#all of my brain power has gone into this
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velvetjune · 8 months ago
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the chapter songs in Alan Wake 2,, flawless
#they deserve more love and discussion#saying this while also not knowing what to say other than they’re so fucking good#alan wake 2#i think it’s partially because poets of the fall’s tracks are iconic so of course they’re in the spotlight (as deserved)#but also the CHAPTER SONGS. them being made for a given chatacter(s) with the help of Sam lakes poetry#the changes with ‘this road’ by Poe with every Alan chapter. becoming more distorted and revealing lyrics and the spiral#the scratch song being 1) hilarious and 2) similar to Zane’s poetry in the aw1 arg#the emotion in superhero when saga feels lost at the story making it so Logan was gone#the lines of her feeling like a ghost in this story forming around her.. how she feels guilty and absent for both what the story’s doing#and being away from Logan because of her job. ashdhhhhjhh my heart#AND. follow you into the dark HAS to be alice. which kills me because at for at I thought of Alan#but no. Alice jumped in the dark place after him. it’s so !!!!!!!!!!!#the rabbit hole line. Alice spiraling deeper and deeper into a dream—into wonderland#the Lost at Sea one is also good. intrigues me. the Bowie and Lynch references are blatantly aw2 Zane#but it’s so similar to diver Zane and the ‘originals’ death. being lost in the dark place with illusions of escape#and losing any sense of identity. whether he’s real at all or the monster of this sea or just a lost soul.#the soft and calm vocals / instrumental really makes the whole thing#NEED to stop typing more tags because this is a Lot. however.#‘no one left to love’ is also a phenomenal song and one of my favorites from the album. GORGEOUS vocals and how it all flows together.#such a powerful and beautiful way to end a chapter#anyway that’s all I had to say :)#god. I’ve started to watch a few playthroughs of the game and 90% of people have skipped the chapter songs and every time im#that’s fair but my brain and soul might implode if I don’t see anyone else talking about how good these songs are
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exytapes · 2 months ago
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okay will I be able to write this fanfic as a one chapter and it's over kinda thing or am I going to be cursed to write multiple chapters?
because I don't know if I have the dedication to do multiple chapters, but I don't think I have the ability to write all this story in one go.
I'm leaning toward taking it slow, but writing multiple chapters. because if I am gonna rewrite and slightly change the plot of parkciv I'm gonna want to take my time and actually think about it.
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theodoradove · 4 months ago
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I went to the 2024 Cat Video Fest on a whim (since the first showing was right before A Matter of Life and Death) and it was such a delight to watch silly cat videos in a theater full of laughing people. It's playing at the Roxie several times over the next few weeks as well as in other places across the US (and the proceeds go to cat rescue organizations!).
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funsizedcrow · 2 months ago
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FINALLY playing ocarina of time
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orcelito · 10 months ago
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My druid has "fuckboy" written all over her
#speculation nation#shes a druid but she does Not look it. nor does she act like it really.#druid stuff exists to beef myself up as a front liner (spores druid ftw)#and to act as an excuse like 'whaaaat why r u so suspicious of me im a druid 🥺🥺🥺 i just want what's best for nature 🥺🥺🥺'#meanwhile here i am hogging ALL the worms we manage to find (or. well. most of them.)#bc im going full ham into my powers lol theyre so useful#this is a game of pressing Every button and seeing what happens. yet still going along the lines of good? approximately?#it very much does feel like the kind of thing a druid drow would do. willing to consort with the darkness#but still ultimately striving for peace and order.#i am just perhaps a little bug-brained to accomplish this :3#ive been playing a Lot of bg3. progressing well through act 2. everything is so very scary and i am just 1 druid 🥺#(i say as if i havent killed literally every single enemy ive come across. im so fucking good at this game.)#the house of healing was by far my least favorite part (so far). that boss battle was TERRIBLE but i managed to get through it.#according to my friends they just talked their way out of it. not me tho. i saw that guy strapped to the table and i was just like#'GET FUCKED BRO' *casts moonbeam* *proceeds to get the shit stabbed outta me*#holy shit he did so much damage. and he was focused ONLY ON ME.......#took me and shadowheart both healing to keep up with the damage he was doing (while astarion and karlach did most of the attacking)#but i did it! hes gone! but holy shit poking around his stuff has been so. eugh.#im in the towers now. so scary. just barely started them tho. gonna look for the prisoners and then proceed from there.#that ketheric dude is fucking terrifying. so big scared about him. but All Men Die The Same 😈#.....well maybe not exactly the same given his 'immortality' thing 😂 but i'll figure it out.#anyways yea check out taltana im going for a mixed feminine and masculine kinda vibes with her. and enjoying it very much.#bg3 spoilers/
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skybristle · 1 year ago
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god man what do i even DO with a gc kingdom rewrite
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joansblondells · 2 years ago
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just rediscovered / relearned the ability to GIF after ?? idk a 3 year break in which I deleted photoshop for reasons christ himself only knows. things are happening... cogs are turning... straaange things are afoot at the circle blondells this evening
