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dev1lm4n · 1 year ago

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lesson one: sensitive

ko-fi | series masterlist

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: under several notable circumstances, mr. miller finally decided that he'd be the best teacher for your first debut into sexual activities. even when all of it is to prepare you for your successful date.

word count: 5.4k (i know.. i went a little crazy on this lol)

warnings: explicit (18+), set in 2013, pre-outbreak, age gap (joel in mid 30's and reader in early 20's), inexperienced but not dumb reader, fingering, he's kinda mean, check umbrella warning on series masterlist

notes: i had so much fun writing this! tbh this one is super filthy compared to the other one so.. forgive me 🤲 COMMENT n REBLOG if u liked it

“I could take you home if you’d like. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t roam the street alone.”

Simon, more commonly referred to as Robotic Class Guy or French Fries, was surprisingly not half as bad as you thought he would be. He had all the height of a man but none of the bulk. From behind he could be easily spotted as someone in their late teens to early thirties, mostly blaming his horrid graphic tee and skinny jeans combo, but when he turned that face was all boy. His caramel hair flopped over his eyes in the way no office worker could get away with and on his wrist were bracelets in woven leather.

At first, you accepted his awkward invite out of spite.

Just to rid yourself of a certain plague festering upon your head, feasting on your brain cells so that you’d think of nothing but Mr. Miller in all his glory. Him with his tight worn-out jeans, spread open enough that you could see a naughty peak of his bulge, while he watched the soccer game. Him with his shirt off, bathing in the summer-induced moisture, while he mowed the front lawn and edged the curb. Him with his thumb parting your lips, looking at you like he’s about to consume you alive, but of course he didn’t.

At least now that Simon came around, you’d have a new port to anchor your boat on.

“No, thanks, I’m alright. My..”

Who was Mr. Miller to you again?

Your.. father? Absolutely not. Even if he’s taken you in as a part of the Miller family, just like how he used to say, you would feel like it’d be morbidly repulsive to deduce him to that particular role. For fuckssake, you stick a finger up your cunt every single week to the thought of him fucking you like one of his girls.

Then would a family friend be better of a word? Or should you just say that he’s a guardian of yours? But that’d be confusing, wouldn’t it? You glanced at your watch, counting the hour and minute hand as if it’d give you a revelation on how to answer Simon’s pop quiz.

“Someone promised to pick me up.”

That sure did sound ominous.

With a promise to leave a message to his cell once you’ve returned home safely, you stepped out of the quaint local restaurant. It was warm outside and you weren’t particularly fond of that. Heat has always been your mortal enemy; something about the musty scent of middle school boys’ armpits after PE class mixed in with the pungent perfumes they use to try and hide it has left you permanently traumatized. Your once-cheery mood had long evaporated along with any semblance of coolness. You tugged at the hem of your sundress, fanning yourself with your hand in a futile attempt to find relief from the stifling heat. This is hell!

Where was Mr. Miller?

Mr. Miller must've read your mind, because a honk quickly resonated. He was on the very corner of the parking lot; his large pickup truck looked hilariously out of place when compared to the array of city cars parked by his side. You swore you could see him grin from behind the shaded tint of his window, perhaps entertained at your almost too obvious annoyance. The thought made your heart jump and maybe even did a front-flip. God, you’re helpless!

As you beelined down the sidewalk and on to him, the heat seemed to intensify with every step. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, causing your hair to stick in weird shapes. You just hope that his truck’s AC works.

“Hi.. Hi, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How was it?”

The nickname never ceased to exude so much power. ‘Sweetheart’ made you feel as if a tail had grown out right from the hilt of your ass and you had no other choice than to swish it around excitedly. You propped up one leg on the washed-off gray carpet, before swinging yourself into the vehicle in one go. The door closed behind with a loud thud. As you leaned back, you cringed at the feeling of your sweat-soaked dress clinging onto your skin. You felt like some marinated beef, sticky and in need of a quick shower.

“It was alright,” you hummed.

“Alright? Now that made me all the more curious,” he grinned, nudging your side with the edge of his elbow. “Com’on now. Tell me all about it, will ya?”

“Mr. Miller, are you trying to embarrass me?”

Mr. Miller’s soothing brown eyes that were stuck on the glittering street lights came flickering over to you, as if he’s actually afraid that perhaps he’s made you uncomfortable. His shoulders squared and his jaw slackened for just a split second as he tried to grasp for any nuance you’ve just given. You then smiled at him, relieving him of his worries.

It’s a little jarring to say that you think he’s quite cute. In the same way people find puppies cute, or those strawberry-shaped trinkets. He’s a little socially-awkward in his own way. Embarrassed to ask the waitress to bring his plate back, but would be confident bullying his cock into a tight cunt. Would definitely get kooky when asked to join a parents-teacher conference, but would whisper filthy things on the internet.

“I ain’t tryna make you embarrassed,” he huffed out. “I just wanna know you’re safe.”

How nice. If only he knew why you went on dates in the first place.

“He’s alright, Mr. Miller. Kind, decently groomed, respectful,” you replied, flicking through your Twitter feed mindlessly. “Better than most college guys.”

“Did he pick you up?”

Your forehead scrunched up. “I ordered a cab.”

“Did he at least get the door for you?”

“It’s not exactly the 1900’s, is it?” you quipped back at him.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

“If you’re that curious, then no.”

“Well then, did he pay for dinner?”

“No, well.. I did offer for us to split it,” you reasoned.

“Well, sweetie, he’s not too respectful. Is he?”

“Yeah.. but he’s cute.”

He’s cute and you’re desperate to get over Mr. Miller. Terribly so. At first, the entire situation with having your pornstar crush be the head of your host family was hilarious, it’s a joke written by itself. But then the desires went through the roof in a matter of weeks and you’re sure that you’d actually jump him one of these days. He’s attached to the back of your mind like some ghostly presence. Everything he said and done carved at your brittle wall of determination and one day it’s all going to fall apart like broken glass. You needed to stop it from happening.

There was a minute or so where he didn’t have anything to say. He hadn’t let go of the handbrakes either, though he appeared to be squeezing the leather cover of the steering wheel tighter.

“Cute ain’t enough for a man, sweetheart.”

Mr. Miller finally pushed down the handbrakes and released the pickup truck from the small parking lot. His large hands skillfully turned the wheels to fit through the tiny gaps, guiding the vehicle towards the open road. You shut your eyes for a good minute, then you let out a weighted sigh. Almost as if you’re a deflated balloon.

The drive was going to be a long one, considering the restaurant you’re on was in the heart of the town and Mr. Miller’s humble abode was more towards the outskirts. Would he continue preaching about the importance of Southern manners and being a gentleman? Because if he did, perhaps you’d just shut him up with a kiss.

“I’m just a little nervous,” you broke the silence.

“Because of the boy?”

“Sorta, yeah. It’s my first time..”

You clicked your phone shut, stuffing it on the cup holder next to the car stick. The entire conversation was making you nauseous. You had to press on the button on your left to slide down the windows in order to take in fresh air. Through the open window, a gentle breeze tousled the top of your hair, carrying with it the familiar scent of Summer in Austin. As he drove closer into the outskirts of town, the lights gradually faded behind into a sea of twinkling stars.

“First time in what?”

“In all this,” your hand motioned the idea abstractly.

“You’ve never dated?”

An enthusiastic grin snaked its way to his lips.

“I have! But it’s not- it’s not real. It’s middle school romance. We meet each other in the hallways, hold hands and giggle about it, then go on pizza dates,” you tried to explain. “I’ve never dated properly.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you tousled your hair in frustration. “Just because, Mr. Miller. I’m not sure either. Maybe I’m just comfortable in my own little bubble?”

“Then this boy.. What’s his name again?”

“Simon.”

“Right, Simon. Are you thinking of dating Simon properly?”

“Maybe,” you muttered.

“Maybe I could teach you,” he paused. “Well, that is if you’d like this old man to teach you old tricks.”

Your hands tightly clutched the edge of your seat. A rise of bile disturbed your throat's peace as a knot of anxiety started to form in your stomach. This is what you’re working towards.

You didn’t want to admit it, because admitting means legitimizing what you had in mind, but you were hoping for him to offer you help in any way that he felt was right. Despite your.. odd relationship with him, he was your guardian and you’ve seen the way he dealt with all Sarah’s problems with soft-spoken words and fair actions. You trusted him to help you delve into this new world of adult romance, but it’s not like you’re expecting for him to agree on it. Shit, shit, shit! You couldn’t think straight.

“Com’on then. Tell me what you’re so nervous of.”

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” you groaned.

“I’m not!”

“You are,” you persisted.

“Fine. I promise not to laugh.”

You took a deep breath. The single word sticky on the end of your tongue.

“Sex.”

The pickup truck swerved.

To your surprise, instead of howling and laughing at your lack of experience, he was quiet. Awfully so to the point where you think you’d rather have him laugh at your patheticness instead of giving you the cold shoulder. You rolled the window back up, giving him your full attention as you waited for him to do something. He looked tense; the grip he had on the steering wheel was so tight you could see the leather developing crescent-shaped marks. What was he thinking of?

“Do I.. do I have to give you the talk?”

“God, no! Mr. Miller, I’m not clueless,” you looked horrified that he even considered giving you the birds and the bees talk. “I am, but I know what happens.”

The hours you’ve spent analyzing each and every one of his videos surely made an impact on how you view sex. Perhaps not the most accurate one, since you were merely looking through a 720p video and not being present in the scene, but you knew how sex goes. How it starts, what arousal looks like, what appears to feel good and what doesn’t, and how good an orgasm looks like when induced by another person. Mr. Miller might not be aware of how much he’s taught you. Not directly, but in a cause-and-action kind of way.

“Then what are you afraid of?” he hummed.

“Making a mistake,” you muttered dejectedly. “Of it not feeling good.”

A beat passed.

“Do you..” he struggled to speak properly. “Do you want me to teach you?”

