meantime you might as well have fun with it. After all, there was no harm in having fun in a dream right?

The glass in your hands was now empty, the juice all gone. "Thank you for the drink, but I should probably get going now," you said, rising from your seat. You already missed the softness of the chair. You looked at Diluc, who sat their blankly staring at his empty glass. Shrugging, you began to walk towards the door, only to stop upon hearing his voice.

"You should stay the night here. It is already getting dark outside. It will be dangerous." He said, quickly rising from his chair. He walked over to you carefully, and smiled. He was just trying to be considerate.

"I mean, is that really okay? I don't mean to impose..." You trailed off, while that was true, you also did feel a little bit awkward about the situation.

"I assure you, it is not a big deal. I'll have a guest room arranged for you." He said, without waiting for your answer. "Then you can leave first thing in the morning." but please allow me just a bit more time to be near you, is what he didn't say out loud. You simply sighed and agreed. It would in fact be easier just to stay here until morning. Then you could find your way to Mondstadt without it being the middle of the night.

Taglist: @justyoureader; @mmeatt; @iamapotatoe; @clavichordcleffa; @yu-ulda; @c3rtifiedsimp; @eravariety

#genshin sagau #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #cw yandere #genshin cult au #genshin impact x reader #sagau #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc

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ladykailitha · 5 months

Text

Well Met By Moonlight Part 13

Hey, guys do you all remember that period of time when I was working on this story but refused to show you snippets of it on WIP Wednesdays? Yeah, this is that chapter. (I'm pretty sure, anyway. Because this shit was super spoilery.)

We finally get what happened to Steve and why he didn't grow up as Pack. This chapter does get a little dark in its themes so be careful when you read and if you need specifics, DM me and I'll fill you in.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

****

Eddie and Wayne landed in front of their trailer with a deft touch. Eddie still wasn’t over the joy of being able to fucking fly. Like sure when he was younger, Wayne would take him for flights occasionally, but nothing beat banking on a breeze as the wind lifted him higher and higher.

“Your boy’s got a mouth on him,” Wayne said gruffly as he walked up the stairs to their trailer.

Eddie chuckled. “Always had. Even in school.”

Wayne huffed out a laugh. “True enough.”

As soon as they were safe inside, Eddie asked, “Hey, do you remember that couple who took Stevie in when his parents died?”

Wayne frowned. “You mean the Franklins?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Eddie snapped his fingers. “Yeah, them. Why was Steve placed with them? And not, I don’t know, the pack?”

“Ah.”

Wayne went to the kitchen and pulled out a six pack of beers. “That’s a bit of story. Drink up, you’ll need it for this.”

Eddie opened up a can of beer and settled in for story time.

Wayne downed an entire beer and wiped his mouth off with his sleeve.

“Hopper had gotten bad,” Wayne began. “Like real bad.”

“You’ve mentioned that before. That was around the time I came to live with you, right?”

Wayne nodded. “It wasn’t just drinking. It was drugs, too. And not just weed, either. I’m talking the heavy stuff.”

Eddie nodded. He had sold said heavy stuff to Hopper just before he cleaned up with El coming into his life. When Wayne asked him why, Eddie told him that he had no idea what he was doing with it and honestly didn’t care.

Knowing what Eddie did now, he regretted it, but he was so close to being able to afford his Warlock that that was all he cared about at the time.

“Steve’s dad Clint Harrington was getting ready to challenge Hopper for the position of alpha,” Wayne continued. “He knew that he might kill Hopper, but at that point it probably would have been a mercy.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. Maybe if Clint Harrington had lived, lived to be the alpha, the town wouldn’t be experiencing the troubles it was now.

“So what happened?” he asked gravely.

“Allison’s father died out in New York,” Wayne said. “The timing of it was so suspect, Ed. Like, you know I hate conspiracies with every fiber of my being, because there rarely is one. But this smelled rank from the get go.”

“You think whoever had the Harringtons killed,” Eddie said, “you think also popped off Granpappy, too, don’t you?”

Wayne glared at him, but conceded the point. “Whatever happened to the Harringtons was bad, boy. Like their bodies were savaged–”

He stopped and his eyes went wide. “It was exactly like this morning. I couldn’t tell the scent then, just like I couldn’t now.”

Eddie nodded. “As near as I could tell, there wasn’t a scent to be had. Whatever it was who killed the Harringtons and attacked Patrick, didn’t leave behind a scent.”

“There are very few things in this world that leave a scent so minuscule I could barely detect it,” Wayne said.

Eddie nodded. “So what happened with Steve after they died?” He was interested in the other thing, but he was really worried about his boyfriend.

“The old mayor, Larry Kline and I,” Wayne said amused, “made the decision that the pack wasn’t safe for Steve. But despite what Steve thinks the Franklins weren’t human.”

Eddie frowned. “They weren’t?”

“They were Were too,” he said with wary tilt of his head. “Were-bat. We figured that with them being at least Weres would be able to teach him how to shift and how to shift back comfortably.”

“So what went wrong?” Eddie asked, moving closer to Wayne on the sofa. “Because holy hell, pops, if Steve had been human CPS would have been called and fast.”

Wayne drank more of his beer and then rubbed one eye with the other hand. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. There were no indications that Steve was anything other than a kid who’s parents died and was adjusting to it. Yeah, he wasn’t exactly happy, but we didn’t expect him to be, you know?”

“So what changed?”

Wayne drank the last of his beer and set it on the coffee table. “They were away on a trip and I don’t know if they forgot, didn’t care, or planned it... but Steve wolfed out for the first in his entire life when he was eighteen.”

“What?!”

Weres were supposed to shift for the first time when they hit puberty. Early teens for most of them. But to not shift until you were eighteen was just begging for the Were to go insane.

“Fucking hell, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie groaned. “Whoever this is is playing a long ass game. Jesus Christ. They were hoping he would go crazy, ending the Harrington line for good. So what happened?”

Wayne licked his lips. “Steve ran to me. He was frightened. Terrified out of his mind. Old Mack nearly shot the poor bastard as he came tearing through the trailer park.”

“Jesus H. Christ...” Eddie whispered.

Wayne chuckled. “It wouldn’ve done shit, it was just a regular bullet, it wouldn’ve even slowed him down.”

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. “So what stayed Mack’s hand then?”

“You’ve seen your boy in wolf form,” Wayne said, “can you imagine how beautiful he looked then? The cream of his under belly blending with the warm brown of his back and face as he tore down the gravel pavement?”

Eddie could imagine it in fact. Steve was gorgeous as a human, but as a werewolf? He was exquisite. It came from his mixed breeding of being born from another born werewolf and his turned wife. Born werewolves tended to be more timber wolf in their appearance. Almost dire wolf-esque. Big, with course fur and fierce. Bitten werewolves tended toward the smaller red wolves. Quick, slender, and cunning as hell.

Steve was a mix of these two breeds and it made him the most beautiful thing on four legs Eddie have ever scene.

“To fire at something so majestic would have been a travesty,” Wayne was saying when Eddie came back from his revery. “So Mack just stood there, rifle in hand as Steve made straight for my door.”

Eddie frowned. “Where was I? I don’t remember this.”

“You and your friends had gone to Indy for some concert or another,” Wayne said. “I don’t rightly recall.”

Eddie’s frown got deeper, he’d only gone to one concert with his friends in Indy because one of the ‘85 Hellfire Club members had gotten tickets for graduation and had taken all of them.

“Is that why you weren’t home when I got back into Hawkins?” he asked. “You were dealing with Steve?”

Wayne nodded and popped open another bottle of beer. He held one up to Eddie, but he shook his head. Eddie held up his still mostly full can. Wayne licked his lips.

“You’ll want to drink more of that,” he muttered.

Eddie did as he was told and it took the edge off of his anxiety but settled sour in his stomach.

“After I got Steve sedated,” Wayne said, “and yes it was fucked up I even had to in the first place, I went a paid the Franklins a visit.”

“That sounds ominous,” Eddie said flatly.

Wayne grinned. “They tried to tell me that they were frightened of Steve. That as a wolf he was much bigger than they were as bats. That all it would take was one snap of his giant jaw and they would be but a morsel to the boy.”

Eddie blinked at his uncle in confusion. “What now? His first change would have been a literal puppy. He wouldn’t have even been able toddle after them, let alone get within biting distance.”

Wayne huffed. “Right in one, boy. And if they had been teaching him from his first change on, he wouldn’t have thought of them as prey at all. Not even on moon nights.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“And then they tried to attack me,” Wayne continued.

“They did what?” Eddie squawked.

“They probably would have succeeded, too,” he said, “but apparently Steve is a hard wolf to keep down and followed me like a lost puppy. When he saw Dick Franklin raise a fucking yew stake to stab me in the back, Steve leapt on him.”

“Where the fuck did they get a yew stake?”

Wayne just shook his head. “The hell if I know, kid. But in comes this wolf and just snatches the damn thing out of Dick’s hand. He runs off with it Ella Franklin hot on his heels in bat form. Bats are fast and she catches up quickly. The problem is that in or out of bat form she knows she no match for Steve, so she tries to blind him by going for his eyes.”

Eddie’s hand covered his mouth as he listened to him go on about this horrible night.

“But despite what a lot of people think,” Wayne continued, “your boy ain’t dumb. He keeps his head down and makes right for the Creel House. He tosses the thrall on duty the stake and suddenly a werebat is face to face with Tammy Thompson, now holding a yew stake as Steve just continues running past the Coven.”

Eddie blinked. “I didn’t realize that Tammy’s family were thralls.”

“Just like the Perkins, Buckleys, and Hagans are hereditary keepers,” Wayne said with a nod, “the Thompsons, Carmichaels, and Bensons have always been hereditary thralls.”

Eddie was starting to think that he really should have paid closer attention to the hierarchies in school, they were a lot more important than he knew.

“Anywho,” Wayne said with a shake of his head. “Ella flies back to their house to find me beating the hell out of Dick. She manages to distract me long enough for Dick to get on his feet, but now it’s two against one and they’re still strong in their human forms, but wicked fast. I was able to take out Dick, the coward that he was, but Ella was proving to be too fast. She was going to get away.”

Eddie drank the rest of his beer and popped open another one. He leaned forward so that he was on the edge of the sofa, and his knee began to shake.

Wayne put his hand his knee to settle it, but Eddie stared at him wild eyed.

“I don’t have to finish if this bothering, Ed,” he said warmly. “I can give you the Cliffnotes.”

Eddie shook his head. “What happened next?”

“Just as she took flight, the thing they had always feared happened,” he said softly. “Steve’s jaws came down on her with a sickening crunch. Dick started spewing all sorts of curse words and things I didn’t understand. Something about how werewolves were a plague among the Weres and that they had to be exterminated and how if Steve hadn’t had my protection they would have drowned the bastard in the bathtub.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Eddie asked, can crumpling in his fist as it tightened on it.

“It didn’t mean anything until the events going on now,” Wayne said with a heavy sigh. He crumpled his can one handed and stared at the twisted mass. “But I think whoever it is who is trying to tear this community apart is getting desperate. They’re starting to make mistakes. And I think one day soon, this is all going to blow up in our faces.”

Eddie gulped, but nodded.

****

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @angels-of-hades @mugloversonly @y4r3luv @greeniebean911

@birbsauce @acingthecounts @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @kultiras

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #werewolf steve harrington #vampire eddie munson #supernatural creatures

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from-the-clouds · 2 years

Text

texas sun - joel miller x f! reader - vol. v

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | photo cred

chapter summary: You knew yourself, and the way that you could get hung up on the right kind of person. Joel was that kind of person. But you don’t like how formal this feels. So real. -- In other words, Joel takes you on your first date. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.6k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY (it's happening, folks!) - unprotected sex, please dm if you want specifics but I’m not trying to spoil too much. If you don't want to read the smut, it doesn't happen until about halfway through the chapter. Crying after sex. Angst. FLUFF. Mentions of anxiety & self-doubt, alcohol consumption. a/n: Help! I can’t stop writing fit checks into this story!! This ended up being insanely horny but also shockingly sweet. I worked way way way too hard on it so please say nice things to me. Might need to take a couple days off because I'm really feeling burnt out. So please enjoy in the meantime.