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neverendingford · 7 months ago
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#tag talk#because of all the artists I follow and the art I see I'm able to muster up some art when the muse sings.#so thanks I was able to sketch something for the guy I'm getting to know and maybe will be dating at some point#was thinking about whether to call him cute or not and I think yeah I do think he's cute.#I've been using all my brain power to min-max the interactions we've had without jumping too quickly into the deep end#which is why I don't call him my boyfriend because we've only met irl twice but I think there's no reason why we won't escalate to dating#provided I can not fuck things up#prolly not healthy to have the mindset that I'm responsible for whether things go well or not#not healthy to have the mindset that I'm a stick of dynamite and if I screw things up it'll all blow to shit.#idk. I still feel that way.#we'll see.#either way he's my in to a whole other friend group of coworkers and their friends since we got matched by a coworker/friend#my coworker his friend so I have higher hopes since it's not an online match.#he seems pretty cool and I'm doing my best to spread out the interaction and not get too caught up in his dms#and I was the one to be like “yeah this hangout has gone pretty long” because I know I tend to drag things out longer than they should go.#even if the other person is engaged it's functionally great to make a lunch date last the whole afternoon into the evening.#we both have things to do so as fun as it is to hang out for five hours I'm trying to keep emotionally healthy.#enough distance to keep perspective on things.#my last relationship the other person pushed for more and more hangout time and more and more closeness and I think that's what fucked it#I need to keep my distance to stay emotionally healthy#and honestly? I'm proud of myself for learning that and keeping it in mind.#I've had some hard experiences to learn that lesson but now I'm going to put it to good use and maybe get some dick again.#it's deadass been since October. deadass halfa year since I got dick.#I fucked someone more recently than that but fucking and getting dick are not the same thing.#anyway. new relationship. wish me luck.
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agentcoops · 11 months ago
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I think if i was like 5% smarter i would have a lot of fun diving head first into twin peaks theories and explanations
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ashtcnirwin · 1 year ago
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🌻
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sundereign · 1 year ago
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i feel like base syndra is one of those muses who are so difficult to write just random starters for without plotting, so feel free to come message me for plots, especially if you were eyeing any of her other skinline verses ♥
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immamapletreekid · 1 year ago
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once again impressed at just how quickly a new piece of media can take over my waking hours
#so the ppl were right...hannibal really is brain chemistry altering. in fact its scary how powerful it is#ive read through..;;;all the wikipedia pages for all 36 episodes in an evening instead of doing anything productive#before i realized it. the whole afternoon was gone. fuck#no regrets (will have many regrets come tomorrow morning)#ok but back to the topic at hand. all wikipedia articles. several other character wiki pages#SEVERAL SEVERAL VERY VERY VERY WELL WRITTEN TUMBLR ANALYSES ON THE SHOW#a good few made me have to put my phone down punch my bed a few times then walk several circles around my room flailing my arms about#bc of the shivers they gave me#god some of u ppl out there are so cool so incredibly skilled with an eye for these things#also went down deep dives on youtube for interviews.. the actors breaking down their characters. fan made compilations#again im particularly a big fan of the video compiling nearly every single cannibal pun made in the show#i feel like a new person again. a persona 3 obsession followed right after by this?!?!?!!!! ive never felt as alive as#when theres a piece of media that consumes all my thoughts. every minute im awake. nothing except the world and the story and the characters#and just how fucking incredible these pieces of media are at weaving the theme so deeply into every fibre of the series#actuslly if i try very hard. ims ure i csn find similarities between persona and hannibal that appealed to me#lately persona 3 has still got an iron grip on me. but that grip has been strengthened furthermore by persona 4 and 5....;;; truly this#this may be the end for me I JUST WANNA SPEND MT DAYS CURLED UP IN MY ROOM OBSESSING OVER THESE THINGS#no stress coming from school or job searching or money or social obligations or just. idk being a person is hard sometimes#passion is so important. like actuslly im going to start crying its so good to be passionate about something#ppl who are passionate about their stuff their thing their knowledge are so cool#im tired now and am going to sleep maybe. after rbing a few more things i keep seeing that cause thst little jolt of#excitement happiness goosebumps and shivers and i need to save tjem for times when it feels i have no passion left to absorb from the world#rambling about stuff
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covetyou · 2 months ago
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you all the way down
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ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: vaguely dub-con (power imbalance, reader was paying a debt), masturbation, oral sex (f and m receiving), face sitting, spanking, cum swallowing, no use of y/n. word count: 4.3k summary: You have a rare moment of privacy, a chance to luxuriate in bringing yourself closer and closer to a peak you've been teasing yourself with for hours.... Until a knock at your door snatches it all away.