What were you thinking! It was one thing to harbor intense, disgustingly filthy feelings towards a man who perceived you as an addition to his family, but it was another thing to act on it desperately. Your mind reeled back towards the exact moment when you agreed on his proposition. How you agreed on it instantly as if it wasn’t even a question, how you nodded your head miserably as if you were afraid that you’d miss this one chance, how you buckled your knees at the thought.

God, how pathetic can you be! You didn’t remember much after such a cathartic turn of events. All you managed to compile in that pretty little head of yours was that he took a different interchange, then slipped onto a highway towards.. whatever this place was.

It was on the outskirts of town. Opposite to where he lived. Big trees grew tall and heavy as they provided a mystique veil for the trailer house. You remembered the shade of peeling paint covering the outside, sky blue. The lanterns provided ample lighting for it to be spotted from a distance, but not enough to attract rowdy attention. Mr. Miller told you to come inside first while he secured his pickup truck properly. He mentioned a thing or two about racoons or squirrels, but you were too high off adrenaline to even notice. Being in the property, you instantly knew where you were.

This was his lair.

Where he shoots his videos, where he invites all his pretty co-stars to make them moan and whimper about how good his cock felt and how deep it went, where he edits those striking millennial-core thumbnails. Your throat grew dry and you began to think if it’s time to bail. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? Mr. Miller would just take you home and forget about it. Then, by next summer, you’d be out of his hair and he’d never even think about it.

A creak sounded from the front door. You jumped.

“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?”

You nodded. Your entire body went cold, especially the tips of your fingers and toes as you saw him come close. One step at a time. Almost as if he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t scare you too much. Mr. Miller looked awfully big up close. You never seemed to notice this entirely when you see him around the house, but when he’s confined in this miniscule trailer house, he looked massive. His presence towered over every last bit of your confidence. It’s surely crumpling - your confidence - slowly dissipating into thin when he was flushed against your chest.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller.”

He pulled a foldable chair from one of the open compartments, before taking a seat on it. He spread his legs, as always, and had this look in his eyes.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he paused, before resuming. “You could tell me you don’t feel like doin’ this anymore and I could take you home. Won’t talk about it anymore if you don’t wanna.”

“I.. I want to do this, Mr. Miller.”

“Are you sure? There ain’t no pressure in this. I’m simply here to help you, sweetheart, so if you feel like-”

“I get it, okay, I get it. I trust you. A lot. And I know you’d be the best person to teach me.”

What were you even saying? This was straight out of your wildest wet dreams and perhaps that’s why you’re so adamant about it. You watched silently as he contemplated his choices. Mr. Miller scratched his beard for a short while, his gaze focused beyond you and you could almost watch in real-time how his morals and values crumbled onto the creaky floorboards. He stood up from his small chair and headed right towards where you were standing idly. Is this what May felt like in those videos?

“Alright, sweetheart. I ain’t a vocal man so this is gonna be challenging even for me,” he chuckled gruffly. “Every man has their way of settlin’ with their ladies, but I like ‘em stripped off their clothing first. So will you be a pretty thing and do that for me?”

For a second, you were as still as a rock. Entirely not used to having the person who initiated many if not all of your orgasms giving you these orders in real life. He’s right there in front of you, flesh and bones, telling you to strip off your clothing. It felt like a fever dream. You must’ve had a weird look on your face, because a grin started to form on those chapped lips of his.

Conscious of the mistake, you quickly reacted. Almost skittishly in a way as you pulled on the zipper that’s located on your right ribs. Your fingers fumbled with one another, as if it’s been braided into one, but you managed to loosen it after a few attempts. You slipped your right arm under the spaghetti straps, before you slipped the other one. The only thing holding your modesty together was your one arm that’s holding onto the support-less front flap of your sundress.

“Com’on now. It’s just me. You can act shy and adorable around Simon, but not this old man,” he teased.

You nodded, hesitantly letting your arms fall to the side. The terribly warm weather encouraged you not to wear a bra. Although you wondered if 3 PM you knew that you’re going to be engaging in some promiscuous agenda this evening. You looked up into his eyes for some kind of guidance, in which he responded with a curt nod, before you tugged on the dress so that it’d slide onto the floor.

Now the only piece of modesty you’re wearing is your plain white panties. Your breasts were entirely exposed, cold nipples firming up as it reacted to the change of temperature. This is embarrassing! Mr. Miller was being incredibly methodical in the ways in which he approached the situation, lacking sloppy mouthy kisses and feverish touches.

“Smart girl,” he complimented, almost on instinct. “Let’s get on the bed, yeah?”

You moved adjacent to him. Mr. Miller was gentle when he patted the spot next to him, allowing you to settle down properly while he fixed a pillow behind your back. To think that you’re positioned on the same bed where you’ve witnessed him please an array of girls made you feel some sort of way. A hitch in your heart, a twitch in your hole. You’ve never witnessed him this gentle. He’s always fond of establishing the power he held on the dynamic he’s presented, always telling girls what to do in quick succession and calling them humiliating names if they fail to do as told. With you, he was sweet and rather funny.

“In my experience, one of the things girls like the most is to be withdrawn from control,” he spoke up into the thick air. You didn’t miss the way his eyes cruised along your beaded nipples, or the way it watched you with feral precision. “Of course, it depends on the person. But you. I think you’re a sensitive one, are you?”

You nodded obediently.

“Cross your arms behind your back,” he ordered and watched closely as you followed suit. “Lean back onto the pillow.”

You copied his order. Only then did your finicky brain finally compute that you’re limited off your movements now. With your body weight acting like paper weight for your arms, it’d be impossible for you to react in quick time.

“Good girl.”

His mindless comment made you tighten your thighs together.

“I’m gonna touch you, okay?” he whispered gently. You could watch how he’s slowly approaching you with much caution. His arms caged you in as it dug into the tangled sheets next to you. He’s testing the currents, making sure you’re fully consenting to the experience before he makes any mistake that might ruin your perception of sex. “Ask your little friend to touch you slowly. None of that frisky aimless touching. If he pulled on your nipples and called it a day, I’d leave his ass.”

This little routine he had, the one Wicked Fantasies had, was memorized into your head and to watch it take place right in front of you made you ecstatic. He caressed the side of your face. Gently even with those big, large fingers of his, he managed to take up a good portion of your cheek. Mr. Miller then made his way to your lips. He swiped it once over your upper lip, then another time over your thicker bottom lip. You’d anticipate for him to stick his thumb in deep enough so that he could see your uvula properly, but he didn’t. Instead, he settled on pressing down your tongue as if to pin it against the lower floor of your mouth. A good amount of saliva was collected that when he pulled away, a lewd string remained intact.

“Do you know why I like pinning a girl’s tongue down?” he queried to increase comfort in a way.

“No,” you whispered breathlessly. “Why?”

“It makes ‘em docile,” he muttered. “Encourages submission and I like a pretty girl who listens.”

Mr. Miller’s fingers dragged through the curves and texture of your warm skin, leaving goosebumps on his wake, before he finally reached your two perky nubs. Each one hardened before he could give them the treatment they both deserved, which in a way broke his routine, but instead of being irritated, he appeared to be pleased.

Girls in his videos weren’t as sensitive as you. They didn’t get riled up just by a little touching and teasing. Seeing you like this was a refreshing touch. One that made the wrinkles on his forehead ripple as his eyebrows quirked. He circled his calloused finger around where the pigmentation started. Once, twice. Right until he was merciful enough to press against the apex of your nipples.

You squirmed.

“So sensitive, are you?” he cooed. “Tell Simon to play with your sensitive little nipples, hm? You look like you could cum just by this.”

“O-oh please!”

“Please?”

You couldn’t respond. Not when he’s rolling the most sensitive part of your nipples between the pads of his thumb and the side of his pointer finger. Touching your breasts with your own nimble hands felt nothing like what he’s doing right now. You instinctually grinded your leaking pussy down onto the bed, almost like an animal in heat.

“Poor thing couldn’t even tell me what she wants. What would Simon think, hm? A girl with no self control like you,” he hummed. Mr. Miller quickly held onto your thighs so that you’d stop rocking onto the bed and getting off from pleasure he’s not offering. Your eyes met his, searching for help, but the sweet and respectful Mr. Miller wasn’t there anymore. “Alright now, sweetheart. You have ta make sure that you’re thoroughly aroused before thinkin’ of even touchin’ this place.”

“You’re new at this,” he hummed. His fingers slipped off the hold he had on your nipples before it slid down your stomach and settled precisely above your clothed clitoris. “It’s gonna hurt bad if you’re not properly lubricated. Sex is supposed to be fun, not painful so if some guy tells you that it’s supposed to hurt, don’t listen to his dumb shit.”

Mr. Miller was incredibly informative if you put aside the fact that he’s touching you in all the right places that it’s making you go dumb. He spent the time explaining why an action must be provided and how to perform it, when you know for a fact that this is not what he’s used to doing. Wicked Fantasies was known to be straight with words, using minimal sentences to provide his co-stars with just the right amount of information. You could tell he’s holding back the urge to be meaner, to act the way he likes, just for you to be more comfortable.

“Let’s take a look, shall we? You think I did a good job, darlin’?”

It’s dark out. There’s only one source of light that’s present in the room. A small bedside lamp in the shape of an elephant, Sarah’s favorite animal that’s grown to be yours as well. This session with him felt intimate; you’d expect for him to bring out the bright light panels and reflectors just like in those videos you watched of him, but instead, he mostly depended on the moonlight rays.

You were acutely aware of how those dark eyes of his mirrored your own. The way he studied you was unlike any other, not with an invasive intent, but rather with heed. You watched as he hooked his fingers on each side of your panties. Slowly dragging it down, only to stop to wait for you to ease your thighs upwards.

“Look at you,” he chuckled. “I’m right about you bein’ sensitive. Don’t think we need any lube when your pussy looks like this.”

By instinct, you brought your thighs together, shy that he’s observing you with such vulgar intensity. He hummed out a tone of disapproval and quickly placed his arms on both of your knees, prying the two apart as if he’s opening a stubborn can of bolognese. You bit your bottom lip, stifling the noise of embarrassment.