-May 16, 2003-

Joel doesn’t like lying to Sarah.

Although, he’s not sure that he’s lying to her as much as he is simply….omitting information. Depending on who you ask, that could still be considered lying.

He’s fresh out of the shower when he steps into the living room, fishes through the catch-all basket located just inside the front door, and pockets his wallet and keys.

“Where are you going?”

Sarah’s lounging on the couch, on her back, one of her hands slung behind her head. There’s a book opened on her lap, but she’s not reading. “You’re all dressed up.”

Joel looks down at his green flannel shirt, tucked into a pair of dark jeans. Truth be told, he’s a little ashamed he doesn’t have anything nicer in his closet. It’s not like he ever has any occasion to dress up, but he’s already feeling self-conscious and being (most likely) underdressed isn’t helping. Based on the very limited information he knows about your past relationships, you’re probably accustomed to crisp dress shirts, ties, blazers. He doesn’t own any of those things — he did, at one point, have the tux from his wedding, but he’d gotten rid of it after the divorce. Every time he saw it in the back of his closet, it made him sick. Regardless, tonight he’d done the best he could otherwise - showered, trimmed his beard, and even dug through his medicine cabinet for an old – probably expired – bottle of cologne. Hopefully it was enough.

“I’ve uh….I’ve got a date.” Joel says.

The theme song from That’s So Raven is blaring through the living room, but it immediately cuts out as Sarah presses mute and sits up entirely from her spot on the couch. “Really?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Joel says. “Your uncle is coming over, though, he’s gonna drop me off and then he said he’d take you to the movies.”

As if on cue, he hears Tommy’s truck pull into the drive. “Yes!” Sarah leaps up from the couch. “I have to change first.”

“Hurry up, babygirl, I’m already runnin’ behind,” Joel calls after her.

Tommy knocks twice on the front door before letting himself in anyways.

“You’re late,” Joel informs, shutting the door behind him. They should’ve left five minutes ago, and the last thing Joel wants is for you to think he’s not punctual. To be fair, he’s not, and almost never is. But you don’t need to know that….yet.

“Hello to you, too,” Tommy trails after him into the kitchen. Joel is tempted to chug a beer, or fish the half-empty bottle of whiskey he’s got in the cabinet out to take a shot — just to take the edge off. But he refrains. It wouldn’t be a good look to show up smelling of booze.

“So…who's the lucky lady?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, Tommy presses. “Come on, Joel, who is it?”

He contemplates telling his brother the truth, but he doesn’t want to give him the idea that he had taken his advice. He didn’t. Well maybe he did, but he knows Tommy will become insufferable if he finds out.

“Is it who I think it is?” Tommy asks. “It better be.”

Unfortunately, Tommy knows him too well. They’re brothers, and really, Joel’s first and oldest friend. The answer is written all over his face.

Tommy grins. “Fucking finally. Oh my god, dude, I thought you’d never-”

“Alright, alright!” Joel interjects, eyes darting nervously up the stairs, where he hears his daughter shuffling around in her bathroom. “Keep your mouth shut, I haven’t told Sarah yet.”

Tommy raises his hands in defense, but at least seems to understand how serious Joel is. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna say anything. Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Joel looks down at the countertop, and is compelled to be honest with his little brother. “I’m uh….I’m a little nervous, though. Been awhile since I’ve done anything like this.”

Tommy grows serious. “Do you want my advice?”

“Yours?” Joel feels like whatever advice he has to offer is likely questionable, particularly with someone like you. “No thanks. I’d rather make a good impression.”

His brother ignores the subtle dig. “You sure? Because unlike you, I actually go on dates. I mean, it’s been what, like….ten years?” He crosses his arms, pretends to think. It’s probably only been a couple of months since the last time Joel took someone out, and Tommy knows it, but he loves to dramatize. “I mean at this stage, you’re basically a born-again virgin. Do you even remember how to put on a condom?”

Joel crosses his arms and glares at his brother, who begins giggling at his bad joke. “I knew I shouldn’t have fucking said anything to you,” he shakes his head.

“Oh come on Joel, you’ll be fine,” Tommy says. “Really. She’s into you. I could tell when we were all together the other night. Even when I was dancing with her, I kept catching her lookin’ your way…”

“Yeah, well….” Joel rubs the back of his neck to play off the surge of warmth he gets from this information. “Thanks.”

Sarah’s bathroom door opens, and he hears the staccato beat of her sneakers coming down the stairs. Joel points at Tommy one last time. “Not a word, understand?”

Tommy nods just as she rounds the corner.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah raises her hand to give him a high-five, which they both purposely miss so they can collide palms on the downswing, grab each other’s hands and then begin a secret handshake so complex that Joel, who has seen it a thousand times, still doesn’t think he could execute correctly if he tried.

“How’s my favorite niece?”

“I’m your only niece.”

“Touche,” they shoot at each other with finger guns before she wraps him in a hug and Tommy presses his nose to the top of her head. Despite the fact that their little routine is costing Joel precious time, almost all the annoyance he’d been feeling with his brother dissipates at the sight.

“We all ready?” Tommy asks her, then points at him. “Don’t want to make this casanova late.”

“Yeah, of course not,” Sarah looks over at Joel with a smile that doesn’t seem entirely sincere. When she was younger and he’d gone on dates, she always had a lot more questions. Who is it? What is she like? When can I meet her? Is she pretty? Over the years, however, she became less and less interested. It was because she was smart, and had caught onto the pattern - he’d go on a date, maybe one or two more, then there’d be a long period of nothing before the cycle repeated itself every couple months. It rarely developed into anything that would concern her, and Joel always kept the details to himself.

While they’re en route to the restaurant – a little French bistro that had opened up recently — Sarah and Tommy bicker about what movie they want to see.

“I wanna see Holes. I just read the book.”

Tommy grimaces. “What about Matrix Reloaded? It just came out.”

“I already told dad I’d go to that with him.”

“So?” he looks between Sarah and Joel. “Why can’t you just see it twice?”

“No,” Sarah says emphatically. “I have to see it with dad first. It’s not fair.”

Tommy groans, mutters under his breath. “I can’t believe you let her watch that crap,” as if he wasn’t about to do the same thing.

“She likes it,” Joel shrugs.

“All the more reason to see it tonight.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns.

“Fine.”

“I don’t really like it, though. I just like to keep dad company so he doesn’t have to see it alone.”

“You’re too nice,” Tommy takes a beat. “Are you sure you aren’t adopted?”

“Shut up,” Joel and Sarah answer at the same time, and Joel holds his palm behind him for his daughter to slap.

Tommy acquiesces, his truck jolting as it pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant. Joel’s heart rate picks up immediately. The car rolls to a stop and Joel turns to look at both of them. “Alright, I’ll be home by midnight.”

“Sounds good,” says Sarah.

“Have fun,” Tommy raises his eyebrows, winks, and thankfully Sarah doesn’t see it, because she’s getting out of the truck to take Joel’s spot shotgun. He makes sure she’s settled with her seatbelt on before he shuts the door.

He isn’t trying to waste time, but Joel watches them pull out of the lot and back onto the street before he goes inside the restaurant. Really, he just needs a minute to collect himself. There’s no good reason for him to be as anxious as he is, he’s already kissed you once, and you had seemed to like it — quite a lot too. For the past week the feeling of your body pressed up against him, legs around his torso, was pretty much all he thought about when his mind wandered. Mostly at night before bed, and even today, in the shower when he was getting ready - just to try and calm down. Even now, the idea leaves him flustered.

Nevertheless, this probably isn’t even technically a first date. He hasn’t had issues speaking to you in the past, so this should be easy. Right? But what if you change your mind? And what if it dawns on you that he’s not your type? Even worse, what if you realize he’s just not good enough?

Joel forces himself inside before he talks himself out of this. When he enters, he sees you first. You’re across the room, leaning over the small bar where a few other patrons are. Greedily, he takes you in, and it’s easy to trace your figure in the tight black shift dress you’ve got on, sheer black tights underneath. It’s sleek, stylish - not that Joel knows much about that. As usual, you stand out in stark contrast to every other person in the place. He likes it. But he feels underdressed. He’ll look ridiculous standing next to you, and he briefly considers turning around, leaving, and saving himself the embarrassment.

That’s until you move, angling yourself towards him and scanning the restaurant, an elbow resting on the bar, a hand on your knee. You’re looking for him, waiting for him, and finally, you’re rewarded when your eyes catch. Suddenly, Joel doesn’t care about what he’s wearing. He doesn't care that he’s not good enough. At the very least, he doesn’t have to guess if you’re interested in him anymore, not with how you’re gazing at him — a soft smile and narrowed eyes that betray your enthusiasm. Sure, he's not good enough, but he decides if he’s going to go down in flames, he’ll do it trying to convince you otherwise.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Maybe I should’ve eaten a proper lunch, you think to yourself. You’ve barely touched the drink in your hand, but you’re already starting to feel it. And even though you are the designated driver tonight, for now, the slight buzz is welcome, working to soothe.

Over the years, you’d been on your fair share of first dates. Unlike most…you don’t hate them. For whatever reason, getting to know new people had always come easy, particularly if they were the right person. Being a lawyer, you had a knack for talking yourself into or out of almost anything. So it was just as easy to let someone know if they weren’t the right person. The best part of first dates, however, was that they lacked all the things you hated — promises, expectations, and conversations that went deeper than general pleasantries.

So all things considered, you shouldn’t feel as tense as you do right now.

There’s a few factors that might have something to do with it, and your brain turns them over, biding your time until your date arrives.

First is the text that sits opened on your BlackBerry.

Dad’s home from the hospital. Doing better. Call when you can. - Vince

Your father has been in and out of the hospital for the last month or so, his health rapidly declining. But every update from your brother, however innocent they may be, feels like veiled threats. You should be here. You should know this. I shouldn't have to text you about it. I can’t believe I’m the only one looking after him. A part of you wants to believe that Vincent wouldn’t play that sort of game with you, but as you’ve gotten older and grown apart, you’d gotten worse at deciphering his motivations. Vaguely, you acknowledge that you could just be projecting, and you are the only one trying to make you feel bad.

And then there’s Joel.

He’s running late, you hope, or he’s stood you up. And you have already promised yourself that you’re only gonna wait ten more minutes before heading home with your tail tucked between your legs. The thought of that makes you regret agreeing to this in the first place. You’d already embarrassed yourself the last time you were together, practically begging him to take you on the kitchen countertop, but he’d insisted on doing this right. You should’ve pushed harder because you’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe….a zipless fuck would’ve sufficed. Oh, who were you kidding? You knew yourself, and the way that you could get hung up on the right kind of person. Joel was that kind of person. But you don’t like how formal this feels. So real.

He knows you better than most first dates do. You’ve told him more about your family, about your fucked up childhood, about your aversion to committed relationships more than any friend you’ve made since moving to Texas. And he listened. It should make you feel better. He knows what he’s getting himself into, and he asked you here anyways. Maybe he’s having second thoughts.

For what feels like the thousandth time, you check your emails and take a sip of your dirty martini – your preferred vehicle for alcohol consumption. Ultimately, you like the idea of a martini more than the actual taste, but you appreciate how direct they are. You scan the restaurant one last time, doing your best to look casual, like you don’t really care. Like you’re supposed to be there alone.

But when your head turns towards the entrance, Joel is standing across from you.

He gives you a bashful smile, one that makes your stomach flip, and makes his way over – though he doesn’t seem to be in a rush. It’s like he knows you’d sit and wait for him for as long as it takes – you would, you will, you are.

When he finally lands in front of you, one thumb hooked in the belt loop of his dark-wash jeans, he leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek for the briefest moment, and pulls back, looking you up and down.

“It’s good to see you, darlin’,” he murmurs softly. The term of endearment makes your ears feel hot. You're shocked at the effect he has on you, almost can’t believe it. It scares you, too, but you want to chase the feeling. “You look great.”