A/N: I hit a follower milestone this week - thank you all so much for your follows, comments, reblogs, friendship, sneaky trips into my DMs and asks, and for loving the same silly, absurd, and horny things I do.
see you next week 💛
title from I, Carrion (Icarian) by hozier.
follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics
You didn't often do it like this. You didn't often have the time. Or the privacy.
It was a rare luxury to have the apartment to yourself, and so, for the best part of an hour - maybe more - you'd been slowly and steadily teasing yourself. With no plans and no work, you could take your time, turn the slow drag of your hands all over your body into steady smooth movements that dipped between your legs. Fingers that pinched nipples, scratched at your belly, dragged themselves over your thighs found themselves nestled between your legs dipping down and teasing. Down, and up, and around, and back down again. Sweeping through wet folds and swiping over your clit in gloriously slow strokes. You were making your own skin prickle, your own breath catch in your throat, and it was divine.
How long you teased yourself and made yourself smile and sigh in the confines of your own room, you didn't know exactly. It didn't matter. Your dad was at work and you weren't. You were here, alone, finally pushing one slicked up finger inside yourself and making yourself gasp.
Fuck, did you deserve this. You deserved the soft and the slow way you teased yourself, brought yourself close to the edge and then eased off. You deserved the way you made yourself moan, catching yourself with a laugh when you heard yourself through the blood in your ears.
You deserved to come, right here, nestled in all your soft things, thinking glorious thoughts about hands and bodies surrounding yours, overwhelming you until you came, shuddering, in their grasp.
You deserved to come begging and urging yourself on to the emptiness of your room, your own filthy mouth finding flight and soaring, working with the fingers in your cunt and on your clit to bring yourself to an edge you'd let yourself teeter on, almost making yourself cry as you held back, held off, and kept that fierce explosion at bay.
Until a knock at your door snatched it all away.
Your body registers it before your brain does. The fuse you'd ignited sputters out, your fingers still working over your clit that has suddenly gone shy and numb and unfeeling, making you twitch uncomfortably. Then, your door rattles with a heavy handed knock again, and you sit up with a start.
Fuck this asshole.
Tumbling from tangled sheets, you frantically reach for something to cover you. As you hop through your apartment, one leg in your pants, the other out, another knock hammers at the door.
"Okay! I'm coming!" Only you weren't, because that was ruined now, thanks to this heavy handed asshole and their impeccable timing.
Wiping damp fingers on your pants, you huff out a frustrated breath and try to pin a fake smile onto your face before opening the door. It swings inward, just as the start of another impatient knock begins, and in with it comes a man you should be surprised to see.
Joel Miller breezes past you - barely having to push his way in as you stare at him in stunned silence - to stand in your living room, looking curiously around at the small space.
"Nice place," he says, with a look on his face that says differently. You know it's far from a nice place. There wasn't a single apartment in this building that was a nice place. If this were normal times, the whole block would have been condemned years ago, but here you were, stuck at the end of the world in a shitty apartment that was the only place you had to call home.
As you close the door, you take a quick glance down at what you'd thrown on. The pajama pants have seen better days - everything had seen better days - and the shirt you'd grabbed has more holes in the seams than you care to even check for. It was in your pile of things to fix that you hadn't quite got around to yet and now here it was, hanging off your body like you were wearing lace, not flannel.
"What're you here for?" you ask, trying to hide the holes in your with a not-so-subtle movement of your arms.