Anxiety bubbled up inside of you. You wondered if you looked okay down there - no other men had seen it besides him! - or if there was something strange that caused him to halt. There was a lewd string of sticky arousal pooling on the center of your panties. You silently watched as it stretched and broke as Mr. Miller pulled the thin fabric away.

“You’re soaked, sweetie,” he teased.

“Mr. Miller, that’s- that’s embarrassing..”

“You like to touch yourself, don’t you?”

Your eyes flickered towards his direction in fear. Has he discovered your incurable obsession for him and his erotic videos? That couldn’t be, could it? There’s no scientific correlation between being extremely aroused with masturbation as far as you’re aware, but the confidence he exude made you doubt yourself. Mr. Miller moved in a painfully slow tempo, taking his time to caress your inner thighs and stomach before even considering touching you where it ached. His calloused fingers felt different against your skin. It left a fiery trail in its wake.

“No, I don’t,” you lied with a breathless squeak.

“It’s okay if you like to touch yourself, y’know,” he whispered as if taunting you. “Girls who like to touch themselves understand themselves better.”

Mr. Miller finally touched you properly. His pointer finger probed against your clitoris, touching in the lightest feathery manner possible that you couldn’t have felt it if you weren’t concentrating. Your hips followed the brief source of pleasure, only to be disappointed when you notice that he wasn’t there. He pulled his finger close to his mouth and made a big show out of it. The way your arousal glistened under the pale moon rays, Mr. Miller teased you with his expressions and mannerism. He dipped the stained finger in his lips to have a good taste while keeping eye contact.

“Please touch me.”

“What was that, sweetheart?” he hummed.

“Please touch me again. It feels go-”

You were cut off immediately when he lazily drew a perfect circle on top of your hooded clit.

“Fuck, please, please, sir.”

Ah, he liked that. He liked the new name you’ve granted him. Mr. Miller was kind enough to resume what he was doing. His finger descended down onto your throbbing hole to gather a good amount of slick before he brought it up to aid his ventures.

“The best way to feel good is controlled pleasure. It feels better to be denied than to receive boring continual pleasure, so..” he paused his movement all together. “I’m gonna teach you a little game.”

“A little game..” you sounded like you’re about to cry from his sudden withdrawal.

“Count to ten, properly. Then I’ll reward you with more. If you fail, then we gotta start from the very beginning,” he explained. His warm breath fanning over your sensitive clit. “You think you can do that, pretty girl?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll start now.”

“One, two..”

You felt how he made his laps around your nub. It was much more intense than the pleasures you’ve initiated before. Compared to rutting against a pillow, grinding against a bedpost, or laying under the tub’s running water, this felt like an entire new experience. You fought to keep still, but it’s gradually getting harder when his finger starts prodding against your tight little hole.

“Three, four. Please, Mr. Miller. Oh god,” you whimpered by accident. He didn’t like that one bit by the look he gave you. There weren’t rules and promises to this, no dynamic the two of you have agreed on, but you couldn’t help but be terrified of his disapproval. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sir.”

“From the start,” he ordered.

“One, two, three..”

You could barely remember the numbers in your head despite encountering them almost every day of the week. You’re a smart girl, knows your ways around things, but being touched by Mr. Miller makes you go all dumb.

“Four, five, six..”

Your thighs began to twitch and spasm. You catched the way he pulled back the hood to your clit to get a more direct touch. It was working wonders as the sensation now is a lot more electrifying. Arousal dribbled down your twitching hole and onto the crack of your rear, wetting the sheets beneath you with the sticky clear substance.

“Seven, eight, n- nine!”

You jutted your hips out when his fingers brushed over your clit once more, the sensitive bundle of nerves extra aware of his presence, and he managed to hold you back once more. He’s forgiving. You knew he’d punish his co-stars if they couldn’t stay still like you, but he let this one slide. He continued rubbing slow, tight circles only to alter into an eight shape.

“Ten.”

The ultimatum. It has arrived, your key to heaven.

“Smart girl,” he cooed, never actually stopping. “This little hole of yours looks neglected, hm?”

“Yes, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Touch your clit slowly like I taught you,” he ordered. “You can do that can you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, distraught and ruined. With his sweet permission, you pulled one arm out from your back and rested it right above your clit. Slow and steady. Just like how he ordered. Mr. Miller on the other hand was slicking up his pointer finger with his tongue. Fuck, that looks so god damn hot.

He had pressed his sole finger deep into your warmth with no hesitation whatsoever. The combination of his calloused finger against your walls and the golden freckles inside his narrowed irises had you reaching out for his forearm. Your nails came in contact with his skin as you dug upon it, crescent shapes formed in pinkish shades atop his skin. You had to sit up as the only way you’re getting through this is by leaning on his sturdy arm.

“Oh, you like that, huh? Filthy girls like you love to get their holes filled?”

What you didn’t expect was having him press a second finger in. His one finger was thicker than what you’re used to, but two fingers? That makes you an overachiever for sure. You looked up to meet his eyes frantically. You knew he wouldn’t be kind enough to withdraw the action when his mind is already set on it, but it was worth the try. He cocked his head arrogantly as he pursued his plans. Mr. Miller’s middle finger was a tight fit. Barely able to slip past the ring of muscles. Though when he did manage to get himself in, a loud moan escaped your lips.

“Mr. Miller. I can’t- I’ve never- never taken two fingers!”

“I know you can do it, sweetheart,” his free hand went over to run over your sweaty hair, admiring every inch of you. “You wanna please that boy, don’t you? Little Simon?”

He was skillful with his fingers, perhaps from his job requirements. Although it’s still incredible how he managed to have you squirming, yelling how you’re about to cum in a matter of seconds. All he did was switch between pumping the two in you, creating the filthiest sounds, and reaching upwards to hit that certain spot of yours. You rubbed your clit with much concentration as you followed after his thrusts.

“Mr- oh.. Mr. Miller! I’m gonna cum, sir.”

“You’re gonna do that for me?” he grinned, pushing his fingers into you as deep as they could go. He maintained a steady pace, emphasizing pressure on that spongy spot up top that you’ve never managed to reach with your stubby fingers. “Pretty girl gonna cum from my fingers?”

“Yes, yes.. sir. Please.”

“Cum for me, darlin’” he whispered. “Show me how good you can be.”

Oh god, you're in a lot of trouble.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us #tw age gap

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catcze · 1 year ago

Note

oh btw i know that a werewolf is a pretty obvious pick for your newest man but he does look like he'd make for a great vampire who has to actively resist the urge to feed on you because "your blood is... so sweet... and you're so... enticing... just a taste, please..."

or not! who knows ehe <3

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 CWS : 」 A little suggestive due to the intimate nature of blood drinking, but nothing sexual or even leading up to any sexual activity happens. That being said, if ur bothered by Wrio finding the reader tasting delicious + Reader enjoying being drank from a lot, maybe dont read;;; this is 2k words of non-sexual intimacy and love and trust !!

I have a confession;;;; I really really really love the vampire x human trope,,,,,, even just a teeny tiny bit more than I do the werewolf x human trope,,,, so,,,,, SO,,,,,,,,,, vamp! Wrio is setting all kinds of good signals off in my brain rn;;;;;;; i have;;;;;; many;;;;; many thoughts;;;; ON MY HANDS AND KNEES DONT LET THIS FLOP PLS 💔💔💔

You're on his lap. Wriothesley's on his chair, hands practically clawing into the armrests. You wouldn't be surprised if he'd rip it. His eyes don't know where to look— they flit around every inch of his office, avoiding your own. But they always end up glancing back at your neck no matter how much he tries to pry them away.

He gulps.

"You're hungry."

"I'm not," he immediately denies, ignoring the way his fangs ache at just being able to smell your blood so close.

You frown. "You haven't eaten in a week, Wrio."

"I have—"

"Animal blood doesn't count. That shit can only work for so long, and you know it."

He swallows, hands clenching even tighter, nails digging into leather armrests. He looks away from you, rendered silent.

You watch him as how he tries to ignore you. Delicately, you place a hand on his cheek, urging his eyes back to meet yours.

"Why don't you just ask me?" You murmur. "You know I'd say yes. You know I'd do anything for you."

His face twists. "That's the problem," Wriothesley says bitterly, teeth clenched. Even from here, from the limited view you have past the curl of his lip, you see how his sharp fangs gleam. "I— if I drink from you, I won't want anything else. Ever. I already have a hard enough time just being around you, but if i get even just a taste..." he trails off, swallowing. "You're all I'm going to crave, sweetheart."

Wriothesley expects you to pause or hesitate. Maybe even extract yourself from him. He wouldn't blame you. Ever since the first time his thoughts betrayed him and he wondered what you'd taste like on his tongue (honey and nectar and heaven and ambrosia, all in one) he's been so careful to hide how he hungers for you, lest you think he's a monster who'd hurt you for his own gain.

In an ideal world, you never would have had to see him like this— starving, thirsting. Every single cell in his body urging him to get on his knees and beg you for just a taste. He'd get the fear and the apprehension, even though it'd crack a little piece of his cold, unbeating heart.

But you just roll your eyes and unbutton the collar of your shirt. leaning down so the side of your neck is right within his sight. His mouth dries as the thump of your pulse comes ever closer, freezing him in place.

"You're not going to hurt me," you say, conviction in your voice. You inch closer.

Wriothesley feels another part of his self restraint collapse.

Against his better judgement, he's actually thinking about it now. He crumbled so fast that it might be a little pathetic, he knows. Maybe his mind is addled from the hunger, maybe he's addled by his hunger for you, but he knows that he's fraying with every millisecond that you spend so close.

"No, not— not there," He protests quietly, even though he's itching to reach out and sink his teeth into your pulse. Fuck, you smell delicious up close. He's damn near losing his mind here, the object of his love and the greatest temptation to his gluttony practically sitting on his lap, offering up something that he's craved for so long. Still, he gathers what bits and pieces of his restraint that he can and manages to gently nudge you back, just enough that he can think without being driven mad by the idea of his mouth on your neck.

The protest is already ready on your tongue, but he takes a gentle hold of your wrist instead, pressing a kiss to the tips of each finger. His thumb rubs gentle circles into the skin, and the pulse under his fingers makes the emptiness in his stomach increases tenfold.