“So do you,” because you’re not one to lie. He does. As good as always, but he might’ve trimmed his beard for the occasion and maybe….put on cologne? It’s hard to tell, and in your brief experience being so close to him, he’s always smelled good regardless.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes. “Can’t count on Tommy to get me anywhere on time.”

“It’s alright,” you say casually, like you hadn’t had your whole exit strategy planned out just minutes ago. “I got to have a drink while I wait. You want something?” you gesture towards the bartender.

“Sure,” Joel answers. “How about an old fashioned?” There’s no room for him to sit, so he leans next to you, arm on the bartop, invading your personal space while you wait for your table. Your skin buzzes like you’ve never been this close to a man before in your life. Pathetic.

He orders his drink before he speaks to you again. “Have you been here before?” he asks.

You shake your head no. “I was planning on coming a couple months ago but….never got around to it.”

“It’s good,” he says. “I’ve been a couple times.”

“Is this where you take all the girls you go out with?” you raise an eyebrow, grateful that your voice sounds even despite the way your blood is fizzing, your heart pumping so fast you can feel it in your ears.

Joel shakes his head no. “That’s down the street.”

“Oh?” you nod, sip your drink. Whatever buzz you’d been feeling is gone in the wake of adrenaline. “So….why didn’t you take me there, then?”

“It’s not as nice,” Joel smirks, leaning in a little closer – if it were possible. His lips are practically touching your ear, and his voice is raspy for what comes next. “And I’m trying to impress you.”

“Right,” you can’t help but smile, pulling back so you can lock eyes. He’s so sincere you can’t even think up a clever quip in return. “How thoughtful.”

He gives you a cheeky grin. You want to touch him, want to hold him, want to fist the front of his shirt or tug on the hair at the back of his neck and stick your tongue down his throat like you aren’t surrounded by an entire restaurant of patrons.

It’s going to be the longest fucking dinner of your life.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You survive.

But at a cost.

And you don’t learn anything new about Joel, except for the fact that your memory hasn’t exaggerated how charming he is, how charismatic, how thoughtful. All the times you’d allowed yourself to daydream about him didn’t hold a candle. Enjoying the meal is difficult, because you just want to get him alone. He can sense it – you’re pretty sure, because he orders himself a coffee after dessert, and sips on it ever-so-slowly, smirking at you over the rim of the mug.

When dinner’s over, you offer to drive Joel home, since he’d gotten a ride here. By this point, the martini is long gone from your system and you sort of want to pour yourself another when you get home. Even if you don’t drink much, the nerves have resurfaced.

He walks a few paces behind you as you leave the restaurant, taking his time, and you step to your side of the car, making to unlock it – until something grabs your bicep – briskly – and spins you around.

It’s Joel. He snuck up behind you, you hadn’t heard, and he’s right in front of you now, pinning you between the car and his body, surrounding you entirely. He lifts a hand, cups your cheek, and kisses you. It happens so fast you let out a whimper of surprise – directly into his mouth, but he swallows it down, and cradles you so gently, but still firm. Resolute. I’m not letting you go.

When he pulls back, you notice his cheeks are flushed, ever so slightly. It makes you wonder what you could do to see them get even redder. Your arms have found their way to rest on his shoulders, and you’re boxed in, the handle to your car door digging into your ass. Without a word, just a cheeky grin, he retreats to the passenger's side of the car and gets inside.

You settle in the driver's seat beside him, and he looks over at you. “Hope that was okay, I couldn’t wait…” he says, almost apologetically. “But I was tryin’ all night to be good.”

“Yeah, well….not much use in that anymore,” you tilt your head. “Do you want to….hang out at my place?”

“Yeah, we can ‘hang out’ at your place,” Joel quips.

Scoffing in mock offense, you offer a retort. “What would you rather me have said? Come over for a nightcap? That’s a little cliche.”

He grimaces, as if he’s in agreement. You continue. “Or would you rather I be more direct? Joel, why don’t you come over so we can have sex?”

That makes him laugh, loudly, and it’s such a warm, comforting sound, you wish you could find a way to capture it and hear it over and over again. “Oh, is that what’s going to happen?” he asks.

“Guess we’ll find out,” You shrug, trying to play it off, in case you overstepped. Then you focus on putting the keys in the ignition without fumbling.

It’s not a long drive back to your place, but Joel seems determined to make sure it feels like it is. Either that, or he’s trying to get you to cause an accident. First his hand is resting on the back of your neck, brushing through the hair at the base of your skull. Then it’s on your shoulder, his thumb pressing into your taut muscles. You actually have to bite your tongue so you don’t moan. It’s not even sexual, really, but it just feels good to be touched, especially by him.

Eventually, you hit a stoplight, and while you’re waiting, his hand continues to wander…and comes to rest just above your knee. His hands are fucking huge, first of all, which maybe you’ve noticed before, and there are a few scars and scratches on the backs of his knuckles. It's the weight of it, the warmth of it, the way he’s settled it so casually like it’s nothing – like it belongs there, and he doesn’t even have to ask. Of course he doesn’t. And the confidence, the cockiness. It feels like someone’s taken an arrow to the pit of your stomach, and something thick and hot starts curling down, down, down….

You swallow hard, and he’s looking at you. He doesn’t speak right away, just stares, something dark and unfamiliar in his eyes.

“I hope I’m doing alright,” voice raspy, low, but still smooth as ever.

Shaking your head, you’re able to surface just enough over the haze of arousal. “You want a performance review?” you tease, giving a small smile. “We should hold off on that until later…”

That makes Joel laugh again, your stomach flips, and his thumb begins to stroke your kneecap, his fingers kneading into the soft flesh, inching forward to clasp farther inward, nearly grabbing at you, squeezing. The only thing separating his skin from your own is a thin pair of stockings that end dangerously close to where his hand is working. If he finds out that he’s just a few centimeters away from meeting bare skin, you’re afraid of what could happen.

“Joel,” you warn.

“What?” he asks, voice light and innocent.

“You’re distracting me.”

“You want me to stop?”

No. The light turns green, and you have to hold back the impulse to break every traffic law if it means you’ll get to have him just a second sooner.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“--my room is–” Joel cuts you off with another searing kiss, and it takes a second before you can conjure the self control to pull away again to finish the thought. “--down the hall.”

“Yeah?”

He’s got you crowded back against the entry closet of your house, hovering over you, one of his hands bracing itself beside your head, and the other slowly dragging down your body, his lips following….moving down your neck.

“Uh-huh,” you barely can get it out between strangled gasps for air.

And then he’s hooking his hands behind your knees. “Are you sure you don’t want, like-” Joel lifts you, and you lock your legs around his torso. “An amaretto or something?”

“No,” he’s gripping on to you so tightly it hurts, but you don’t mind.

“I could put on….a record-”

“No,” he repeats, and you’re being carried down the hall.

You hadn’t expected him to pounce on you the instant that you came in through the garage door. Not that you minded. It’s just that usually you’d play it a bit more coy. You’d set the mood, light a candle, have a chat. But, you suppose you don’t need to do anything to get you in the mood. You’re already there.

Joel’s mouth never separates from you, not until you’re in your room. He’s so sure of himself, you think he might be the type to throw you into the mattress, climb on top of you and rip at the zipper on the back of your dress. But he doesn’t. You’re laid down delicately, like you’re made of glass, and he’s being careful not to break you.

He weaves his thumb and forefinger around both your wrists, then pulls them up so they’re pinned above your head. This way, you’re completely at his mercy. When he lowers himself between your legs, and you feel the weight of his body pressed against you, you groan, fighting against the restraint, desperate to touch him. So you do the best you can and wrap your stocking-clad feet around his waist, trying to get some leverage, to bring him closer.

“Just wanna take my time with you, darlin’,” he murmurs softly, like he can read your mind. You’re starting to think he can – how else can he be so irresistible on his own accord?

Joel makes good on his promise. With you all docile beneath him, he takes the opportunity to kiss every inch of exposed skin available – even though you’re still fully clothed. Each press of his lips has you breathing unevenly – sighing, then gasping, then sharp, short inhales. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, you can’t help but giggle and quirm.

Joel huffs in response, releasing you from his hold, and he tilts his head to whisper in your ear. “Do you have any idea how much I like hearing that? Knowing it’s because of me?” Immediately, you lower your hands to cup his cheeks, to regard him. He can’t be serious.

“You’re too sweet,” you mutter.

“So are you,” he answers, and ducks his head to return to your neck. “So sweet, and so fucking pretty, too…” His hands begin wandering, one of them cupping your breast, thumb finding a peaked nipple even through the fabric of your dress and your bra. The words he’s saying are too much, you’ll do anything to make him shut up, arching your back so you can feel him – already hard – against your clothed core.

“Joel-”

“God, I want to see you-fuck!” he pulls back, rolls you over, and you shift your weight so he has access to the dress’ zipper at your side. He makes quick work of it, and brings you to a seated position, helping you remove it all the way before kissing you again, then abruptly stopping. He wants you so badly….but he’s trying to savor the moment. “Let me look at you for a second.”

He takes you in, the stockings you’re wearing and the matching set of black lace you’d picked out beforehand. Of course, you’d thought about this. You always did for occasions like this, but Joel had stumped you. What would he like? This….was pretty understated, but he seemed like a salt-of-the earth guy. Not what you were used to. It probably wouldn’t make a difference whether or not you were in full-on lingerie. And even if you knew he wouldn’t care, you still had wanted to impress him. All the more reason to try.

“This for me?” he asks, hooking his finger on the inside of your stockings and snapping the elastic.

“Yeah,” you nod, honest. “I want you, Joel.” And there’s more to it, too. You’ve thought about just how badly for months. It kept you up at night, then helped you fall asleep when you couldn’t shake his image from your head. For now, you are going to keep that to yourself. But it doesn’t mean it’s not gonna slip out. Not when he’s looking at you like this.

“Yeah?” he says, steps forward, towers over you. “I want you, too, so fuckin’ bad. So fucking pretty, baby,” Dropping back to your elbows, you feel…small. Any other time, you might sit up, try to feel some kind of control, but for whatever reason, you stay where you are.

Joel wasn’t exaggerating when he said he wanted to take his time. It’s frustrating. It’s torture. He worships you, makes sure his mouth is on nearly every part of your body before he finishes undressing you. Your ankles hook over his shoulders, his hands grazing, dragging thin nylon up and off each leg. He kisses your calves, the inside of your knees, your thighs. He uses one hand to unhook your bra and pulls it away. He spends what feels like hours with his mouth on your breasts – sucking, licking, nipping – hands cupping, grabbing, pinning you down. The whole time, he’s telling you how badly he wants you, how pretty you are, how good you’re being for him. He’s either touching you too much, or maybe not enough. It’s hard to say. Only after he’s reduced you to an incoherent, whimpering mess do you somehow find the strength to fight back.

By this point, you’re lying in the middle of the bed, your leg hooked over his hip, the waistband of his jeans digging into bare skin. He’s still got all his fucking clothes on, which makes everything so much worse, because it’s clear whose in control here, and it’s certainly not you.

The button of his flannel is where you start, and then you work downward. Joel doesn’t stop you at any point. You think he might, just because of how things have been going. But he’s as easy as you are, and you take him in all the same after you’ve shucked off his jeans, and he’s closer to your state of buff.

To be fair, you’ve spent enough time lingering by the windows – when he’s outside mowing the lawn shirtless, or picking up his newspaper in the morning, or doing workouts in his garage with the door open (such a tease!) – to have an idea of what to expect. He’s not ripped by any means but neither are you – and you’ve never liked that anyways. But it’s not hard to ascertain that he spends all day in the sun, lifting and hauling things around. His muscles are defined, rippling lightly under his skin with each panting breath he takes. Joel’s a spectacle – broad and tan, a line of dark hair dipping from his belly-button down into the waistband of his dark-gray briefs. You can make out the way his cock is straining against the fabric.

Once you’ve appraised him as best as you can – you can see that he’s studying you, almost like he’s anxious, like you might not like what you see. As if he doesn’t know. Ridiculous. You aren’t going to leave him guessing. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Joel,” you shake your head. “You’re a fucking stud.”