"Like to check in on my clients from time to time," he says, finally looking you over and noticing your arms tucked tightly over your chest. "Am I disturbin' somethin'?"
Yes. "No."
"You ain't workin'?"
No shit. "Day off."
"Alright," he says, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "What's got your panties in a bunch?"
You aren't wearing any panties. "Nothing."
He's crossing the small space to stand right in front of you, and you know from the second his nostrils flair that he knows. He probably knew from the moment he came in, probably somehow even from the other side of the door. You weren't exactly being quiet, or discreet, and if there's one thing you knew it was that Joel Miller knew you just about better than anybody else.
"Bullshit, sweetheart."
If you weren't already so turned on at your own hand, you know you'd be rapidly getting wetter. Just the smell of him in your home is sending your mind, and your pussy, into overdrive. He's never stepped foot in here before, and you know you shouldn't like it. A man like Joel, a man who has clients to come check on, isn't someone you should be happy to have snooping about in your apartment and your business.
But one look at that cocky smirk on his face, and you know you'd be very happy to have him snooping around your business. In fact, by the way your pussy pulses at the sight of him, you think you'd be happy to have him very deep in your business right here pressed up against your front door.
Instead, in a last ditch effort to retain your dignity, you push the frustration back into your voice and step around him, throwing your hands into the air.
"You just come here, pound at the door, and then bust right in here the second I open it! I was - I'm busy, Joel."
"Busy?" Joel scoffs. You can see the thought as it comes to him, sly smile twitching the corners of his mouth as he fakes disinterest. "Then go right on ahead and get back to what you were doin', don't mind me."
You stare him down, heart pounding in your throat. The distance between you is still small. You could be on him in an instant. You think you could use the element of surprise and tackle him to the ground. His coat would come off easy enough, but beneath that who knows what he's wearing. Probably layers. Fucking Boston. Still, you didn't exactly need all of them off, you only needed access to one thing, and when your eyes flick down to the bulge in his jeans you resolutely set your shoulders and turn around.
"Fine."
A button falls from loose threads as your hands fly down the front of your shirt. In no time at all you're flinging it over your shoulder, hitting Joel square in the face where he stands in your bedroom doorway, watching.
He catches it in one hand, fingering one of the holes. "This what you call, busy?"
The pajama pants you'd tied about your waist drop to your feet and in no time at all you're naked again, climbing onto your bed, the pillows and sheets you were nested in welcoming you back in - still warm. "Like you didn't know, asshole."
"I ain't got a sixth fuckin' sense, sweetheart."
You glare at him from across the room and he shrugs, leaning casually on the doorframe as he watches you lie back. If you didn't know better, you'd think he didn't know where to look. One moment he's looking at the scowl on your face, and the next he's looking down at your breasts, the curve of your ass, taking a peek between your legs as you shuffle down your bed. It's all going so fast, you think for once you may just have the upperhand. Joel Miller, you think, is flustered.
He watches you as you stroke down your body, quicker than the slow, teasing pace you'd set with yourself earlier. Your thighs fall open as your hands reach your hips, and your fingers reach down to spread yourself as he watches on.
"This what you were doin'?"
"Yes, now can you shut up."
You shut your eyes and get back to where you left off. You're still wet and slick, your fingers slipping easily back into the grip of your pussy. If you just try to block him out, standing in the doorway staring between your spread legs, you can get right back where you left off. You can find that edge again, even through the oversensitivity. You know you can, and this time, you're going to throw yourself screaming over it.
Curling your fingers, you reach down and twist your torso until you can reach that delicious spot you found earlier. Then, your other hand begins working back over your clit, spit slicked and swiping eagerly over the sensitive nub. Picking up the pace, you try to ignore the twitches in your legs and the way your thighs already want to clamp shut on your own hands.
You ignore it, that is, until Joel chimes in from the doorway.
"You're gonna rub the fuckin' thing clean off if you keep goin' at it like that."
Hitting the bed in frustration, you growl and sit up again, staring wild eyed at him. "If you're such a fucking expert, then why don't you get over here and help me. I am naked, Joel, and my cunt is right here."
Your mouth snaps shut the moment you gesture down to your spread legs. You snap them shut too. By the way he's silently peeling off his coat, you're certain you've fucked up, though you can't say you're too mad about it. With any luck, he'll fuck you to within an inch of your life in a way so satisfying your ruined orgasm will be all but forgotten.