"Here," he tells you. "It'll be easier to push me away if you need to."

You say nod, pushing your wrist closer to his mouth. "Drink up," you tell him. He pushes away his hesitation, and with one last lingering kiss, he presses his mouth to your wrist and bites.

And fuck, he was right.

Heaven and sunlight and euphoria bursts on his tongue, making his brain practically short circuit. Wriothesley concludes then and there that compared to you, anything and everything else he's ever tasted was bland in comparison. He can barely even attempt to describe it— with each drop you willingly give, his hunger is both sated and amplified. A sound escapes him, a mix between a groan and a whimper muffled into your skin.

When you hum, warm fingers carding through his hair and urging him to take more, he feels like he ascends. Acting on instinct, his arm snakes around your middle to hold you in place— to keep you close. His grip on you is firm, but he's careful not to dig his fingers too hard into your skin.

And as much as this is affecting him, it's affecting you too. Your head grows light in the best way possible, like you're experiencing a euphoric high. You scratch a bit harder at his scalp, pulling a desperate noise from his lips that makes you tremble in his hold. You'll sit here for as long as he needs to feel better, for as long as he needs you.

Quicker than you would have wanted, Wriothesley reluctantly pulls away. By then the color's only just started to come back to his face and he's panting like he's been on a brisk jog. He looks much less sickly, yes, but you observe with a frown that he's still not quite yet at tip-top shape.

Hesitantly, almost reverently, he presses a kiss to the wound on your wrist, then gives the smallest of licks. it tingles, but after a moment the sting of it fades to a dull throb, and then nothing. But before he can push you off, you're leaning down again, same position as before, with your neck in his line of view. An open invitation.

"You need to drink more," you murmur. You try to ignore the rush of blood in your face, the tingle in your core. For as much as he was scared of getting addicted to you, you fear now you're getting addicted to him, too.

"I shouldn't," Wriothesley says, barely above a whisper.

He should push you off— should let you rest. Should wrap you in his coat and get you some water and a snack after you've already let him drink so much of you.

It had been hard enough to resist earlier, but now? Your blood is pumping so hard he can practically hear it. And you taste so sweet. You had made the slightest of noises when he fed on you— he doubts you even realized it, what with the haze you were in. Just the smallest of whines when he drank from your wrist, but each breathy sigh and whisper of his name was enough to make him crave more.

A small, traitorous corner of his mind wonders if you'd be even more vocal with his teeth on your neck.

He swallows, knowing he's already fighting a losing battle. He's so, so weak for you. His one arm doesn't budge from around your waist, but his hand moves up to cup your cheek. He drags your eyes to meet his, and you can see the seriousness amidst the hunger.

"You tell me if anything hurts." Wriothesley's arm around you tightens almost imperceptibly. "Anything. Please."

You hum, happy, nuzzling closer into the cradle of his grip. "Okay. I know you'll stop if I ask." And oh the faith you have in him has heat pooling in his gut and a foreign pressure grow behind his eyes.

His voice is hoarse he says, "Yeah sweetheart. Of course I will."

He comes close and you shift your head, giving him more space to work. First thing he does isn't even bite— he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, decorating your skin with kisses and licks and nips, delighting in the small protest of 'that tickles!' that he elicits from you.

You let him shower you in affection a little bit more, but eventually your hand works into his hair, tugging. "Okay, no more stalling," you say, breathless. "C'mon, time to eat."

And he's still nervous of taking too much— can feel his stomach roil at just the thought of hurting you, but he trusts you. Trusts you as much as you trust him, too. So he takes another deep breath, presses one last tender kiss to your skin, and sinks his teeth into your neck.

A small whisper of him name escapes our throat just as a groan leaves him because fuck— you taste even better. Flavor multiplied times what feels like a hundred, making his cold cold heart do flips and tricks in his chest. The hand you bury in his hair tugs, pulls, but brings him closer instead of away. You push him further into you, begging him to take more, and he happily obliges.

Wriothesley presses kisses and licks to your neck between drinking down mouthfuls, making sure not to waste a single drop. He's pulling you against his chest so tightly— hand bunched in the back of your top that you fear he might rip the fabric, but you decide that you don't really care if he does.

With each drink he takes, each satisfied, muffled noise that leaves him, you feel yourself melt more and more against him until you're boneless in his hold. Despite how he drinks as if it's his last, he still has the good mind to shift you a bit higher in his lap, to make sure he's holding you comfortably. His hand rubs soothing circles into your hip, and he tries to recline back into his seat as much as he can so you can lean into him.

Your heart pounds even harder, the blood rushing to your ears, and you think he feels it with the way his hunger seems to double.

Your eyes are half-lidded, gaze hazy and growing sleepy with each progressive second. But it doesn't hurt in the slightest. You feel warm, if anything— warm and happy that you were able to help him, and make sure he's well.

He's slowing a little. His hunger finally abating and making way for something more tender and soft. You scratch his scalp lovingly and lean your head against his. A sweet, sleepy kiss pressed to his temple makes his pace falter.

Wriothesley soon separates himself from your neck, pressing a kiss and a kitten lick to your newest wound. Like the one on your wrist, it tingles for just a bit before any stinging or pain vanishes entirely.

"Hey baby," he murmurs, pulling away slightly to look at your face, but making sure his arm is still wrapped around you. To keep you steady, to remind you that he's here. He smiles a little at your happy, dazed expression, but even now you can see the lingering worry. "You with me?"

You respond with a hum, nodding as best as you can. "Yeah. 'm okay."

Wriothesley laughs a little, watching you stumble over your words. He lets you fall flat against his chest with you head hanging on his shoulder and cradles you against him. One hand goes to twine your fingers with his, desperate to hold you as much as he can, and the other snugly tucks your head under his chin. In his embrace, you feel the beat of your heart gradually slow back to a calm. It leaves you boneless and tired, the crash of it all finally hitting you and making your eyelids flutter.

"That's good." You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. "Did anything hurt at all, honey?"

You shake your head. Too tired to look up at him, so you squeeze his hand instead. A kiss is pressed to the apple of his throat. "Nothing. I'm just tired, 's all. I'm fine."

He holds you closer, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. "Yeah. Yeah, that's good. Thank you, my love. Let's get you something to eat and drink, then we sleep— how does that sound?"

You just hum your agreement, limbs feeling heavier and heavier with each passing second. Wriothesley places a kiss to the crown of your head. With utmost gentleness, he cradles you in his arms as he stands, trying not to jostle you as he makes his way out of the room.

"I love you, sweetheart," he murmurs, heart growing three sizes in his chest, arms full of the most precious thing in his world.

You bury yourself further into him. "Love you more, Wrio."

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley #「 🍓 」 Fave Flavor !! red.velvet.cookies

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thestrangestthlng · 3 months ago

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The 118 as Dog Breeds

inspired by this post with a little bit of razzle dazzle. This is all very scientific after very important peer research. My qualifications are that I like dogs and I like 911.

Bobby: Australian Shepherd

(Featuring Bobby being asked to donate blood.)

Aussies, especially working aussies, are active but pretty easy going. They love children. If left alone they can be destructive (or, in Bobby's case, self-destructive). They are highly intelligent and love to be of service, as many working breeds do. They are herding dogs, and while not generally aggressive, they are very protective of their family and territory. (I know it’s not an Aussie, but if Athena and a twelve year old can land a plane, we can suspend belief a bit😂)

Athena: Doberman Pinscher

(featuring Athena putting up with Buck's antics in season 1.)

Doberman's are people oriented dogs that are affectionate and sweet. They are highly intelligent, perceptive, and fearless. Given their intelligence, they thrive on solving complex problems. Which given Athen'a propensity to be in the middle of world ending problems, it's probably an important trait to have. They are high energy and if they don't get their wiggles out, they can become cranky. They are very protective of their people and historically have been the guards of the highest of nobility.

Maddie: Labrador Retriever

(featuring Maddie cloning herself to keep Buck from unaliving himself as a child.)

Labradors are the pinnacle of the family dog. They are famously friendly, outgoing, and affectionate. They are even-tempered, gentle, and trusting. Like Maddie raising Buck, they are very protective and have the natural instinct to protect their family. Their presense alone can provide a sense of security.

Buck: Golden Retriever (obvs)

(Featuring Buck at his exercise class.)

Honestly, this one doesn't need explanation. I could have used a gif of Buck and it would have been efficient. In fact, Buck is in the gif search for "golden retriever". Goldens are chaotic, loyal, and affectionate. They are highly intelligent, but sometimes you wonder if all that smarts are just in a single brain cell. They are calm and dependable, and with them you have a friend for life. Like Buck, they are unashamed of their feelings and they can be a bit naive, but they are full of optimism. Like Goldens, Buck's empathy and positivity has nowhere to go but into the hearts of everyone around him.

Chim: Jack Russell Terrier

(Featuring Wishbone Chim getting ready to read Jee a story.)

In addition to be well-read bibliophile's Jack Russell Terriers (are my favorite of the terrier breeds) are happy, energetic dogs that love to work. Like Chim, they are happiest when they have companionship and a task to complete. They are extremely intelligent but left to their own devices can be naughty and end up in the back of Athena's cruiser. They are vocal, stubborn, and fearless and the class clown.

Hen: German Shepherd

(Featuring Hen driving the ambulance. Use your imagination.)

German Shepherds are extremely intelligent, loyal, and energetic. Like Hen, they can be reserved and hesitant when meeting new people, but extremely friendly. They enjoy being with their family and tends to struggle with separation anxiety. As we've seen with Hen throughout the years, she struggles most when separated from her family. They are not naturally aggressive, but they are extremely protective of their own. Also like Hen, they tend to be calm and assertive, and make excellent leaders.

Eddie: Dalmation

(Featuring Eddie making HEART EYES. I'll see myself out.)