Joel’s face breaks out in a grin and he yanks you back so you’re on top of him, legs on either side of his chest. And finally, finally, you can touch him like you’ve been wanting. His skin is warm – it’s kind of hot in your room, you’d forgotten to turn on the A/C, so you’re both a little sweaty. But and it’s unclear if it’s because of the heat or just how worked up you are. It doesn’t matter, because it only turns you on even more. You trace the broad plane of his chest, hand snaking down…all the way to his boxers, but he stops you.

He’d let you undress him, allowed it, but this…it crosses a line. Joel hooks his hands behind your thighs and begins to drag you up, up, up, while he shifts lower. It takes a second to register what he’s doing, and when it does, you try to stop it.

“Joel, wait I-”

“I have to taste you darlin’, that okay?” His dark hair is fanned out around his head, resting on your floral pillowcase. In the dim light, his pupils are so blown out you can barely see anything else except black. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but you’ve gotta let me taste you first.”

It’s not that you don’t want it, but he’s taken you off guard, and you’re already overwhelmed by how intimate all this has been, gentle and languid while he whispers honeyed words into your ear. His mind seems already made up, and you don’t really want to tell him no.

“Alright,” you manage, and you grip the top of the headboard.

It’s embarrassing how wet you already are. It started with his hand on your knee in the car, and you have spent the last hour clenching around nothing, squeezing your legs together and searching for friction. Anything. Well, you are about to get it.

Joel’s lips press to the insides of your thighs, once more, dangerously close to where you’re weeping for him. His nose bumps your clit when he turns his head, and you whine – hips sinking to seek the contact that he’s been denying you, and then immediately pulling back in a moment of clarity.

“No, no,” Joel’s hands immediately land on your hips to hold you in place, bringing you lower. “Stay right there for me.”

You don’t dare move.

Finally, his mouth finds you. You think he might tease for a little bit, go slow, because he’s been doing that all night, and it’s become infuriating. But he doesn’t. He eats you out, laves at you. A hot, velvet tongue that works up a steady rhythm. It’s interrupted only by the vibration of his moans every so often, which only add to the pleasure. For a moment, you miss how he’d been talking to you before, but you’re so sensitive, so eager, that you think you’ll sacrifice anything if it means he’s not going to stop. Joel keeps you still with a bruising grip on your hips. All you can do is let him have his way and whimper his name over and over, listen to him groan in response.

Being consistent is key for you. And Joel is nothing but. Practiced, but feral….like he’s been holding back all night. It’s been a long time, or maybe he’s just that excited, it’s hard to tell. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Can’t bring yourself to care about much more than him, the man below you working you over with just his mouth.

“I’m…Joel, I’m-” you try to pull off again, it’s too much, but he doesn’t allow it. Even if the position he’s in is compromising, he’s managed to find a way to assert himself. The coil inside you has wound so tightly that almost every muscle in your body is tense. Now, can’t even move, not even if you wanted to, and he keeps going, your words have only made him more determined.

The coil snaps. You cry out, using the headboard to stifle your noises – not worried that it will probably leave a mark. If you get nothing else from Joel, then at least it will serve as a reminder that he was here, beneath you, lapping up everything you have to give him. The orgasm leaves you weak, trembling, but he holds you up, works you through it until the waves begin to cease, and then you’re so overstimulated, so sensitive that you start to feel lightheaded. “Fuck, Joel, I can’t-” You tug on his hair, hope he’ll get the hint and release you, but he doesn’t. If anything, it only spurs him on.

His mouth is white hot on you, his tongue damp, firm as it circles your clit and drags downward. He gives you nowhere to go, no opportunity to come down from the high, so within minutes, or seconds – at this point, you’ve lost track of time – he’s worked you up to the precipice of release, and you’re coming again, crying out to him.

At last, he eases off, lets you relax. You do, carefully, and so does he, gradually removing his mouth from you while your hand untangles from his dark curls. Joel holds you steady as he sits back against the headboard, keeping you splayed across his lap. You don’t waste your time saying something stupid like “you didn’t have to do that,” because you’re not gonna pretend you didn’t love every second, but mostly because you’re not sure you’re capable of speaking just yet. His hand catches your jaw, and he looks at you – innocently, like he hadn’t just done what he had done, like his fucking beard, and chin, and lips weren’t still wet with you. But the ornery glint in his eyes gives him away. “You liked that?” he has the audacity to ask.

A shaky hand comes to pinch your eyebrows as you let out a weak laugh, nodding. “Yeah, Joel….yeah.”

“Good,” he answers.

“I was right about you,” you manage.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, and his hand skates up your arm, the other settling on your waist. It’s grounding, reassuring as your heart attempts to steady its beating.

“You’re trouble.”

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, and he leans in close. “Only for you, pretty girl.”

Your hips jolt back at the term of endearment, so much so that you feel the length of his cock, hard against your ass. It’s your turn to take care of him, but it shouldn’t be difficult, because your arousal is already building again. It’ll be much, much, easier to come again, specifically around him. Plus, right now, you are willing to do just about anything for him. You kiss him, and it’s sloppy, lick the taste of yourself out of his mouth. Heat curls again in the pit of your stomach, and you grind yourself down on him through his underwear.

Joel’s head falls back, bonks the headboard, and the thud of impact is overshadowed by his agonized moan. You reach down between your bodies, let your touch land over his clothed cock. He pants out your name. So many things you could do – with only your hand, or your mouth, but before you can decide, he speaks again.

“Wanna be inside you,” he grits out. “So fucking bad.”

“You don’t want me to-”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No, no. I need you.”

“You can have me,” you nod, leaning forward to kiss his neck, pushing down the elastic of his underwear. Joel lets you, his hips stuttering, until he freezes. “Shit.” He reaches out to halt your movements.

You look up, his eyes are wide. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, I uh, I left my wallet in the car,” Joel’s voice is pinched, palms leaving your body to press against his eyes, frustrated. “I brought condoms, but they’re - I’ll have to go get them.”

“I have some,” you pipe up, nodding towards your bedside table. Joel reaches for it, but it's your turn to stop him. “But I mean, I’m clean,” you say. “...And I have an IUD, so…”

Joel pauses, stares at you under thick lashes. “You sure that…” So tentative. “....That’s okay with you?”

You feel yourself smirk a little as you look at him. It’s not something you’d allow anyone to do. But you’re feeling a little lost in the moment. The part of your brain that usually tells you to run for the hills whenever things get too real has turned off. It’s not the first time he’s caused that, and you sort of enjoy the delusion. There’s no question. It’s Joel. “Oh, yeah.”

The words ignite something in him that you weren’t entirely prepared for, and he’s pulling you hard against his mouth with one hand, while the other pushes his briefs down the rest of the way. You don’t get the chance to see him, to feel him, before he’s lining himself up with your slick cunt.

It’s a soft glide of sensitive skin across sensitive skin, and you shake with anticipation. You don’t even know you have your eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, until you hear Joel’s voice.

“Open your eyes,” he commands. “Please just-” he swallows hard. “I wanna watch you. So fucking pretty.”

You obey, and he guides your hand to replace your own. It’s not until your hand wraps around him that you’re aware of just how thick his cock is, throbbing and leaking, and it makes you all the more eager. Slowly, you start to sink down, but it’s too challenging to take him all at once. So first, just the tip, you roll back to ease the sting, then gradually sink lower and low.

Joel moves closer to you, holding his breath, guiding you along, propped back against the pillows. “That’s it, so fucking good, baby…”

You understand why he was moving so languidly earlier. This is meant to be enjoyed. After some time, and lots of praise, your hips settle flush with his own, and he’s seated fully inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that your body isn’t fully ready to accommodate, but it has your toes curling and mouth hanging open, bearing down on him involuntarily. Under Joel’s watchful gaze you feel terribly, terribly exposed.

“Keep going,” Joel encourages. So you move. It’s experimental at first, small ruts against him, getting used to the way it feels. It doesn’t take you long to find the spot that makes you abandon eye contact, throw your head back, and –

“Oh, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and he sounds strained, pinched – he’s holding back, but still enjoying every second. “That feel good?”

You nod furiously. He lets you find a rhythm that works for you, lets you take your time, and once you do, he starts to match your pace. His hands don’t stay in one place for very long. First, they’re resting gently on your ass. Then they’re cupping your tits, watching them bounce as they sway with your movements. He brings his knees up behind you, pressing his feet into the bed, and uses the leverage to fuck himself deeper each time you lower yourself onto him.

At this point, you’re unaware of what types of noises you must be making, and you’re thankful that you’re alone so you can be as loud as you want. His cock is hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed, and rolling across the same spot over and over and over.

“You feel so perfect for me,” Joel says, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling. “So, so good, baby, so fucking pretty.”

“Mm-hmm,” is all you can answer, nodding furiously and feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with every thrust.

You’re too easy for him. And you were too worked up to begin with. “Joel, I can’t-”

He slams his hips up into yours so hard you cut yourself off with a choked gasp. Then he does it again. “You gonna come for me?” he asks. “I can feel you, baby, I know it’s close.”

“Y-yeah,” he’s got you stammering on your words. You’re clamping down onto him so tightly it hurts. But you’re so desperate to come, to feel what it’ll do to him, that you don’t stop.

“Come here,” he murmurs, hands around your waist, pulling you down so your lips are nearly touching. “Stay close to me.”

“Oh, fuck, oh-” The warmth of his body so close to yours, your hands bracing themselves on his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, all coupled with one vicious rut of his hips has you right there. Joel tilts your head back just enough so you’re forced to look directly at him – and then you come undone.

You want to close your eyes, turn your head, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and he’s right in front of you. Joel’s touch slides up your back, draws you even closer, and you ride out your third orgasm of the night while pressed entirely against his chest, forced to be vulnerable in a way you’ve never been with anyone before. “So good, baby, so good. Such a good fuckin’ girl for me,” he praises you through it, works you through it, until you’re all but melted in his arms, and he still hasn’t pulled his eyes away.

Utterly spent, you know, distantly, somewhere, that he has to come. However, Joel takes over, flips you both so you’re underneath him, and presses himself deep into the cradle of your pelvis. He’s heavy on top of you, but the weight is somehow soothing.

“I thought about you,” you murmur, hoping it’ll help. His jaw is set, solely focused on his own release. “How good you’d feel.”

“Fuck, really?” he grunts. “I-I- did too.”

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling flush at the admission. “I thought about….letting y-you use me.”

Joel groans your name, curses loudly, ruts into you even harder. You can feel him throbbing, so fucking close, and you arch yourself up to meet him, pleasure already building again, even though you thought it wasn’t possible.

“It’s so much better, Joel, you’re so much better–”

Than I imagined. But you don’t have to finish the thought. The idea of you, thinking of him, seems to be enough as it is, and you feel him pulsing, warmth blooming and spreading out as he groans, throws his head back and spills himself impossibly deep inside you. If you weren’t utterly spent, the feeling of him coming – and nothing between you, probably would have set you off again. For now, it’s enough.

His whole body goes limp as he relaxes his arms from where they’re braced on either side of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck. You hear him take a few, haggard breaths once it’s over, and then a deep chuckle vibrates in your ear. “Fuck, baby.”

You rub his shoulder lightly to soothe him, and his lips find the underside of your jaw, kissing lightly his beard scratching your cheeks. For an undetermined amount of time, he remains there. Normally, you’d probably check his watch, but you’ve noticed that the one he always wears is broken, and really….you feel content.

Finally, Joel pulls away, cursing under his breath and withdrawing from you. He runs his hand through his hair, and flops on his back by your side, and you feel horribly empty. After he’s cupped your cheek, turning you gently to look at him – he gives you a tender, affectionate smile.

It hits you like a freight train.

He was not the type of man you dated. The men you dated liked to slap, choke, withhold. That had always been what you’d gotten off to. The more frenzied, the more impersonal – the better. That wasn’t to say Joel hadn’t been passionate. But you’d never experienced anything like this before.