With his coat discarded, he pulls off a sweater and unbuttons his shirt - flannel and significantly less holey than the one you've just thrown at him. Then, he grabs a pillow you'd discarded earlier and sits at the edge of your bed.
"C'mere," he beckons as he lays back, folding the pillow and shoving it behind his head.
You don't move. You're frozen in place as he shifts and gets himself comfortable. You don't know what this is, what he's planning, but you're certain it's something he's never done before. And it's going to happen right here, in your bedroom, the very place you'd spent night after night dreaming of the many wonderful ways he would fuck you.
"You want my help, or not?" he says in frustration, looking over to you where you're rooted in place. You nod stupidly, and follow the beckon of his fingers until you're kneeling by his side.
His rough hands find your thigh and push you until you're sat up on your knees. Then, he's dragging one of your legs over his clothed chest until you're straddling him, trying to keep the wet mess between your legs from soaking through his shirt.
"Up here," he says. "Want that pussy, and I ain't kneeling for it."
And suddenly it all clicks into place and you are mortified. For everything he'd done to you, for how much you knew he loved to look, you'd never once done something like this to him. You felt awkward even riding him, until his flithy words of encouragement and the drag of his cock inside you knocked every thought out of your brain.
Now, he was wanting you to sit on his face, somehow not suffocating him in the process. So, you laugh, shaking as you hold your weight above his chest.
"Look like I'm jokin' to you?" he says in a tone so stern and serious your eyes force their way down to where his face sits perilously close to the apex of your legs.
Which, of course, is a fucking mistake. He's licking his lips and looking up at you - all over every inch of you - eating you alive with his stare.
He pushes and pulls you then, dragging you up his chest until your knees are settled either side of his face. You can feel the gust of his breath against your thighs just before he hauls you forward a little more until his half face is completely covered by your cunt, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose visible now.
"Fuckin' christ. You're a mess down here. You been goin' at it for a while, huh?" he says, and you can feel every word blow against you even as you hover as far as you can above his face.
"Uh-huh," you say, a kiss sucked to your thigh striking stealing all thought from your mind.
"Get real close?" he says, with another kiss, hands kneading at your thighs and ass as they wrap around you and try to tug you closer.
You nod, hoping he can see you as your eyes slip closed with the feeling of him right here, between your legs, in your room.
"Hm. That's a damn shame, sweetheart. Bet you're achin' for it somethin' fierce right now, ain't you?" he asks from between your legs. You look down and you know in that moment the fucked look on your face says more than you ever could when he hums, spreading your thighs apart with his strong fingers.
"Better sit your ass down then," he mumbles into your thigh, pulling you down. "That's it, bring it here. Ain't strainin' my fuckin' neck for it, give it to me."
So you do. You settle down slowly onto his face, listening as he guides you down until you feel the first broad swipe of his tongue up through your folds.
"What'd I say," he says, swallowing the taste of you. "A fuckin' mess."
He kisses around your clit, nudging it with the curved tip of his nose when he finally licks up into you again. And then, he's pulling your flush to his face and feasting.
The noise that leaves you is stupid. Somewhere between a gasp and a moan and a question all at once. His nose is pressed against you, his laughter fanning out across your mound as you try not to squirm and wiggle against him, fearful of crushing his head beneath your weight, or at the very least suffocating him.
His face burrows deeper, his hands holding you firm, squeezing and scraping calloused fingertips against your delicate skin. The scruff on his cheeks feels rough against the places you were so soft with earlier, and you don't care in the slightest.
It works, you think.
Where the soft feel of your own hands felt too much - too familiar - to the parts of you that were now too sensitive to them, the rough, all consuming movements of Joel's mouth on your swollen pussy feels like a welcome relief as he laps at your hole, slick and dripping from your thwarted solo session.
His hands move from anchoring you to his face, locked around your thighs, to pressing against your ass, gripping the globes of them in each of his broad hands.
And then, as if it wasn't all so much already, he begins to stroke up and down your seam, pulling you apart, dipping into your dripping cunt and teasing over your exposed asshole as he laps and suckles away at your clit.
Still, as good as it all is, you can't let go. You can't get back to that place you'd climbed so close to. You feel exposed, sat upright with the frigid October air of your bedroom encasing you. Self-conscious too - all chins and bad angles and slouchy shoulders. And, most of all, you were terrified you were going to hurt him. One wrong twitch or snap shut of your legs and his air supply would be gone, or his neck snapped, and you'd have a dead man in your bed and -
A sharp slap connects with your ass cheek, Joel's strong hands pulling you upwards from his face, cheeks glistening and lips swollen red.