Okay, hear me out. I know this sounds too easy, but check it out. With their preferred humans they are affectionate, fun-loving companion. They are out-going and playful, highly intelligent dogs. They are also extremely sensitive dogs (even if they don't want to admit it) and need their family, and like Eddie, struggle the most when they are separated. They are protective in nature and it's one of the reasons why early firehouses adopted Dalmatians as firehouse dogs. He also be fighting his demons like Cruella De Vil.

Karen: Boxer

(Featuring Karen getting excited talking Costco memberships.)

Like Karen, Boxers are highly intelligent, incredibly patient and nurturing. As much as they love to snuggle with their people they are silly and has a mean case of the wiggle butts. They also tell a story with just their expressions. They delight in making their family happy. Also like Karen, they are incredibly vigilant and can easily tell the difference between friend and faux, an incredible judge of character.

Tommy: Pittie

(Featuring Lou's slightly dumb (affectionate) puppy smile.)

This one is self explanatory... HE'S JUST A BAYBEE. Pit bull terrier breeds can look intimidating due to their size and stature, but they are actually just bundles of love and affection. Go on ahead, slap a sweater on 'im and call him Jessica. They are silly and affectionate, protectors and lovers. They are strong willed and courageous (flying a chopper into a hurricane on a wild goose chase, anyone?). Gentle cuddle bugs who are happy just being with their beloved, once people get over their initial bias against them, they can't help but fall in love with the adorable lug.

and bonus...

Tim: a fucking cat

Agents of chaos and darkness (affectionate), they have no master. They run on spite and the tears of their enemies. They are clever and don't give a fuck about your feelings. If they feel like crashing a plane with Angela Bassett on it or knock over a glass while looking your in the eyes they will. They do what they want and they allow no man nor beast to tell them what to do. We all know who the true leader of the pack is and you will bow before his author-i-tayyyyy.

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malcontentonline · 7 months ago

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your time travel au is so cool

Using this ask as another opportunity to info dump about it thanks anon!

I've been drawing some of Gai's main students in the au recently! My boi ends up with a proto-genin team :>

All of them are considered hopeless by the Uchiha in one way or another but here are their vibes individually:

Ichigo - (9) the youngest, he’s a talentless nobody who’s only survived this long through luck alone, he is extremely bad at controlling his chakra to the point that he’s not even competent at most jutsu. He’s ok at fighting with kunai but that’s about it. His lack of skill isn’t the only reason he’s been put on Gai’s squad however, he also finds it impossible to connect with others and since the sharingan awakens through loss an orphan with no connections in the world has a low chance of ever even getting a single Tomoe. Personally wise he’s a reckless troublemaker, always up for a challenge and always happy to learn new techniques, he’s just never had a proper teacher as he’s far too much trouble for most to handle.

Yuki - (13) the oldest, he’s a quite skilled ninja, mastering multiple jutsu from different chakra natures, he would have had a bright future in the clan if it wasn’t for the fact he was born with very poor eyesight that has only gotten worse over the years, it’s unlikely he would be able to properly use a regular sharingan even if he ever manifested it so he believes his only hope is to gain a mangekyou sharingan - since its powers are based on the individual he may be able to use them with his limited vision. (Also since he’s already going blind he would not mind the cost of it) Personally wise he’s quite shy and reserved - even at times a little naive. He finds communicating with others confusing and difficult, leading him to usually try copying the vibe of the people he is around.

Awaki - (11) pretty much the brain cell of the group. She was an incredibly talented ninja, she prided herself on her nin and genjutsu abilities (she’d even invented several jutsus). That all changed when, at the age of Nine, she was in a fight and lost one of her hands. She was completely devastated - and to make a bad situation worse - she hadn’t managed to activate her sharingan like she assumed she would have. This situation led the uchiha elders to believe she may have an emotional threshold for activation that is far higher than normal people. Since she wasn’t able to weave the complex hand signs she used to be known for she was encouraged to retire, but she refused to let it stop her, she taught herself how to weave simple jutsu with one hand and now using scrolls is the main way she fights (as it allows her to prepare attacks before hand and simply unseal them when she needs them). Personally wise she’s very serious and strict with herself and others, she also absolutely hates people treating her like she can’t take care of herself. Over all though she is very good at keeping calm and level headed in stressful situations.

Here are some doodles of the squad:

#my art #might guy #time travel au #madara uchiha #naruto oc #sorry I know no one really cares about ocs for the most part but these lil guys have really monopolised all of my brain space recently #madagai #Yes I named one of them ichigo #i thought it was funny #I also felt bad removing Gai from the timeline before he got his Genin team because I love team gai #so I thought I’d make discount uchiha brand team gai instead :>

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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Rock and Roll, Buckaroo! (Bakusquad x you)

summary: you go on a ghost tour with the bakusquad - 1.3k words

cw: so much yelling, cliche paranormal activity (flickering lights, footsteps, etc), lots of profanity thanks bakugo, the bakusquad shares a single brain cell and most of the time you have it

note: so i wrote this instead of working on stuff for hawks and gojo but don't worry they're on their way i promise <3 i offer you this halloween in july fic instead inspired by buzzfeed unsolved and my visit to the whaley house a few months back.

likes/reblogs/feedback is always appreciated!!!

“I’ll be honest, Mina, I don’t think Doja is the vibe for rolling up to a haunted house.”

“Passenger seat gets AUX, Sero, so you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Why the fuck does the driver not get AUX–”

“Because your music has an even worse vibe than Mina’s, Bakubro.”

“Tch, whatever. Just be glad I’m driving your dumbasses or else you’d be stuck with Denki’s passive ass in the driver’s seat.”

“I am a safe driver! Safer than Bakugo at least…”

“OI–” The car erupts into chaos as Bakugo tries to blast Denki, who was sitting directly behind the driver’s seat while Mina throws herself over the wheel to avoid veering into oncoming traffic. Denki screams in terror, reaching across Jiro for Kirishima, who was trying to push back Bakugo’s sparking hand. You put your head in your hands as Sero starts viciously kicking Denki’s seat from the third row. Why Sero thought it would be a good idea to send a TikTok about the most haunted places in the country to the group chat suggesting a visit to one right outside the city, you had no idea. What perplexes you, even more, is that Bakugo had been the first one to agree, followed by you and Kirishima, then Mina and Jiro, and finally a reluctant Denki.

“Bakugo! The parking lot!” Jiro screams from the middle row. In between his pleas for Bakugo’s mercy, Denki yells out final directions.

“You have to turn right now!” Bakugo throws the wheel to the side and swerves a violent right turn, hurtling Sero into your shoulder. Sero rights himself and takes in the surrounding modern-looking office complex with confusion.

“That was the wrong exit!”

“No fucking shit! Denki, you said to turn right!”

“I meant left right at that moment, dude!”

“YOU-”

“Bakubro, remember your morals!”

Ten minutes later, after several more attempts at homicide by Bakugo’s hands, you were standing at the steps of the ancient-looking house as the tour guide introduced the history of the hauntings to your group and others unfortunate enough to have booked a tour at the same time.

“You guys scared?” Mina whispers to you, linking her elbow to yours with a smile.

Jiro scoffed from your other side, and you shook your head in agreement. “As if,” you reply, straining to listen to the guide’s instructions.

“Take care, dear visitors, for certain things may go BUMP,” he says, stamping his cane on the porch and making Denki yelp. “And beware of the spirits of the family that are determined to make visitors acknowledge them, skeptical or not.” The guide points his cane at Kirishima, who runs a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously. The guide stares into Kirishima’s eyes for a few moments more and then abruptly turns around to open the doors, causing snickers among your friends.

“Enter, dear visitors, if you dare.”

The guide leads the group through the foyer, the kitchen, the living area, and the upstairs bedrooms. The house was filled with beautifully ornate furniture and well-preserved artifacts from centuries past caked with layers of dust.

Not that your friends cared about all that.

Sero had his phone out, recording from the moment you had stepped through the entryway and insistent upon catching paranormal activity. You took photos of Mina and Jiro posing next to the portraits of the Ladies of the House, their eyebrows drawn together and eyelids droopy to match the paintings’ solemn expressions. Bakugo, surprisingly, was fascinated by the grim history of the house and would shush your group if they started getting too loud that he couldn’t hear the guide. Kirishima stuck close to Bakugo and Denki, jokingly commenting on whether the actions of the men in the house were manly or not to hide his unease.

The tour ended at the head of the house’s office before exiting out the backyard gate, and your friends lingered to take a photo in an antique full-body mirror. The temperature seemed to have dropped significantly, and Sero’s phone battery drained immediately after taking the mirror photo.

“Man… I swear this thing had, like, 80% power when we got here.” He knocked his hand a few times against the edge of the phone to no avail, the no-battery symbol flashing mockingly at him.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you were recording unnecessary shit this entire time. Coulda just asked me for a fuckin’ summary afterward.”

You laughed at Bakugo’s commitment to the tour. “You’re just grumpy that we dragged you into a group mirror photo, Kats.”

“Alright, now that my hands are free, do you think that if I drew a pentagram on the floor that I’d summon a demon?” Sero waggled his eyebrows and Jiro scoffed at his casual reference to getting possessed.

“Maybe if you sat on it. Or laid on it, like that tall guy on YouTube.”

“Nah, man, I don’t mess around with that shit. Don’t be trying that stuff if I’m near you.”

“Do you actually believe in ghosts? That’s why you’re scared of them?”

“Not scared… just not interested in getting my body taken over. It’d suck big time.”

“Mina, what the fuck are you looking at that’s so funny?” The pink-haired hero was pointing to a small, faded image of one of the family’s sons that had died of some disease.

“Ha, look at this guy that looks like Bakugo, Jiro. Jiro?” Mina’s voice trails off, looking back at Jiro, who was tensely staring at the ceiling of the house. Her eyes track the perimeter of where the office walls meet the ceiling, face taut with concentration. The others don’t notice until she quietly sticks one of her earphone jacks into the ceiling and gasps, a hand flying up to cover her mouth.

Bakugo’s focus shoots to Jiro, immediately on alert. “Yo, Ears, are you good?”

“There are… footsteps. Upstairs. Sounds like two people walking around.”

Kirishima loses a little bit of color on his face. “That could be just another tour, right?”