You tear away from his gaze, focus on the ceiling. Heart pounding, threatening to break through your ribs, you feel your mouth dry up, your eyes burn and fuck – you’re about to cry. Try to turn yourself away from him, but he sees it.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just uh-” your voice catches on the lump forming in the back of your throat and cracks audibly, raw.

“Hey– ” you hear the mattress shift, he’s moving closer, and you start to scramble. You’ve gotta leave. Get to the bathroom, compose yourself. “Where are you goin?”

“Joel, I just need to-” but his hand circles your wrist, and you don’t have the power to resist him. The bones of his hand press firmly in your cheek, turning your head so you have to look at him. There are tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Up close you can see that his eyes aren’t brown – they’re hazel. Mesmerizing, long lashes – gold and green rimming his irises. How had you not noticed that before?

“No, no not at all it was just…” you’re talking so fast, not even sure where you’re going with the sentence. “I’m sorry, I liked it I just-I don’t know,” you stutter. Shaking your head, you cover your face. You don’t want to feel this way with him here. “I’m not used to-”

Joel, who has never seen you at a loss for words, frowns, draws you against him. “Come here.”

“It’s okay,” he lets you press your face just below his jaw. He’s being so soft, it makes everything that much worse. Tears slip down your cheeks, landing on his skin. He strokes your hair, holds you so tightly, firmly, "It was intense, huh?”

You want to resent the way he’s speaking to you – like you’re a child who fell off her bike and skinned her knee, and not a grown ass woman realizing how disconnected she’s felt with every other partner until now. But unfortunately, it’s kind of working. You murmur an affirmation in response. ”I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he promises.

He holds you until the tide of emotion swells, settles, lips against your temple, his fingertips tracing up and down your spine, and gives you the time to compose yourself.

“That was really nice, I promise,” you say, eventually. And then, because he’s been so gracious, you’re honest. “It’s just been…a long time…” Forever, really. “Since I felt…”

“I know,” Joel nods. “Me too. It’s alright.”

“Yeah,” you bob your head. He holds your face reverently, and pulls you in for a chaste kiss before tucking you back against his chest. You close your eyes, nestle against him. He strokes your hair while you listen to the steady beat of his heart.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next thing you know, you’re being gently shaken awake. Somehow, you’d fallen asleep.

“Hey, baby,” Joel murmurs softly.

“Mmm?” you groan in response, exhaustion clinging to your limbs.

“I’m sorry, I gotta get going.”

You scoff into his neck and make a noise of protest, still not entirely roused, he’d woken you too delicately. When he speaks, his lips brush against your forehead, hands still tracing up and down the lines of your body and making you shiver. “I told Sarah and Tommy I’d be home by midnight.”

“Right,” you mutter, finding the strength to push yourself off of him and stretch. Joel sits up, very tentatively releasing you from his grip.

“I’m sorry I had to wake you, I can see myself out.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “No, please. Do you need anything?”

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course,” you point towards the ensuite.

Joel collects his discarded clothes off the bed, then the floor, and disappears. You hear the sink running, watch the shuffling shadows he casts in the crack below the door. While he’s doing that, you slip into your robe and run your fingers through your hair, taking in the disheveled state of your bed, before deciding to clean up in the extra bathroom down the hall.

On your way back, you run into Joel, who looks better than ever, tanned skin glowing, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“This was nice. I had a really good time.”

“Me too.”

“Will you…” he trails off, rubs his jaw. “Will you be okay? I don’t want to-”

“I’m fine,” you say, dismissively. “I just had a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Joel studies you carefully, and you’re prompted to continue. “I promise. Joel. This was nice.”

“It was,” he grins. “I’d like to see you again.”

“Me too,” you don’t even think before you answer, despite everything. It surprises you, how willing you suddenly are.

“Good.” He kisses you, slow and lingering. “I’ll give you a call.”

“Okay.”

part vi

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha @virgogaia @lunarxeclipse @marysucks-blog @jabbajambler @surazim @naiomiwinchester @raindrcpsangel @dorotheapascal @mythical-mushrooms13 @chernayawidow

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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 4 months

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I was so impressed with your toe-to-toe comment on the French philosophy anon. So happy to have found you, omg! I heard Taylor called her ttpd set as the "female rage musical." I take it she knows the impact of the song Labour by Paris Paloma which has been dubbed as the female rage anthem. So naturally, here is the 34 year old culture vulture, can't-have-any-ideas-of-her-own that is Taylor Swift hopping there wanting to get the attention away from it when that song is quite phenomenal. One song compared to her 31 diss tracks that's nothing to me, at least, but the excessive sentimentality of an infantile woman in her 30s. It's gross the confessions she's put on that album. And even her own fans are comparing her to Olivia Rodrigo. That's she's copying everything about her - song, outfits, the "female rage" theme just to mock her. Somehow, Swift thinks it would do her a world of good. People are catching on to her antics which are absolutely disgusting, btw. I'm hoping one day you write about all these completely ridiculous gross things she's done using her own lyrics. You know what I mean? I hope someone write about her nasty lyrics and that it completely destroys her.

Thank you ha, I'm glad you found something meaningful in that post. I will not lie, that Anon actually hurt my feelings for a second (I got over it by writing my response), but I was upset at being so misunderstood. I'm not out here levying unreasonable criticism at Taylor Swift. All will be based on reality, or interpretation of her own lyrics. I’m defs out to get her though- in the most legitimate way possible- and maybe someday I will publish for real on her. I have a couple of criticisms that I will not be putting on my blog- because I want to say it on a bigger platform. : )

I do see a lot of harmful things in her music that I have been resisting the urge to write about for YEARS! Even back in 2009, listening to "Love Story" I remember thinking to myself, oh this is nothing like what Shakespeare meant and it's also a weird appeal to the patriarchy through the "I talked to your Dad/ Go Pick out a white dress." It's so clear that she's just reduplicating mainstream attitudes on romantic relationships by using Christian Conservative social standards of needing the father's permission to ask the girl's hand in marriage. She obviously wanted to attract the Christian- Conservative fan- base with that song, and that's exactly what happened. Her marketing is tied to the phrases she places inside her songs in a way that is extremely calculating. She, Afterall, learned from the best at attracting mainstream, Christian, conservative fans, Toby Keith (hate that fascist, white nationalist freak). (WHoops, that was mean- oh well, he’s dead anyway). (and if he wanted me to be nice- he shouldn't have been a fascist).

It's so obvious, and I really figured everyone else was also aware of the ways in which Swift interpolates patriarchal standards in her music. I have many more examples- I could write a whole essay on it.

Apparently, everyone thought she was a feminist? Bro, she became a "feminist" if only to evade criticism and capitalize on mainstream pop-feminist trends. She's not a real feminist. Her use of “feminism” to evade critique ties directly into her other marketing strategy of telling the world “I’m so innocent and young” all the time.

Also, her co-opting of the phrase Female Rage has made me angry, exceptionally angry. I saw that she's trying to trademark the phrase. I am incensed. I will post about it soon.

I wish Swift would stop co-opting legitimate terms and pulling only the most shallow- self-centered conception of the term out to use in her mediocre music. She’s like if Pinterest was a person- and I’m tired of it.

Paris Paloma’s “Labour” is amazing, because guess what- it actually speaks about the experience of women under patriarchal standards in a way that respects the seriousness of the topic. I absolutely believe that Swift saw how viral that song went and decided she needed to cash in on that too.

And she is totally copying Olivia Rodrigo. Can you imagine being 34 and trying to act 20? I would die of embarrassment. But it's so obvious that it's getting weird.

I have much more to say on this topic- sincerely I could write a book on the conceptual point of “Female Rage” in media. I have thousands of examples, and I’ve been studying this stuff for years. I will, however, ramble on no longer. Thank you for your kind words- and I hope you enjoy my upcoming writings.

#anti taylor swift #anti swifties #anti capitalist #ex swiftie #taylor swift critical #fuck taylor swift #TTPD #paris paloma #labour #female rage #mad woman #feminism #feminist #olivia rodrigo

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slocumjoe · 2 years

Text

Biggest complaints about each companion

Warning, reference to in-game dark subject matter.

This is subjective and mostly me wishing for a more thoughtful story, with themes beyond robot racism.

Cait: TDLR; Her backstory is too much for how it's handled

It feels like Cait got thrown every bad thing she could have. With trauma in characters, less is more, and in Cait's case, it doesn't help that her writing is more interested in her trauma than who she is as a person. Like Cait only matters as a character because of what she went through and what that demonstrates about the wasteland, rather being a person first.

I would like to point out, her parents waited until she was 18 to sell her. Because, apparently, age of consent matters to sex slavers. It demonstrates a lack of commitment to the dark topic, which usually means you should tone it down. Leave one aspect, and keep the other. Abusive parents or slavery, not both.

Since Cait is our only basegame raider companion, you could use her to humanize raiders by showing how the cycle of trauma creates them. "But Gage—" is a little bitch.

Codsworth: TDLR; Focuses too much on his pre-war relationship to the player

What was Codsworth doing those 200 years? Did he just hang out in Sanctuary? Did no one ever come to Sanctuary in the meantime? Codsworth has no relation to the plot or world beyond Sole.

I think Codsworth should have had a quest about how he went out and tried to help where he could, but now doesn't know where those people are, and wants to know what became of them. Something to give Codsworth a connection to the wasteland. Or maybe Codsworth shouldn't have been the Sole Surivor's robot at all, just one that wandered into Sanctuary and met them. Then you could have a point that the first human the Sole saw after freezing (Kellogg) was cruel, but the first 'soulless' machine was kind, which makes a point about the main plot and the idea that being human doesn't make you 'human.'

Curie: TDLR; Should have been related directly to the main plot

Curie is a robot that is put inside a synth—which is, biologically, completely human in all but a chip in their head and the circumstances of their creation—and is totally fine. She learns to breathe, gets thoughts and feelings in a way a Ms. Nanny wouldn't, and handles sensations without bricking.

Send this bitch to the Institute and BOS, are you kidding me? Curie is walking proof of synths being more than machines. She has wants, imagination, potentially even dreams and nightmares. This is never brought up by anyone.

Also, Curie is a robot, and then inhuman, but still a person, and she uses science and her compassion to help the wasteland, where those who would destroy or enslave her use it to further their own egos.

Danse: TDLR; MAKE HIM SAY SORRY TO NICK AND HANCOCK

Danse's real character arc starts at his final affinity post BB, and then it doesn't go anywhere. He never learns to accept himself, or synths, or ghouls. Danse is a character that shows the terrible function of 4 Affinity Talks, because he needs, like, 10 of the things.

Danse needed his likes/dislikes updated after BB, interactions with Nick and Hancock, and a proper character arc where he unlearns his worst traits and the BOS's bullshit.

Deacon: TDLR; Dead wife? Really?

Can Deacon not just be a goofball man who used to be a bigot, and now works hard to help the people he hurt? Because Barbara and her death implies that Deacon didn't change because it was the right thing to do, but because bigotry personally affected him.

If there must be a death, make it that his community tore itself apart trying to find synths among them. Y'know, like...a witch hunt? In Salem, maybe? Since we didn't do anything interesting with Salem, one of the most interesting places in the USA? Deacon sees this and sees that it doesn't matter if synths are human or not, hatred will inevitably hurt anyone, because it doesn't actually care who you are. Hatred doesn't need a reason, only a target. The Synth plot should have been an allegory for McCarthyism instead of slavery, change my mind.

Hancock: TDLR; He's a historical LARPER that doesn't do anything in terms of a narrative.

No, Todd. You can't make John Hancock a ghoul and call it an OC.

Hancock could have had a story about identity crisis, idolatry, and trying to escape your past. We also get hints at a complex political issue in Goodneighbor about the push-and-pull between the desire for total freedom/anarchy, but the need for some kind of law and order. Hancock has a casual friendliness, and acts like 'one of the people,' but he is the mayor. There's tension there. Can your leader be your friend? Can your friend call all the shots while still being on equal footing with you? Can you lead a group of people who look up to you as a hero, and still retain modesty and not subconsciously separate yourself?