"Lean forward," he says, with a nip to your thigh.
As you go to move, walking forward on your knees, a hand grips your waist, and another slap hits your thigh, rippling your skin where it frames his face.
"Said lean, not fuckin' move off. You're gonna sit right here 'til you come, but you ain't comin' any time soon if you don't fuckin' lean and relax."
A strong hand pushes at your lower back then, making you hinge forward until your elbows collide with the bed. Your ass is in the air, legs spread just wide enough that your bare cunt is tantalizingly close to Joel's mouth, and now you get it. You shift on your knees, soothing the small ache that had built up, and look down at the brown-grey hair between your legs that's sucking hickies into your thighs.
"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs as he marks you, delivering swift, gentle smacks to your ass as you groan, planting your cheek firmly against your bed.
You drag a blanket toward you, covering yourself a little and tucking your face into the softness of it. Joel's smacks turn to scrapes of his blunt nails over the backs of your thighs and then, when your brain finally switches off and you fall into that mindless, soft place that has you feeling heavy and floaty all at once, you press your hips forward and drag your bare pussy across Joel's waiting tongue.
Joel's groan of approval blends into your own wanton moans. What was a soft drag of his tongue on your clit quickly turns to the sensitive nub being sucked into his eager mouth, your hips winding and grinding now you can finally relax.
"Fingers. Please. Need your fingers."
It doesn't even sound like you. It's breathier and more pathetic than you think you've ever sounded, but you can't bring yourself to care when suddenly Joel is releasing your clit to slurp on two of his own fingers, before plunging them deep into your empty pussy.
"Yes, yes, yes, like that. Fuck. Joel."
Each orbit of his tongue on your clit sends a new throb directly through your core, clenching down on the digits curling into you, and you're right back to teetering on that edge. You figure you could let yourself fall over it now. It'd be more like collpasing over it in an exhausted heap, but you know it'd be a satisfaction you wouldn't otherwise have got today.
Or you could wait. You could hold yourself back and use his face to tease yourself, to bring yourself back from the brink once, twice, before you take the final running jump right over it.
Your hands have made up your mind for you when you card trembling fingers through his hair and pull him back, forcing his head down into the pillow he'd propped under it not long ago, and stopping your orgasm in its tracks.
One.
Then, when he's licking broad stripes up and down your glistening folds, something takes hold of you and you begin to fuck yourself against his fingers, swiping your pussy against the flat of his tongue as you rock gently back and forth. His tongue, then his nose, grind against your clit with each rock of your hips, and soon your shaking legs can't move yourself any more.
Two.
Whatever running jump you'd hoped for isn't in your hands now. It's not in your control from the moment Joel tucks a third finger into your pussy, so slick and dripping you're certain you'd have no issue taking more if he decided to give them to you. Instead, you're being carried by him, limp and panting in his arms as he throws you mercilessly over the edge, and you let him.
You come with a cry, fists balling in sheets. Your hips rock and cant against his face, twitching uncontrollably as you pulse and gush around his fingers. His tongue is relentless on your clit, circling over and over until you're begging a jumbled garble of words, too weak to lift yourself off of him.
Then, in a last ditch effort, you throw yourself forward, still coming as you finally release yourself off of his face.
It takes your brain a second to reconnect with your body. Even after the aftershocks have subsided, you're still panting and groaning. Or he is. Maybe both of you are.
Both of you are.
Still quivering, you turn to him. His eyes catch yours before you can take in the state of him. They're darker than you've ever seen them, his blown pupils turning his irises almost black. Then, you see the glistening wet on his chin, his plush lips turned plumper, red and swollen from kissing and sucking at you. And, even lower still, you see the movement of his arm, his bicep rocking in a steady movement, his forearm flexing with each jerk of his fist, his cock weeping in his hand.
"Get down here," he growls.
You scramble to turn, limbs clumsy, and flop down against his side, knees tucked awkwardly under you. His free hand grips your ass, kneading and spreading you so he can look at the mess he made of you, while he guides his cock to your mouth with the other.
"C'mon now, ain't gonna take much. That's it. Fuck."