“No, no, no. The guide said we were on the last tour of the night.” Mina’s eyes are wide with concern and she puts out her hands as if to calm down the escalating fear of the group. “What if it’s the guy that I said looked like Katsuki?” Bakugo snarls, on the verge of biting Mina’s pointing finger off.

“Okay, no, it’s probably cleaning people.” Kirishima glances at the exit door leading to the outside, but you all seem to be frozen where you stand.

Sero’s eyes sparkle from behind his dead phone camera. “Yeah, ghost cleaning people.” Chills run down your spine, and you shiver at the dropping temperature. Kirishima opens his mouth to counter Sero’s suggestion but is cut off by Bakugo’s harsh tone.

“Stop it, Denki,” he suddenly snaps.

Denki’s face twists in confusion. “My bad?”

“Dude, I said stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

Scowling at Denki, Bakugo points aggressively to the ceiling light that had started flickering after Jiro’s gasp.

“That’s…not me…”

“Guys? You see that, right?”

You turn towards Kirishima, who has moved to the doorway of the office that leads to the rest of the house. His eyes are the size of pool balls and his face is completely devoid of color. As you carefully gather around the doorway of the office to see what he’s looking at, pure horror courses through your entire body as you take in two pairs of eyes peering back at your friends from the top of the stairs. They were undeniably eyes, and you stare at them until one of them blinks and they both start to descend the stairs.

Right towards your friends.

Your group explodes into unbelievably loud shrieks of horror and shouted expletives as you high-tail it out the door, Kirishima having just enough sense to knock down Bakugo’s hand before he fires a shot at the stairs and gets you all sued for property damage.

Days later, Sero frames a copy of the mirror photo you all had taken in the office, and upon closer inspection of the photo, you discover two figures standing in the doorway behind you and your smiling friends.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bakusquad #denki kaminari #mina ashido #kirishima eijiro #bakusquad x reader #bakugou katsuki #sero hanta #kyoko jirou #mha crack #bnha #mha #bnha crack #halloween

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teleit · 2 months ago

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Who would be the best ruler of Westeros? Me, I have the desire to do good deeds, even when others beg for mercy

Jokes aside, but really - who? The show actively tells me that Rhaenyra is the only possible option, because this woman glows in the dark from all the blessings received from every god in existence and shits wisdom and greatness.

But is she? Let's hear my useless opinion.

First, where are we looking - at canon (the book), or at the screened fanfic (the show)?

In terms of canon, I think Jacaerys was the best option, but only because the other candidates were complete failures. The way Martin described this boy, even through the lens of the biased Black and Green sources, sounds promising. Yes, 90% of his decisions ended up being failures - he suggested recruiting more dragonriders from dragon seeds, and got Hugh and Ulf; he suggested sending Aegon III and Viserys to Pentos, and they were captured by the Triarchy; he went to rescue his brothers with a bunch of newbies who could barely stay on their dragons, and he ended up getting killed.

If it weren't for the circumstances of his birth, which would inevitably lead to a rebellion by the lords outraged by a bastard on the throne, Jacaerys might have been a good king. He just needed time to grow up.

But on the show? No one. No one at all. None of these people, they are all absolutely terrible.

Rhaenyra? That woman wouldn't know the word "responsibility" if it ambushed her in a parking lot and beat the crap out of her. She doesn't understand what ruling is even twenty years after being named heir, and she asks helplessly "what should I do?", wringing her hands at every difficulty. She does one stupid thing after another, driven by anything but common sense. If she were queen, we'd have another crisis in ten years or so.

Daemon? Lmao. No. That dude lived, fucked and died for shits and giggles, he can't be trusted with snow in the winter.

Jacaerys? That's the boy who solves problems with violence (pulling out a dagger when insulted, punching his uncle in the face when insulted, need I go on?), and loses every fight he starts. He doesn't speak Valyrian, constantly whines and cries to his fiancée and mother that he doesn't know what to do or how to be, and is practically useless during wartime (because his smart decisions were given to Rhaenyra, but that's another story).

Lucerys? Yeah, sure, how can you forget how he handled himself so perfectly at dinner when he should have just kept his mouth shut, but instead he decided that laughing at the crazy uncle he maimed and never apologized for was the height of comedy, better only fart jokes. That boy had one brain cell, and it was on permanent sick leave for the entire season.

Rhaenys? A woman who talks about the slavery of the patriarchy and submits to the decisions of her ambitious to the point of stupidity husband. Marrying her little daughter to her forty year old cousin? Why not. Losing two children because of Rhaenyra and Daemon, and continuing to serve their interests, even though they use her as they please, because Corlys hopes that someday it will pay off? Excellent solution, let's also scold husband for not loving his own bastards enough, and then die ingloriously and uselessly. Yes, the queen we deserve, Rhaenys the Spineless.

Aegon? He can only be a good king if a miracle happens and he stops listening to the idiots around him, gets rid of his mommy and daddy issues, and starts using his head for more than just pouring wine into mouth. Which won't happen, because the writers HATE this man. He'll be pathetic and useless, and then he'll die, because gods forbid there should be an equal fight between a woman and a man for the throne, a woman needs to kick a body sprawled on the ground, disarmed and incapacitated, so that everyone understands that she is superior to him in everything.

Aemond? Season 1 - maybe after a couple of years of therapy, Season 2 - no, he literally doesn't have a single thought in his head except "blood revenge hate aaarrrgghhh", and only occasionally do we see glimpses of a complex character, thanks to Ewan's insane talent.

Helaena? Poor girl, who was just like Aemond crippled by the script so much that even Martin couldn't stand it (Helaena will die just because, for no reason… wow, such deep character development…), give her her bugs and leave her alone.

In canon, the dance of the dragons is the result of well-intentioned stupidity of several generations, in the show - a parable of why incest is bad, just look at how much the mental capacity of people whose family tree looks like a wreath has suffered.

Ps. Still not native speaker and dgaf about mistakes, english can suck my imaginary dick

#anti hotd #anti ryan condal #hotd critical #anti team black #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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despina-x · 23 days ago

Text

WELCOME TO MY FALLEN SKIES AU TED TALK.

(Slams down random pages I have. Stares you dead in the eyeballs.)

Hello. Ahem. My name is Despina. I have made an AU, and I’m assuming you’re somewhat interested in it because you’re reading this. Well bud, I hope you’re ready to read a very incoherent tangent on what this AU is about because it’s still in the works and I’m flying solo on a single brain cell. (hands you some popcorn :])

So! Explodes.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been wanting to create an AU that was different from any other Phighting AU thus far. There’s Gearmelt AU, there’s various Infection AUs, Banlands AU, etc. They all have their own “spark”, I call it. That “spark” is what makes them stand out from the rest, what makes them unique. So I’ve been jumping around different AU ideas to see if anything “sparked”, caught my attention, y’know?

(If y’all saw my Subspace AU comic, that was me trying to make an AU. I didn’t continue it b’cos I lost that “spark”, sigh. It was too similar to a regular Infection AU.)

HOWEVER. A few days ago, I realized something I should have realized a long time ago: I should just create whatever the hell I want. I was lost trying to make a popular AU, doing something for the sake of others and working so hard that I was burning myself out. WHICH, FOR THE RECORD, IS NOT FUN. I decided to just make an AU that satisfied me, something that made me happy, and here we are! Fallen Skies AU! A whimsical AU that, to me at least, is fun.

Fallen Skies AU is built on the premise that the factions have been separated for a little more than 10 years. For reasons unknown to Inpherno, the SFOTH closed the gates and separated them. The people of Inpherno had their suspicions, however, due to the rising tensions between every faction, all because of this curse.

This curse goes by many names. For the sake of this tangent, I’ll be calling it the Sword’s Curse. The Sword’s Curse appears on new spawn that are delivered from The Spawn. Some spawn come out healthy, but some spawn come out marked with the curse. Nobody remembers when the first cursed kid was born, but the curse has been around for a long, long time.

Demons with the Sword’s Curse are relatively normal, actually. You wouldn’t know that they were cursed unless you saw their mark---or saw them go “feral”. The mark can be found on any part of their body, and it really just looks like a simple tattoo. The only catch is, when they’re “feral”, the mark will glow. The brighter it is, the more far away the person is from sanity.

And what does going feral mean, you ask? Well.

The Sword’s Curse puts a person through unpredictably-timed “fits”. Their whole body seizes in pain, and the only thing that can ease it is pure blood, or someone’s blood who isn’t cursed. Once they’ve drank enough to soothe their fit, they return back to normal. If they fail to ease their fit, it can be fatal. Lots of demons have died from the Sword’s Curse due to not being able to ease their fits. So under the effect of a fit, cursed demons will be angry, aggressive, stronger than they usually are, feral. They will do anything for blood. It’s like a switch flips in them; they so desperately need blood to survive.

This is the suspected reason why the factions were separated!

Blackrock was accused of hiding a cure to this curse, so Playground and Lost Temple were actively protesting. Lots of riots, threats of storming the Blackrock lands, threats of a war. A few riots ended in bloodshed and the SFOTH came down to stop it. Not long after, the gates closed and force fields were put up between the factions.

But now, 10 years later, everything has calmed down. Firebrand sees this as the time to reunite Inpherno and bring back peace. “We can find a solution together!!” kind of deal.

BUT ALSO. This is where our conflict lies.

I’ve made two ao3 fics delving into this, so I don’t really want to explain too deeply. After the SFOTH announce at a ball that the gates are reopening and the factions will be reconnected, Illumina at some point approaches Darkheart to strike a deal.

“If you help me dethrone Firebrand and become God of the Inphinity, I’ll let you do whatever you want to Inpherno.” And Darkheart is like, “Oh fuck yeah.”

You’re probably now thinking, “But wait Despina, where is this coming from?! Don’t Illumina and Darkheart want peace, too?!”

Hah. No. (read my fic on ao3 for their reasons)

Fallen Skies AU can be summed up as “the SFOTH are going to war with each other while the Phighters/NPCs we know and love fight with them + deal with the curse because Despina is going to make it worse”.