I like Hancock, he's fun, he has a lot of interesting narrative stuff. But he doesn't do anything with it. It could have been a nice parallel with Elder Maxson, too.

MacCready: TDLR; Small inconsistencies + dude, go get your son???

Mac doesn't ever go back to Duncan, and Duncan never comes to the Commonwealth. I understand that the former is for game play reasons, but the latter feels like the writers forgot that Duncan exists.

MacCready has some issues with the likes/dislikes. I think they're mistakes instead of intended, but still. For example, in the Vault 81 quest. MacCready likes letting Austin die. He dislikes it if you give the cure.

There's also Sheffield, the soda addict in Diamond City. MacCready claims to have never seen someone with a sugar addiction, but Zip, from Little Lamplight, had an addiction.

Mac is mostly fine, aside from these inconsistencies. The Dead Wife thing sucks, but I allow it because it's pretty fundamental to his story, rather then being tacked on for sad points.

Nick: TDLR; Eddie Winter is a stupid bad guy with a stupid quest and Jenny Lands is a stupid tragic backstory

Eddie Winter being the first ghoul ever is mind-bogglingly bad. You're telling me that they made ghouls before the bombs? And even if they did, Winter couldn't be the first. How the fuck would anyone know that radiation makes you immortal if you do it right, otherwise?! So, that's a contradiction within an already contrived premise. And not only that, but he just. Leaves a bunch of holotapes with a number on the back, that make a code to the basement of his favorite sandwich shop, which just so happens to be on the same street Jenny gets fridged?

So, Eddie Winter (or one of his goons) was eating one day, looked out, saw the fiance of the detective hunting him and recognized her (????), shot her, and then presumably returned to his fucking sandwich??????

And then 2 centuries later, a clone of that detective somehow finds the holotapes, untouched, unmoved, still functioning and retaining the painted-on numbers. The numbers didn't...fade? Wipe off?

You can keep the concept of Nick wanted to finish something Pre-war Nick didn't get to, but this...this isn't it.

Like, Skinny Malone was right there. Maybe just Darla shows up when you free Nick, and then later Nick has to contend with Malone and the Triggermen in some grand conspiracy with Mayor MacDonough, Hancock, and Piper.

Preston: TDLR; The radiant quest mechanic fucked him over and his voice actor needed some retakes

The moment you get Radio Freedom, Preston should have stopped giving quests. Easy fix there. It would have saved him almost a decade of shitty memes.

The real problem with Preston is that his VA beefed it bad. I can quote some of his lines with perfect inflection because the VA just did it so poorly. X6-88's VA had to play a monotonous, little-emotion character, and he still nailed it and gave X6 a lot of personality and distinction. Preston sounds like a modded-in character. And Jon Gentry is a pretty good actor! He has a great live-action presence in his demo reels on IMDB. I think he just struggled to put his performance into his voice rather than his presence/body language, and they didn't let/have him do a retake.

Piper: TDLR; So much potential, so much failure. Piper is a shitty reporter, and that could have been a great opportunity to have commentary on the ethics of journalism.

Journalism is supposed to be a duty to the people. It has responsibilities and ethics that are very easily misunderstood or forgotten for the sake of the next article. A good journalist is not always accurate. An accurate journalist is not always kind. A kind journalist is not always good.

Piper is not a good journalist, because her writing is not informative, it isn't news or useful info. She writes about MacDonough being a synth—she's basically writing callout posts on her blog.

Piper is not an accurate journalist, because she never has evidence for this claim. She says MacDonough is a synth, that the Institute took the Survivor's baby even if the Survivor says no.

Piper is not a kind journalist, because she fearmongers and makes things worse for synths. She complains that no one believes or trusts her word, but the second thing you ever see in Diamond City is a man trying to kill his brother for fear he's been replaced.

This is all fine, if addressed and explored. But it isn't. Piper seems to be chasing the high of exposing authority, and both times, she's right. We, the player, know she's right because we find out later she is. Imagine if we didn't. Imagine that reveal scene never comes. Every issue of Publick Occurances is trying to start a witchhunt, and Piper doesn't notice that it's working.

So, let's make her arc about worrying about her sister.

X6-88: TDLR; BRUH HE HAS NOTHING

No backstory, no relationships with other characters, no quest, no character arc.

TODD. You had the chance to humanize the Institute, or at least show what it's like being an Institute synth that isn't free. And you, instead, put all that time into fucking KELLOGG. You think I give a fuck about KELLOGG? I don't even give a fuck about SHAUN.

🌠Honorable mentions🌠

Gage: Hypocrite that thinks becoming the problem is fixing the problem, also he has both eyes. What do you need an eyepatch for.

Strong: Bethesda Super Mutants suck shit. Y'know Erikson fron Far Harbor? Would rather have him.

Longfellow: Dead Wife Man. Again, would have preferred Erikson.

Dogmeat and Ada: Perfect, no notes.

Best companions are:

Dogmeat, for being doggy

Ada, for being robot lady

Preston, for being perfect aside from two technical, Doylist issues.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #piper wright #hancock #preston garvey #deacon #x6-88 #nick valentine #robert joseph maccready #old longfellow #i am SALTY ABOUT PIPER HOO BOY #like her articles genuinely suck #i will accept criticism on all of these EXCEPT PIPER #GIRL I LOVE YOU BUT GOD #GET A FUCKING BETA READER #IF I SUBMITTED THAT TO MY ENGLISH TEACHER I WOULD HAVE BEEN STRUNG UP IN CLASS AS A WARNING

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i-smoke-chapstick · 5 months

Note

Okay I think I’ve finally come up with a plot for that jervis story I was telling you about. This is pretty long- I’m sorry 😭

Basically could follow the same plots as the ‘come on Eileen’ story with an age gap but obv themed for Jervis’s character. For the sake of everything, since this could be already dark-ish, instead of Alice being his sister, she’s his coworker. Very similar story tied with the btas version. Anyways continuing that, let’s say reader is Jim and Barbara’s kid all the way from episode 1 when they were still in there couple era (I miss it 😔). Jim had custody over reader when Barbara was sent to Arkham but once she’s out and running the sirens club, her and Jim come to an agreement for the sake of the reader to co-parent. Reader is about 10-13 during that time and then jumping to like season 3 with jervis being introduced, reader is around 17-19 (I’m not sure if this is the realistic time jump but whatever). During the first episode with how Barbara introduces tabby to jervis, imagine that same scenario but with reader also present. Jervis realizes how much reader reminds him of the book version of Alice with their curiosity, ambition, etc. I’d like to imagine Barbara finds it cute in a way similar with that one fix you did when jervis was leaving stuff for the reader while tabby is like “Stay away from the baby 😡”.

Now when Alice gets killed, we know jervis makes him go through all these games of killing and stuff and then he has to choose the one he loves. Instead of Val, it’s reader. As much as Jervis doesn’t want to hurt his current crush, he tries to be nicer about it and shoots them where the bullet won’t damage them as bad?? Idk where else I’m goin with this lol. I’ll let you come up with whatever else you wanna do. Be creative if you’d like.

I’d say basically it follows the plot of season 3 but without Alice and reader is present.

Thank you Cupid 🙏🖤

'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART ONE]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Everything's always the same in Gotham. Hard to imagine things changing.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Readers got trauma. Reader's also a cynic and dissociating. She fell first, he fell harder. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. Jervis being an obsessive freak, per usual. Jervis and reader are soulmates, not just in his head but in real life! More about reader is revealed as the story goes on. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - ‘PART THREE, - ‘PART FOUR, - ‘PART FIVE, - ‘PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN, - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, -'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

Special thanks to @adalwolfgang for giving me the idea for this fic <3 really really excited to make this multichapter !!

♫ “Echoes of your name inside my mind / Halo, hiding my obsession.” Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

You feel like your ten again, staring into space, watching the passerby's from inside a Gala. You're mother used to take you there, when you're dad wasn't available.

You sometimes miss it, even though you used to complain. You hated just sitting there, hours on end, seeing rich people dance; like there weren't people being murdered on the street two blocks down. Maybe you took after your father in that aspect. It was a curse.

Your mom used to do your hair. You remember the way she finger-twirled your curls, gasping as she looked in the mirror. Eyes wide, she always said the same thing.

"Look at you, you're gorgeous!" You'd laugh and hit her on the shoulder, young and innocent. Sometimes, you'd make a mess of her lipsticks and bronzer. You'd try on her dresses which were far too tall for your young stature.

The sound of yelling rips you away from your thoughts.

This place isn't a gala. It's a club. And you didn't get ready with your mom, you got ready in the morning, waking up alone in your dads house.

You watch the two men argue from across the bar. You're cradling a drink; unsure what to do with it. Selina had stole it for you, somehow. You didn't ask questions anymore. You'd known her since you were eleven and she was eight. You didn't really like to drink. She knew that. You don't know where she ran off too.

Mindlessly stirring your glass in your palm, you can't help but squint under the bright blue lights. This place...it's not your first choice of where you'd like to be right now. Never is.

You hear a feminine voice calling you to the front of the club, and you can already guess who it is. You haven't seen her in a little over a week, not that it matters.

You decide to down your drink anyway. Who cares.

Pushing your way through the crowds of Gothamites, you notice the stage light up. Your mother and Tabitha stand in grand dresses. Tabitha's resting, one arm on the bar, looking effectively bored out of her mind. Your mother, on the contrary, looks utterly pleased. You fight the urge to snort.

There's a man on the stage. Long hair, cat-like smile. Your eyes follow the contours of his cheek bones. He's spouting something about waking up from an animal-identity. You're frankly lost, staring into his dark eyes. They look pitch black.

Sounds of clapping arise from the back. You simply suck your teeth. Someone new comes into the club everyday with a different act. This guy certainly wasn't any different.

"A magician? Really?" Tabitha asks, interrupting your thoughts. She sounds displeased and confounded, unsure what to make of Barbara's smile.

"Hypnotist." Your mom answers, correcting her. Ah, so thats what he is. You think. Couldn't hypnotize himself to have a better act? You almost make yourself laugh. Barbara mistakes it for agreeance.

"See! I like him! Y/N likes him!" Barbara chimes, smile lighting up to be a bit more genuine at your laugh. "Like mother like daughter. Plus, the place is packed. Be happy." She waves her drink around. Tabitha still looks peeved.

You want to correct her, but the words 'like mother like daughter' make bile rise in your throat. You don't speak.

"Just a taste, ladies and gentlemen." The man purrs, pulling your attention to him. That dark stare of his never once leaves the crowd. "But now...let us venture into something more arcane."

His eyes drift to you in the crowd, and it feels like a jolt of electricity. You wonder if he feels it too. He must have, since he cocks his head, pausing in his words for a little too long. His brows furrow, until the crowd begins to murmur. It's awfully intense.

You tear your gaze away to look at your mom, wondering if she was who he was looking at instead. It would certainly make more sense, given they must've been around the same age. But as soon as your gaze leaves his, the man clears his throat, and goes right back to speaking.

"The hell was that?" Tabitha whispers to me, and my mind goes blank.

"...No clue."

We watch the rest of the act, intrigued. He makes a man stand on the back of a chair, which definitely does not obey the laws of physics whatsoever. I can see why some people might find this amusing.

Your mom does bring up a good question though.

"So you could get him to do anything you wanted?" She asks, abet too excitedly. You want to roll your eyes. When you were younger, she would've made fun of this guy with you.

The man looks between the two of us, and you squint your eyes.

"Did you have something in mind, Ms. Kean?" He asks, and her gaze darkens. You feel a little sick.

As the act finishes, the man takes one too many bows, but the crowd eats it up. That blinding blue light still bounces off his face. Something about it is...unsettling. You notice it more as he stalks towards the three of you.

"Very impressive, Mr. Tetch." Your mom compliments. Mr. Tetch, huh. Well, you finally have a name for the man. "You have quite the gift. But you didn't answer my question. Can you make people do anything you tell them to do?" She speaks, slowly. Mr. Tetch looks flattered at the praise.