He groans when you swallow him down, almost gagging when you take him too deep too quickly. Your fist curls around the base of him, taking up the space you can't quite reach, and you bob your head, swirling your tongue, unable to keep your moans quiet as you taste him.
No sooner have you started, and he's twitching beneath you, the muscles in his groin flexing to hold back, to hold on.
"Want you to swallow it all," he pants. "Don't want - fuck - you to miss a single drop."
His fingers push back into your tender hole then - the inviting warmth of it obviously too much to resist when it's swaying there right in front of him, and you welcome him back in with a sigh.
"Such a fuckin' mess."
You moan in agreement, sucking his cock deeper into your mouth. You can't see him. You don't need to. You know he's close by the way his balls draw tight and his moans get so desperate, his fingers stilling their slow exploration inside you.
And then, he's spurting into the back of your throat - you bet he has his eyes closed - and you swallow over and over, the salty burst of him barely registering on your tasetbuds as you eagerly swallow everything he has to give.
"Get it all. That's it. Swallow it. Fuck, sweetheart."
You suck and lick until his fingers pull out of you and grip your thigh, too sensitive for you to carry on your gentle licks against his head.
With one last gentle suck, you release him with a pop and flop beside him, smiling dozily to yourself as your hands play against your belly.
Joel lays with you for a moment too, his cock going limp against his belly before he tucks it away and sits up.
"Y'always like this after you fuck yourself?" he asks, and you nod, watching the way he stretches his neck and shoulders. You think you are, anyway. Mostly, you fall straight asleep. It's only on these rare occasions you get to fuck yourself with your fingers and take your time that you ended up smiling and satisfied at a job well done.
"Get up here," he says again a moment later, tugging gently at your limp arm. He could manhandle you - he's done it before, he's plenty strong enough - but he doesn't. Instead he waits patiently until you're on your knees in front of him, almost matching his height where he stands and you kneel.
"What'd'ya say?" he asks, pinching your chin. "Tha..."
"Thank you, Joel," you say, with a roll of your eyes. "But, technically, it's your fault I even needed your help in the first place."
With a quick slap to your ass, he pushes your chin away with his thumb, before dragging your face right back to his. "Alright smartass. C'mere."
Then, he kisses you. Full on the mouth, kisses you.
And, when you slip your tongue against his bottom lip, tasting yourself on the fullness of it, he doesn't object. He meets you in the middle instead, tasting himself on your tongue as you taste yourself on his.
"Always go so fuckin' dopey for kisses," he says with a laugh against your mouth, and you moan an agreement as your head falls back. You're exhausted, right down to the bones, and now the mornings events are catching up with you.
"I do. You don't mind tasting your cum."
Honest too, apparently, and Joel shakes his head.
"S'mine, and I fuckin' put it there. Nice knowin' you taste of me, sweetheart. If it ain't one hole, it oughta be another."
He shrugs his jacket on, and pulls his shoes onto his feet, before he sees himself out. He pats you gently on the ass as he leaves, closing your bedroom door behind himself. You listen out for the front door, and when it slams, you let the fuzzy feeling take hold - your eyes catching sight of his flannel shirt on your dresser right before you're dragged under.
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cresvalkyrie · 1 year ago
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Yeah, that idea isn't leaving my head now
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xjulixred45x · 10 months ago
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I could't contain myself guys sorry--
Bro, do you realize how scary it would be to have Vox as a Yandere?
just imagine it. You could be one of his workers, maybe too good at your job, because not only do you do what Vox tells you without asking questions, but you also know what to say and what not to say to avoid a "tantrum" from him. or rather, when his insecurities attack with force like when Alastor returns.
Vox would probably be a somewhat condescending yandere (as seen with Val) but don't think you can't turn tables easily, if you stroke his ego enough, you can have him around your finger. but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for those around you.
He makes the typical 180 degree turn in attitude when it comes to Other Employees and when it comes to You. Damn, you may be the only one of his employees who gets paid vacations (or even vacations) or even birthday bonuses, things like that. He likes to give you his things or products with the excuse that "they are for testing" even if they have already been released on the market.
Like:
Vox: who the fuck eat My leftovers!?! WHENEVER WHO WAS I'M GOING TO-
Darling: it was me sir.
Vox:--give You the rest and take You out for lunch, You haven't eaten in the whole day AGAIN, didn't ya?