YAY. I’m done endlessly ranting in essay form. Before I wrap things up, I’ll throw more AU details in LIST FORM!

▷ Cursed Phighters/NPCS: Subspace, Hyperlaser, Scythe, The Broker, Katana, Rocket, Vine Staff, Skateboard.

▷ Illumina, Darkheart, Ghostwalker, Windforce VS Firebrand, Venomshank, Icedagger

▷ I mentioned that Blackrock was suspected of finding a cure. It was actually Medkit’s half of the crystal, the one that he stole during the Crystals Incident. This makes Medkit a very valuable player in this game of chess since his crystal can greatly ease a cursed demon’s fits (alongside its usual healing properties).

▷ Following up on this, Medkit left shards of his crystal when he left. Subspace kept it in high security and has been trying to create a cure with those shards---until Coil somehow broke through the closed gates at some point and stole them from Blackrock, therefore pissing Subspace off. Coil is also a really valuable player now that the crystals are literally connected to his horns.

▷ The ages of the characters are different in this AU. I don’t have them all worked out yet.

▷ Sword, Valk and Dom have never set foot in Inpherno. They’ve spent their whole lives in The Heights. The only demigod to have been down to Inpherno was Ban Hammer, who was lucky enough to experience it before the gates closed and the SFOTH called him home for safety reasons.

▷ That being said, all of the younger Phighters have never set foot outside of their factions, the only exception being Coil. The older Phighters, like Katana or Scythe, have experienced the other factions because they were around before the gates closed. The whole Phight culture/system existed back then, but it sure as hell doesn’t exist now.

▷ I have something planned for Fallen Skies AU. I won’t say, but for now, let’s call it The Crusades. They will be the kickstarter for the war.

That’s all I have for now :D. If y’all have questions, please feel free to ask! Thanks for attending my Fallen Skies AU TED Talk.

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rita-repulsa-ke · 1 month ago

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The Reveal

Agatha feels a sudden bitterness welling in her chest, remembering her coven fastening her to a stake.

Teach me, she had begged. Please, teach me! Help me control it!

Instead, they’d chosen to die. Maybe Rio would like the same choice.

Technically a sequel to First Meeting, but you don't need to have read it. Agatha finds out Rio's true nature in the most Agatha way possible, by trying to get Rio to kill her.

After the first time they have sex, Agatha almost doesn’t say it, that’s how good Rio is in bed. But in her experience, it isn’t a good idea to drag these things out. Not that she’s worried about getting attached, but Rio is canny, as well as sexy and a little crazy. She’ll figure it out, if she hasn’t already, and so it's better for Agatha to get what she wants as soon as possible.

So she sits up, stretches lazily, runs her tongue over sore, bitten lips and says, “Wow, you are really shit in bed.”

She does get a thrill out of the way Rio’s eyes, half-closed, sated with pleasure, snap open to stare at her. Less thrilling is the way the other woman bursts into ear-splitting hysterics. “Liiiiies,” she says, scrambling to sitting to catch Agatha’s mouth with hers. It is a kiss akin to a final showdown, pistols at dawn, a duel to the death. Agatha returns it with equal ferocity, seduction is a battleground she rarely loses at, but for once, she finds that she's overmatched, left melting under the unmistakable hunger in the other woman's kiss.

It's a battle she almost doesn't mind losing.

Rio pulls back, leaves her with bruised, bitten lips and aching for more. “You’re going to have to pick a better insult than that,” Rio purrs, watching her half-lidded and smug. “You weren’t exactly quiet.”

Agatha feels her cheeks heat. “Fine. My turn, then," she says and leans down to kiss Rio.

She sees the other woman ready to meet it with force, do battle with tongue and teeth, but Agatha meets instead her with spun-sugar sweetness, delicate as a butterfly’s wing, slightly parted lips and shared breath, her hand cupping Rio's cheek like the other woman were the most precious thing in the world.

And she’d thought so before, but when she breaks the contact, she’s sure. Her new toy likes that so much. She's watching Agatha with blown pupils, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts. "…Do that again," she whispers.

“Here, darling, let me,” Agatha purrs, savoring the power in this, as she does it over and over again, kisses as sweet as honey, soft as satin. She moves closer and pulls Rio against her, fingercombs her hair. Kisses Rio on the nose once and this is not her kind of interaction at all, she really prefers it rougher and hungrier, sex instead of affection, but the reaction makes it worth it—she’s got a trembling pile of green witch in her arms and once again, she contemplates waiting, savoring this a little longer.

But the longer you held on, the worse it was when it ended.

So she pulls back, looks into those beautiful eyes and prepares to blow it all up. “You like that, huh? No one ever nice to you? Stick with me, and I can take good care of you,” she purrs, one finger prodding Rio’s cheek. “You can be my dog.”

The other woman sighs deeply, like a sleeper being disturbed in the midst of an amazing dream. “Okay, Agatha, have it your way.”

Some part of Agatha is a touch disappointed. It would have been nice if it had lasted just a teensy bit longer.

But relationships are short-lived and power is forever.

Rio’s power blasts toward her, jagged black and green, and that’s more like it, there’s so much of it and it can all be hers—

Except when she reaches for it, her lungs lock up in her chest, her heart stops mid-beat and she’s aware of what’s happening for the space of single breath before the electrical activity in her brain stutters to a halt.

When she jerks back to life, her heart banging around in her chest like a prisoner trying to escape their cell, it's to Rio’s banshee shriek of a laugh. “Whoops,” the green witch says, watching Agatha doubled over, sobbing for breath, more aware of her lungs than she's ever wanted to be. “Too much for you, baby?”

“How did you do that,” Agatha gasps.

Rio reaches out and ruffles her hair, which Agatha would normally protest to, but she's busy re-experiencing what it is to be alive. “That’s your first question?”

“No. My first question is, can you teach me to do that?”

Rio stills, stares at her with something uncomfortably like delight, entirely the wrong emotion for this conversation. “I can’t.”

Agatha feels a sudden bitterness welling in her chest, remembering her coven fastening her to a stake.

Teach me, she had begged. Please, teach me! Help me control it!

Instead, they’d chosen to die. Maybe Rio would like the same choice.

She summons her magic to her, staticky purple threat dancing through the air. “Reconsider,” she says, a nasty smile crawling across her face.

“Agatha. Not I won’t. I can’t,” Rio says, gentle, patient. “Look.”

She drops the mask and Agatha’s power dissipates as she gapes, open-mouthed, at Death.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re beautiful.”

When Rio asks about this later, Agatha will deny saying it, but now she is utterly entranced by the sheer beauty of Death. She’s killed so many, but she’s never realized how breathtaking a part of the natural order could be.

Death looks mildly startled, then her skeletal features curve into a tranquil expression, the promise of a peaceful end. “You are never quite what I expect," she says, her voice a sepulchral whisper that raises the hair on Agatha's arms, but in the best way possible.

In response, Agatha leans up and kisses her, a brush of her lips over Death’s, chaste, even a bit overawed.

“…That was also really mean,” Rio adds after a number of heartbeats, each of which Agatha appreciates getting to have. “What you just said.”

Agatha snorts, more like herself. “Well, I was trying to get you to blast me. Being mean is kind of the point.”

“Still, maybe at least apologize before demanding I teach you all my secrets?”

“Should I? You did kill me over it, though. That seems like a decent enough revenge.”

”Other people might be afraid."

Agatha meets Death’s eyes and now there’s no awe, only Agatha, the smile on her lips certain to the point of madness. “I am not other people.”

Rio’s breath catches, and her mask falls back into place. Agatha isn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. “Agatha Harkness…” Rio says, and there it is again, completely unwarranted affection verging on adoration in the other woman’s eyes. No one has ever looked at Agatha like that before.

She doesn't exactly hate it.

“So what now?” Agatha asks, curling closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of Rio’s lips, playing with her fingers.

“You promised me bodies."

“I did.” Not crazy after all. Something far more interesting. “And I will provide.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” Rio murmurs.

“How will I live?” Agatha says, her smile playful, seductive. "You know, come to think of it, I was very mean to you before. Let me make it up to you."

As she leans forward and kisses Rio properly, taking her time with it, intent on making Death swoon, it occurs to her that she can't kill this one, that she might really be stuck with her. Of course, eventually she will leave on her own, when she gets tired of Agatha. Everyone does.

But, a treacherous thought whispers in the very back of her mind, what if she stays?

If you haven't, consider reading the Ritual of the Rose, now on AO3. Or, for fluff, try Flirting or for more of Agatha having issues, try rio stays

#agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario #Agatha is so wildly arrogant here #It's very funny to me

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pedrospatch · 8 months ago

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(late) wip wednesday

thank you for the tags beautiful angels 💕 @alltheirdamn @mermaidgirl30 @mothandpidgeon @luxurychristmaspudding @atticrissfinch @sawymredfox @loliwrites

here are a couple of the wips i am actively working on. all of these are subject to be edited in the final draft.

i really need to do a palate cleanse with another pedro boy, jesus. joel just rots my brain 24/7, okay?

chapter one of secondhand smoke - dbf! joel miller x reader

“Listen to me. S’not your responsibility to fix him—” “Mr. Miller, please. I really don’t want to talk about this with you anymore,” you whisper, your bottom lip quivering as hot tears of frustration glaze over your eyes and threaten to fall. Afraid you will crumble to pieces in front of him, you hastily unbuckle your seatbelt and gather the plastic bags at your feet with shaking hands. “I need to get inside and get dinner started before he gets home.” Shoving open the door, you begin to shuffle out of his truck with your groceries in tow when he reaches out and wraps a large, warm hand around your wrist, his calluses rough against the softness of your skin. “Wait.” “I said I don’t want to talk about this anymore—” “Just give me one more second of your time. I’ll make it quick.” Releasing you, he reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulls out a small stack of business cards. He offers one to you and says, “Here’s my card. It’s got my personal cell phone number there under the office number. If y’need anythin’ at all, don’t hesitate to call me, alright? Don’t matter what time it is. Day or night, I promise you I’ll answer.” Just as you open your mouth to protest, Joel shoots you a pleading look. “Please, darlin’. I’ll rest a whole lot easier if you just take it.”

run - raider/dark! joel miller x reader

You clutch fistfuls of the single, stale sheet underneath you, each stroke delivered knocking the wind from your lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. His cock stretches you, and you swear you can feel him in your belly, a fullness you can’t get seem to get enough of. “Daddy,” you choke, fisting the sheet harder, your skin stretching thin and tight over your knuckles. Even when it’s too much, somehow, it’s not enough. Your swollen cunt drools for him, begs him for more. Always begs him for more.

the gold room - dbf joel miller x stripper! reader (i have not forgotten about this bad boy, i promise.)