He clicks his tongue. "Only things they secretly wish to do," he remarks, eyes falling on me once more. "It's surprising what people will wish for," His eye contact remains on you, voice getting quieter. "Secretly. Deep down." He repeats.

Your mother makes a sound akin to a pleased hum. Tabitha looks between the man and you, and she looks less than amused.

"True," Tabitha speaks, pushing you to the side a bit. You watch as his gaze leaves yours, and snaps up to her. There's a ghost of a scowl on both of their faces that suddenly makes you confused. "You must be a very popular man."

She takes a swig out of her drink as she says the words, a bit sarcastically. Mr. Tetch, or whatever his name is, doesn't falter in his resolve. He instead offers a polite chuckle.

"Oh, I wish. Parties like this help pave my way, so, thank you."

"And you're new to Gotham?" Your mom asks.

"Yes...just arrived from up north."

"You have a place to stay?" Tabitha asks, head cocked. You begin to feel a bit embarrassed, heat rising in your clothes. They're asking the guy way too many questions. And he's a new comer. Poor man probably doesn't know a thing.

Before the man can answer, you butt in.

"Let the man breathe." You huff, and all three of them look at you in unison. Eyes-narrowed on you, the man blinks. Barbara looks at you, surprised, and Tabitha glares daggers.

Silence surrounds the four of you, and you shiver uncomfortably.

"Just saying." You mumble. Barbara raises an eyebrow.

"You'll have to excuse her. This is my daughter, Y/N."

Jervis's face lights up in realization.

"Ah, I see." He remarks, taking your hand. Tabitha instinctively steps close, watching the way he takes it. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/N."

"Thank you," You say, softly, looking into his eyes. It really does feel like time stops. You can understand why people are hypnotized by him.

Tabitha finally steps in between you two, as Barbara watches the interaction with vague intrigue. He drops your hand with some reluctance. You don't blame him.

"I think you should get going." Tabitha says, firm. The man simply nods.

"Very well. Enjoy your night." He speaks. "Ms. Kean, Ms. Y/N." He bids one last nod of goodbye, before turning on his heel.

#gotham #x reader #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #dc comics #jervis tetch #jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch x reader imagine #mad hatter x reader #gotham mad hatter #the mad hatter dc #the mad hatter #fic series

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madaqueue · 6 months

Text

playlists

such a pretty house | "no surprises" x radiohead

synopsis: walking through the empty halls of what should have been your home, you reminisce on the life you could have had with gojo

pairing: satoru gojo x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. mentions of death/loss.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: thought of this mini series idea since i found this song and literally could not stop thinking about a tragic backstory to it with gojo, so if you wanna get the "real" experience listen to it while you read ! this is like...not conventionally happy lmao but here it is anyways :) i'll get back to the regularly scheduled series tomorrow but i just had to write this one

a sigh leaves your lips as you walk up the familiar stone path, now overgrown with long grasses, tickling against your bare ankles. the cool autumn air bites at your skin, dead leaves falling from the old maple trees and crunching under your shoes as you make your way up to the house.

this house.

reaching the front door, you turn the now-tarnished gold handle and step inside. the old wooden floorboards creak under your weight; it’s likely been years since anyone has been here, further evidenced by the thin layer of dust settled over the empty space.

the space that was supposed to be your home.

your eyes gaze to the right and your legs follow, taking you into the living room. the bay windows overlook the front yard, the wooden bench beneath them bare. it was supposed to have red pillows, a reading nook for you. he always knew how you loved those books, consuming knowledge like it was the only type of nourishment you needed. the stories, the worlds that let you forget time while he was away on missions. but now, every word you read feels baren. you haven’t picked up a book since then.

continuing your journey through the empty house, you find yourself in the kitchen. the cabinet doors are now falling off, and surely the stove wouldn’t turn on anymore - not that it really worked in the first place, but the two of you made do. you’d bring in pizza on nights when the shitty electricity died out, sitting on the floor lit only by candles, talking about your futures.

well, what was supposed to be your future.

the window above the sink looks over the backyard, the remnants of the flowers you planted now overgrown with weeds. what a pretty garden it could have been.

“can you plant me the blue ones?” he asked, his arms wrapped around you as you stood outside under the heat of the summer sun.

“you only like those because they match your eyes,” you tease, turning your head to face him.

“maybe so,” he grins. “how ‘bout this, let’s find ones that match your eyes too, so it’s like i’m lookin’ at you every time i see ‘em?”

“deal,” you giggle, leaning against him.

you find yourself at the stairs, slowly making your way up as your hand traces along the railing, dust collecting on your fingertips.

you aren’t even sure why you came here, after all this time, back to this house, the physical tomb of your past.

it was supposed to be for you and satoru.

–

you were just kids, stupid, young kids. when you met in your first year at jujutsu high, the two of you were inseparable. every class, every meal, every mission you did together. it got to the point where you practically lived together, trading off which dorm room you slept in so you wouldn’t have to be apart. the two of you were attached by an invisible thread that kept looping itself around your necks until it became too tight.

the mission was supposed to be easy: exorcise a grade 2 curse and save the family it had kidnapped. you’d done it before a hundred times, and having gojo by your side only simplified the whole thing.

that is, until you got hurt. until you were unconscious, at the brink of death. until you found out why they had sent gojo with you - you didn’t think much of it at the time, but this was the lowest grade curse he’d been assigned to for a while.

it was a test. the higher ups wanted to see what gojo would do when he lost someone. they needed him to prove that he was what they thought he was: the strongest.

except, like always, he never failed to surprise everyone. he wouldn’t let you go that easily; not you, his world, his love, his everything. they picked the wrong person to sacrifice.

by the time you awoke, it was too late. you couldn’t quite place it, but something was different inside you, inside your very essence. as your eyes fluttered open, all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace around you, his hair hanging forward as he clutched your body. hot tears streamed down his face and landed on your chest.

“i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry,” he muttered over and over, softly rocking on his knees as he holds you.

“s-satoru,” you manage to croak out, the taste of blood in your mouth.

his eyes shift up to yours, a darkness and fear in them you’ve never seen before.

“it’s okay, it’s okay now, i’m here,” he whispers, his voice shaking, pulling you into him.

–

reaching the top of the stairs, the empty hallway looms before you. you turn into the first room on your right, what should’ve been the library. empty shelves line the walls as you stand in the middle of the space.

“y’know,” his voice smooth as he sits across from you, “eventually i’m gonna get promoted, and i’m gonna need a big office.”

“oh yeah?” you respond, shifting so your head rests on your open palm, propped up against the table between you. “what makes you so confident about that? you know the higher ups literally hate you, right?”

“psh, they love me,” he pauses, reaching across the table to shut the book in front of you so your full attention was on him. “and then, i’m gonna fix up this house, and i’ll build you a library and an office for me, and we can spend every day in there together.”

you pretend to consider the option for a moment. “fine, but it’s still gonna be my library. i’ll let you put a desk in there but don’t you dare forget that it’s mine,” you joke.

his hand reaches up to the side of your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “as long as i’m with you, sweetheart, it can all be yours.”

you sigh, leaning against the wall before sliding down to sit against the old wood beneath you. he would’ve given you everything, he would’ve done anything for you.

–

it didn’t take long after the mission to figure out what had really happened: the grade 2 curse was actually a special grade, something you were woefully underprepared for. however, the higher ups had planned for that, even wanted it - they needed you to die. not because of any inherent value you had, no, but for satoru. they needed to see if he could handle a special grade curse on his own, something he had already proven he could do, but with a new challenge: loss. could he control himself, his emotions, his power, when he was forced to confront your death?

no. he couldn’t.

the only good thing about this being a special grade curse is that it was smarter, more cunning, than an average curse. not smart enough to beat gojo, but still.

when satoru saw you, your body slumped in the corner of the room, blood covering your face, something happened inside him. he snapped.

so, he did what any completely irrational person would do: he made a deal with the curse.

if it would heal you, it could have your cursed powers. this sounded like an exceptional deal to the curse, thinking that surely with your cursed technique it could easily kill gojo and leave the ordeal more powerful than when it began.

but, like always, gojo surprised everyone. even with your cursed energy he managed to exorcise the monster. he was glad you weren’t there to see it, the way his body took over as he pulled it apart limb by limb, eviscerating any remnants of the thing that dared to harm you. he didn’t even use his cursed technique, he needed to feel the life draining from it in his own hands.

when it was done, he ran to you. he held you. he cried over you. until you opened your eyes, whispering his name.

–

stepping out of the library, you continue down the hall and into the next room. the bedroom, the one you and satoru spent weeks planning.

“okay, what about purple?” you ask, holding up paint swatches to the wall.

“bleh,” he stuck out his tongue. “no purple. what about a nice green?”

you rolled your eyes at his theatrics. “honey, we have too much green already. by the time you’re done with it this entire house is gonna be green.”

his eyes light up. “what about honey?”

“what about it?” you ask, tilting your head.

“that’s it, that’s the color! it’ll be perfect, it’s warm, and sunny, and it’ll make me think of you whenever i’m in here,” he explains, nearly running over to you and picking you up, spinning you around. your arms wrap around his neck as he holds you in the air, both of you smiling with joy.

as you look at the room around you, the unfinished grey walls feel more empty than any other part of the house. it’s like looking at a skeleton, the raw, old bones of something you once loved.

–

of course, after you lost your cursed technique, you weren’t allowed to continue at jujutsu high. they had no purpose for you there, and you felt out of place with everyone anyways. gojo begged them to let you stay, offering to let you live in his dorm so they wouldn’t even need an extra room for you, but his request was repeatedly and ubiquitously denied.

“fine,” he huffs, pacing around your room as you sit on the bed, all of your belongings stuffed into boxes around you. “if they won’t let you stay, then i’m going with you.”

“gojo, you can’t. you know you can’t,” you explain calmly yet sternly.

he stops momentarily, looking over at you. “i have to,” he murmurs, “this is my fault, anyways.”

you stand up and walk towards him, reaching a hand up to his face, cupping his cheek in your palm. “the only thing that’s your ‘fault’ is the fact that i’m still here, and you better not be blaming yourself for that.”

“but-”

your lips press into his, the only way you could think of to get him to stop talking. he’s soft against you, his arms lowering to loosely hang around your waist. for a moment, you stay like that, just the two of you in your empty room.

pulling apart for a moment, you just stare at each other. finally, he breaks the silence. “okay, but if you won’t let me officially leave with you, can i at least sort of leave with you?”

“gojo, what the hell does that mean?” you smirk, not understanding what he’s even asking.

a smile breaks through his lips as he looks down at you. “i have something i want to show you.”

the house.

he holds your hand, pulling you up the stone pathway next to him, leading you to the freshly-painted front door, gold handle practically glowing in the sunlight.

“ta-da!” he shouts, throwing the door open and allowing you to see inside.

“it…it’s an empty house?” you ask jokingly.

“no,” he turns to you, holding your waist, “it’s our empty house.”

“what-”

“i got it for us,” he cuts you off, beaming down at you. “when i first heard that you might be asked to leave jujutsu high, i bought it, thinking we could move in here together.” you don’t say anything, stunned by his kindness, tears beginning to form along your waterline as you think about just how much you love him. “i wanted to give you a home. i hope we can make it one, together.”

leaning up, you kiss him again. finally, together, in your home.

–

why did you even come here? the cold, stale air stirs around your lungs as you rest your head back against the wall.

despite everything that happened, you had to see it one last time. you overheard someone at the store saying how they were finally going to be tearing this place down, putting in some new luxury apartments or something. it’s not like anyone lived here anyways, maybe it’s for the best. give the grave of your past a new life.

it had been nearly ten years since you were here last. a part of you wanted to move on, to forget it, but it hung in your mind like it had been nailed there.

you finally stand up, dusting off the grime that clung to your clothes from the floor. every step another memory you had here, another painful reminder of the life you never got to have.