He definitely avoids conflict with you by hypnotizing you, when he starts to feel hostility, fear on your part or that you want to leave, he makes you "out of nowhere" have "ONE MORE TASK" and you can't help but do what he says.
and IT IS NOT just to avoid fights or for you to leave, it is something CONSTANT (once every two days MINIMUM), although Vox is not worried about your brain turning into mush due to its powers, it always keeps nutritious things in your diet and they come out relatively often , as you have to follow him everywhere.
Eventually he becomes more clingy and needy in this case, it's practically not that he's proposing to you or anything, he's just slowly dragging you into a relationship without you realizing it (because you're not lucid enough). Unless you develop a higher level of tolerance to his hypotonic trick, I don't think you'll notice his Red Flags.
I think it would be ESPECIALLY BAD if Darling is also a Sinner, because then they wouldn't even be able to get out of the pride ring to run away from Vox. leaving you with many fewer options and having to avoid all of Vox's technology, which you could only achieve by 1- going to the Cannibal Legion or 2- going to the Hazbin Hotel.
Running away is EXTREMELY DIFFICULT, not only because of his hypnotic trick, but because he literally has EYES EVERYWHERE, on every screen in hell. If you somehow manage to get away with it and run away, Vox would be SO ANGRY and looking for you all over hell with their screens.
Although definitely if you were gone more than a day, he would be more distraught than angry and would begin to despair. Even Val and Velvet would give him a hand because of how bad it would be.
Just imagine, thinking that you finally lost sight of Vox's search drones, without realizing that you stand in front of some store and VOX ITSELF appears on the screens :)
If you made the stupid decision to go to the Hazbin Hotel, Vox would be distraught and would even think that Alastor was somehow holding you hostage, obviously! Why would you go there if you knew his biggest enemy was there? Alastor must be using you as a bargaining chip! How dare he!?
(in this case, fortunately, the punishment is much less severe, but he would definitely monitor you for the rest of your life)
When he eventually gets you back (after a few days or even WEEKS of anguish) expect, first of all, to be in a mortal embrace that lasts AT LEAST 2 days and then receive your "punishment" which would be to be under hypnosis for AT LEAST 1 YEAR to be sure that this NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.
Although calm down! He gives your mind breaks periodically because 1- he doesn't know if that would ultimate mess with your head and 2- it's nice to hear YOU talk instead of the robotic version.
When that year FINALLY ends, you will be a much more obedient, more terrified, sweeter version of You, according to Vox, like a frightened Deer. It was a long and hard process, but the good thing is that you don't have to do anything anymore! absolutely! Just do what he tells you and everything will be fine.
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Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!
Not one of the Best yanderes to have, but Def not the worst
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gutsby · 25 days ago
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Easy to Please
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Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader
Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.
Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.
Word count: 3.1k
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You hate the face he makes when he cums.
You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.
You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.
‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’
What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.
Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.
The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.
“How’s the wrist?” he says.
You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.
“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.
You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.
“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.
You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.
It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.
Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.
You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.
And that’s where Joel comes in.
No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.
What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind
“O-ow!” you whine presently.
His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.
“You alright?”
“Fuck me!”
I will, he thinks.
“Want me to get an ice—”
“Let go-OW! FUCK!”
Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.
You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.
Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.
And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.
He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—
“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.
You look confused for a second, but you tell him.
“Twenty-one.”
Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.
“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.
“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”
“Oh.”
A beat.
“Happy birthday.”
You blink.
“You gonna take your pants off or what?”
And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.
Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.
More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.
Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—
“Oh.”
He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.
He tries anyway:
“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”
Sweet pea.
Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs
Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.
On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.
Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.
Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.
And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.
“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”
From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.
Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.
“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”
Normally, Joel loves to hear that.
Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.
He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.
Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.
“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.
You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.
Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.
“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”
You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.
“Love me deep?”
And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.
Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.
“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”
You look like you might agree. He keeps going.
“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”
He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.
“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”
And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:
“Don’t.”
Joel should’ve known better.
He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.
It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.
Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.
“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”
“Shut up,” you snap.
Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.
Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.
His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.
“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.
Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.
His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.
“Sweet pea—”
“Don’t fucking call me that!”
Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.
And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.
His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.
Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.
What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.
Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.
No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.
The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.
He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.
He won’t cum tonight, either.
He’ll finish something else.
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You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.
Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.
Then you remember your own less than two months ago:
Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.
They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.
He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.
No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.
You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.
At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.
You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.
Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.
And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.
Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.
An envelope.
In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.
You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.
Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.
When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.
Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.
You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.
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