–

it started slowly, at first. gojo kept getting tasked with harder missions, and he kept handling them with ease. even the higher ups were at a loss with what to do with him, his raw power developing into something they had never seen and had no idea how to control.

as you sat in the empty house, alone, you tried to not let it get to you, but the feeling ate away at you all the same. the glares you’d get when the two of you went out together, the whispers from other classmates or the higher ups, they clung to you.

you knew you were less than gojo - you always were, and it never bothered you. but now, with no cursed energy, you felt like nothing compared to him.

the words replayed in your mind, reminding you what you were.

failure. broken. fragile. useless. a burden. a hindrance. a flaw. a weakness.

of course, satoru never said any of these things, going out of his way to make sure you never heard the insults his so-called colleagues muttered about you, but it wasn’t enough. it ate and ate and ate away at you until you were empty.

when you left, his world collapsed. he begged you to stay, pleaded to let him come with you. he’d leave jujutsu, all the sorcery, all the hierarchy, all the bullshit behind if it meant he could be with you. but you knew he couldn’t; if he left with you, you’d just be proving them right. you’d be dragging him down with you.

“i love you, satoru,” you whispered, your thumb wiping away the tears that fell slowly down his cheek as you stood in the doorway of the house you promised would be your home. “that’s why i have to leave.”

–

making your way back down the steps, you sigh again, a single tear rolling down your cheek, your heart heavy with loss, the loss of the life you should have had. you and satoru, making breakfast together in the morning, falling asleep next to one another, planting flowers in the garden. the simple, quiet life. but instead, you’re here, alone.

your steps are heavy as you trace back through the rooms, the last time you’ll likely ever see them.

the floor creaks in the entryway.

slowly, your eyes follow the sound.

white hair, black uniform, and those bright blue eyes. he has a few more wrinkles around his cheeks, but it is absolutely, unmistakably, him.

“satoru?” you whisper.

he smiles at you.

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linkspooky · 1 year

Note

Somehow the connection between Dazai being called "Demon Prodigy" and Fyodor being refered to as a "Demon" like clicked inside my brain but I can't really put a finger on what is it supposed to mean wondering if you've got any thoughts about it?

Sorry for the long wait anon, your question was so good it needed a longer more detailed response. Dazai and Dostoevsky are both referred to as "Demons" because of the shared themes in the literature works the characters are inspired by. Dostoevsky published a book called "Demons" (or the Possessed) and in Dazai's case it's his seminal work No Longer Human. What is a demon, but the opposite of a human being?

The shared theme is that these are both existentialist novels (Dostoevsky's works are existential as a whole). Of course the connection between the two characters is probably inspired by the fact Dazai name drops Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment in No Longer Human. However the use of the word Demon itself to describe both Dostoevsky and Dazai most likely comes from Demons / The Possessed.

Demons is also called "the possessed", because the novel is about nihilism as a political movement moving through Russia at the time. For Dostoevsky the "Demons" in this context refers to the ideas which possess people, especially political ideas and how easily people can become swept up in those political ideas and political movements to the point where they are acting like something else is possessing their bodies.

The reason I waited until this chapter to start working on this meta was this set of panels exactly.

In a desperate move Dostoevsky prepares to be possessed by his ability acting as an evil personality inside of him like a split personality disorder, in order to trick Sigma and regain the advantage against him. He then proceeds to go "Ha ha, fooled you." While I believe that Dostoevsky is not suffering from a split personality (that was the lie) he is in a way possessed by his ideals like how real life author Dostoevsky was discussing in the book demons itself.

Demons was written in response to a young radical Sergey Necahyev and his followers murdered a former comrade Ivan Ivanov. It's a novel specifically written to counter people who are pushed into radical extremes for their ideals. The events of the novel itself depict a revolution Pyotr as the cause of a radical political movement that not only engulfs the town, but ends up killing most of the named characters in the story. Pyotr's biggest action in the novel is to murder a man named Shatov in the hopes of creating a big political storm, and wishes to make one character Stavogrin the face of his revolution, while another character Kirilov the scapegoat he blames the murder of Shatov on. Kirilov himself is a nihilist who seeks to kill himself in order to answer the question of whether god exists or not by becoming god. (This makes sense I promise). In simpler terms because I don't want to analyze the whole novel Kirilov is killing himself in order to prove a philosophical point because he considers taking your own life to be the ultimate expression of his will.

"If God does not exist" according to Kirillov, "then all will is mine, and I am obliged to proclaim self-will."

This is obviously connected to both Dostoevsky and Dazai who's ideals are suicidal in nature, and are willing to become a sacrifice for those ideals. I doubt I need to establish Dazai is suicidal. Did you know Dazai is suicidal he only talks about it constantly. Dostoevsky may be a harder sell because he never mentions it explicitly.

In Chapter 105.5 he refers to Dazai's death trap as a trial sent by god.

"Having said that it is true we were placed in great danger. The trial of the flooding is one fit for a subordinate of god like myself."

Obviously biblical representations are obvious, but referring to a situation where he nearly dies as a "trial" makes his relationship with god that of a martyr suffering for their religion. And Martyrs tend to die.

Dostoevsky also is instantly able to understand Nikolai's desire to commit suicide in order to prove the existence of free will and overcome God.

"Fantastic. You rebel against god and fight a battle to lose yourself."

There's two interpretations for why he spots Nikolai's innermost feelings right away, either he's that good or reading people or he deeply relates to Nikolai. Considering Nikolai calls him his most intimate friends I lean towards the second.

He's also completely non-plussed about Nikolai designing a death game specifically to kill him. Dazai refers to Nikolai as a good friend after finding that out, and Dostoevsky agrees with him

His introductory chapter is him deliberately allowing himself to be captured, isolated, probably even beaten by an executive of the Port Mafia in order to obtain a larger goal of information on the Mafia's secrets. That was running the risk of the Executive simply shooting him in the head to remove him as a threat. His method of killing said executive is to convince him into hanging himself.

The concept of suicide is heavily associated with Dostoevsky as a character. He induces a little girl to commit suicide by pulling the pin out of a grenade hanging from her neck. His original plan for Nikolai his closest friend was to have him commit suicide to frame the agency, which only didn't succeed because Nikolai opted out.

In general Dostoevsky is willing to sacrifice lives for his ideals, but despite him being framed as a manipulative mastermind ruthlessly using others, he's also willing to use himself and sacrifice himself for those same ideals.

If Dazai and Dostoevsky are both "Demons" possessed by ideals, then what better way of ridding yourself of your own humanity then by killing yourself. As Jouno establishes in his fight against Kunikida while the agency flees that no matter what humans will ultimately fall short of ideals.

Others refer to Dostoesvky as a demon, and Dostoevsky refers to himself as a "servant of god" but both of them are equally distanced from humanity. If you take out the "good vs. evil" allignment aspect of them, then gods and demons are the same in that they're both not human.

In Dazai's case it's a bit more obvious, the novel he's based off of is literally called "No Longer Human" or in some translations "Disqualified as a Human Being" or "Failed Human."

Both Dazai and Dostoevsky are characters willing to distance themselves from their own humanity in pursuit of their ideals. They live for ideals, and not people, which is part of what makes them so willing to manipulate others.

Dostoevsky and Dazai make grand statements about humanity, Dos believing them to be foolish and Dazai calls them interesting. These are both said from the perspective of an outsider looking in. Even when Dazai is speaking fondly of humans, he still doesn't consider himself to be among them.

"We thought of over a thousand ingenious schemes and still ended up here in a prison at the end of the earth. The ones who actually make the world turn are those who scream within a storm of uncertainty, and run with flowing blood."

Once again this is drawing from the novel No Longer Human where the main character is continually unable to mesh with the rest of society in a genuine way so he lies and deceives everyone around him.

"In other words, you might say that I still have no understanding of what makes human beings tick. My apprehension on discovering that my concept of happiness seemed to be completely at variance with that of everyone else was so great as to make me toss sleeplessly and groan night after night in my bed."

While Dostoesvky's other novels end on more positive notes, Demons is one of his most tragic. The novel ends with a suicide practically the same way that No Longer Human ends with the main character Yozo's implied suicide with the entire novel forming his suicide note.

In the main canon this Dazai most likely won't kill himself as he is given an ideal to continue living for by Oda, but we already witnessed a version of Dazai in the Beast Au who does commit suicide for an ideal, that being keeping the world he created where Oda lives and is allowed to write his novels alive. Dazai is also still in the pattern of behavior of sacrificing himself to fulfill an ideal, such as his willingness to sacrifice himself for Sigma to help convince him to join the agency and turn against Dostoevsky.

Their willingness to die for ideals does not make them entirely selfless martyrs, though. They are both incredibly manipulative and have a tendency not to treat people like people, as they both work in ideals and not people. Ideas are straight forward and pure, people are messy and unpredictable. Sitting on the outside of the gameboard, and treating everyone like a piece you can continue to keep your distance from other people. Dazai may say he admires those people who are in the thick of things shedding blood to make the world turn around, but he doesn't go out and join them.

Rather than self-sacrificing it might be better to say they are self-negating. They don't see themselves as individuals, and that also applies to others sometimes, especially in cases where they don't respect their individual free will. Atsushi is completely dependent on Dazai to the point of not thinking for himself and hallucinating Dazai to tell him what to do. Akutagawa lives for Dazai's praise which Dazai uses the stick and carrot approach to keep leading him forward. Nikolai himself rebels against Dostoevsky when he realizes his friendship with Dos might be controlling him and therefore his decisions may not have been of his own free will. Then there's you know the way Dos treats Sigma, which is even worse than the way Dazai has treated Atsushi or Akutagawa.

Which connects to the novel Demons as well, when people are possessed by radical ideals other people get hurt. Pyotr murders a man, frames another man for the murder prompting his suicide, and in that starts a frenzy in the town. When possessed by an ideal, you are less accountable for your own actions. If Dazai and Dostoevsky are not human, but rather demons or servants of god pursuing a higher ideal then why should they even have to follow human rules? Why give respect to humans as individuals if they are doing these things for a higher purpose, for the benefit of everyone?

Dazai and Dosteovsky are both striving towards completely opposite ideals. Dazai's ideals are Oda's ideals, if saving or hurting people doesn't make a difference to you then choose to save others because that path is more beautiful. Dostoevsky is also pursuing a more beautiful world, striving towards that same beauty, but in his mind the way to reach it is purifying the world of impurities. He wants to push everyone towards the perfectionism that he believes God intended.

"Me? I'm not doing anything. I just sat here and prayed, and my prayers have reached god. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Even from his introductory chapter, it twists Dostoevsky's actions to show that in his mind he is likely "saving" evil people.

"The crime was thinking. The crime was breathing. He has been liberated from that." (I suddenly understood. Who does evil save?)

When Dostoevsky induces a little girl to commit suicide in Cannibalism, he paradoxically speaks of a better world for children. Dos isn't making a joke or laughing maniacally here he genuinely seems sincere.

"Good fortune for this world. A blessing for children."

Their ideals seem to be opposite, but in a way they're both working towards the ideal of "saving people" and just disagree on what saving them actually entails. Dazai could also easily slip into becoming someone like Dostoevsky, hence why his lowest point and his most violent and abusive self is his mafia era where he's referred to as the "demonic prodigy." Beast gives us a glance at what Dazai would look like in a world where he never met Oda, and he effectively becomes the main villain of that world in place of Dostoevsky. He even uses the book to create his own personal ideal world, which is what we know so far of Dostoevsky's motivation in the main canon.

They are the same and opposite in many ways, including the way they are pictured in the fifth season opening that I used as a banner image for this post. Dazai is standing in the light, Dostoevsky is in the middle of a clouded, dark and stormy sky, the time of day is different but they're still standing in the same place, a ruined demon.

Which is why they are both referred to as demons. They both play at being servants of god, or demons rather than seeing themselves as people. They both are possessed by greater ideas which can lead to their less than savory actions. They're both seen by others and themselves as inhuman, and then use that same thing as an excuse to distance themselves from the people around them.

Most importantly, both characters are painfully human.

#fyodor dostoevsky #osamu dazai #dazai #dazai bsd #fyodor #fyodor bsd #bsd meta #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs meta #bungou stray dogs theory

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