“Wait, ain’t there cameras in these rooms?” “Mhm,” you nod, sighing contentedly as his teeth scrape their way down to the swell of your breast. “One in every corner. For the safety of the dancers. Security watches them all night long.” He lifts his head and raises an eyebrow at you. “Ain’t we gonna get in trouble?” “Nope. I bring in customers who pay top dollar every single night just for five minutes of my company.” There’s a glimmer of pride in your eyes. “Therefore, I can do whatever the hell I want. And they watch me do it.” Smirking, you slither off his lap and down onto the floor, your knees sinking into the plush carpet as you position yourself between his legs and place a hand over his belt buckle. Fucking Christ. There would be surveillance footage of this? He knows he should stop this—he should stop you. But all he can do is watch you with a slack jaw as you slide the leather out of the metal buckle and reach for the button of his jeans.

np tags! as always, i’m late to the party so apologies if you’ve already been tagged/have already done this. but hey, if ya wanna do it again, i say go for it <33 @joelsdagger @mrsmando @missredherring @beardedjoel @pascalssbabyy @ozarkthedog @penvisions @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @stargirlfics @strang3lov3 @janaispunk

#wip wednesday

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starry-blue-echoes · 10 months ago

Note

Okay, I just got here. Sorry for intruding and I'm kind of freaking out about part 4 of Star Swap.

Because there are two Jotaros. Why is nobody talking about the fact that there are two Jotaros? Am I missing something???

Unless I am completely failing in Star Swap lore, in order to not become super convoluted and insane, a universe is localized to a Swap… probably? Anyway from what I understand three universes have an event happening in them and Star Swap is a series… except there's also an OLDER Jotaro here in Part 4! which would be the same Jotaro that experienced part 4 as Josuke! Which is causing problems in my brain.

… I was thinking it's either Joseph and Giono is the exception -Thanks to Hermit Purple Rrequiem- and swaps actually jumps across universes making Older Part 4 Jotaro have that Canon backstory.

…Or… hear me out..

JoJo

Specifically, Jotaro gets some of that Time Jumpy Amnesia and has not a single fucking clue what happened to himself.

JUST HIM

No one else

He is the sole one that gets bonk with a forgot stick

For all Jotaro knows: he blacked out, got possessed, and went to Egypt. Everything went well. His mom got cured and people survived, but STILL. said person that possessed him made a bunch of friends and now Jotaro has to deal with them. HE has to rely on other people's information to figure out what the hell HAPPENED.

Jotaro still gets that Battle Experience in and gets those cryptic forgotten fog of memories from the trip But Yeah

Jotaro has no idea what happened to him when that guy was possessing him. Jotaro doesn't know! he doesn't remember shit!!! All people got is theories.

I have a lot of thoughts and this is probably not even an issue.ARGGGG

.. I'm here thinking that for The Star Swap parts 3 and 4 to connect in an interesting way is Memory Blockage or else Part 4 Older Jotaro would have to walk on fucking eggshells if something wasn't blocking his memories because if he talks or says anything that doesn't link up then he breaks time. Jotaro's fault for actively getting involved!

Probably. I don't know!!! I'm just thinking!!!

you're correct, Parts 3 and 4 have been criminally neglected amongst all this chaos, so this is p e r f e c t

to clarify the universe shenanigans of everything: I've always been thinking that each "set" exists in its own universe. 1 and 6, 2 and 5, and then 3 and 4 all exist in their own sort of "pocket universe" just so we don't need to keep track of of all the inevitable changes and how they influence each other

that being said, funnily enough what you've brought up with Jotaro is REALLY close to what I've been imagining too!

Jotaro is So Fucking Lost when he wakes up back home. He feels like complete and utter shit and is covered in more bandages than he's ever had before. The last thing he remembers is his mom leaving after visiting him in the prison cell after he tried to shoot himself with Star Platinum

only...... when did Star Platinum have a name? When had it stopped being an evil spirit?

when had he stopped being scared of it?

Kakyoin and Joseph are of course INCREDIBLY worried by Jotaro's apparent and very sudden shift in personality. And of course, this panic only multiplies when they find they think Jotaro's stand has been changed as well. They immediately think it's a Stand attack......

but then Holly steps forward and denies this. That this is how Jotaro normally acts and more importantly, that she remembers seeing Star in the jail

now, technically this might be bending the rules a little bit, but I think it would be interesting to give Holly some..... memory weirdness. Maybe we can tie it into her Stand somehow, or maybe it's just For The Plot, but Holly has two distinct sets of memories before she collapsed from her illness

One where Jotaro comes home with her, quiet and awkward and open in a way he hadn't been since he was a child. And another where he refused to leave and shot himself in an attempt to goad a spirit hovering over his shoulder

this then raises the incredibly uncomfortable idea that the Jotaro they'd gone to Egypt with was the imposter. That there had been a fake in their midst the entire time and they never knew. Was he working with Dio? Another group? What was his goal? Why had he done it? And of course, the biggest question of all, where was Jotaro the entire time and why doesn't he remember?

because it's obvious Jotaro was somewhere. He has skills and knowledge he hadn't before. He's different, he's grown in some ways, but has receded in others

Electricity and loud sounds terrify him in a way that can't be described as simple fear

they do what they can to help and figure things out, but they can never find any leads. It actually during these investigations that Jotaro decides to start working with the Speedwagon Foundation on the side and "rekindles" his friendships with the Crusaders

(he finds himself drawn to Kakyoin at times. Or to be more specific, he's drawn to his Stand. The colors and shapes and eyes all feel so tantalizingly familiar, and sometimes he finds himself talking to the being as if expecting a response)

years go by, and the fog around his memories stays. It bothers him less as more time passes and he makes new memories with people who had a headstart on their relationship, but there's always a quiet niggling in the back of his mind about what could've happened

and then a decade later he finds a boy with a different face but identical Stand and temperament to match

#star swap #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #jjba part 3 #jjba jotaro #jotaro kujo #star platinum #jjba kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin #jjba holly #holly kujo #sb answers #angstaceanon

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ironskyfinder · 6 months ago

Note

Do you love BBC message me

Let’s take a step back for a moment.

First off - Punctuation is important, and when you choose to ignore punctuation and grammar it makes you seem like you’re deeply illiterate. Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t pair well with being so overbearing that it’s unclear if you’re asking a question, or attempting to give me an order. Speaking of illiteracy - I can’t tell if I’m more annoyed or more impressed that you somehow looked past the fact that the ask button says “Beg”, the fact that the only information in my short bio is “32m. Dom” followed by “Not nice”, the fact that my blogs aesthetics and theme are either neutral or masculine coded, the fact that a lot of my writing is from a dominant’s perspective, and the fact that multiple asks call me sir - if you’d just missed a single one of those facts, it’d have been amusing, but missing all of them? That’s dedication, or effort, or talent - or, that’s being so horny that you don’t have two brain cells left to rub together. Now - the other issue is that, for well over 99% of people, any kind of r@ceplay content or ask isn’t going to be well-received unless it’s specifically invited; few people actively want their identity to be fetishized, even fewer will be receptive to that kind of interaction at all, and almost no one is going to find it acceptable off the bat - and I say that as someone who engages in those kinds of kinks.

I know we’re all godless pervs here, and genuinely, I think this was probably a case of “local man jerks his cock until his brains are melted”, but I want to use this as a lesson for everyone else on what not to do when you send an ask.

#isfresponds #asks asks asks

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maestroofcringe · 2 months ago

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< ру версия | eng version >

〔E. Nygma, Private Investigator〕

Case Nᵒ0: Gotham's Sherlock Holmes.

Finally got courage to post it... Sorry if English is bad, not native language. Have a nice time reading!

synopsis: The brilliant mind of Edward Nygma requires action, but he does not intend to return to crime. Then a plan comes to his mind - to become a private detective. Edward is well aware that he may need help. Harvey Dent and Jonathan Crane agree to participate in the case, also unwilling to continue their criminal activities. However, the plan is not going according to plan at all...

Several months have passed since the Riddler's criminal genius was finally recognized as sane. The doctors, who had previously locked him in a cell, inevitably and independently realized their big mistake and admitted that the Riddler is a wonderful person all by themselves. They have never ever been bribed, and he have not been making fake documents, of course.

Despite the fact that Ed didn't need a job due to his fortune he was dying from boredom. He may have left most of his obsessive "dragging Batman into a game" thoughts behind, but his brain still required a challenge. If he doesn't find a way to entertain his mind, he might snap and start throwing riddles around the city again.

However, his genius had not faded. Not at all. And one day, during regular going through his extensive library, he came across a book of Sherlock Holmes. Eureka! This was what he needed! A private detective was perfect for new job! After all, Edward was an ex-cop, ex-cop undoubtedly superior to the Dark Knight in field of deduction and many others.

Therefore Nygma decided to become Gotham's own Sherlock Holmes. Edward figured out what he would need to do to achieve this goal. He came up with three simple steps to begin career of the city's most brilliant detective. The first step was to "prepare the necessary documents", the second was to find a case, and the third was to solve it successfully, getting interviewed as nice promotion and gaining more cases. And then, everything would fall into right place. Starting is always the hardest part, isn't it?

Paperwork... No, Nygma never liked to do this, which meant he needs some good lawyer, notary, or at least someone who knows enough about it... Precisely! What better lawyer could be than former District Attorney Harvey Dent? He heard Harvey is "retired". Ed thought he'd probably bored out of his mind, too. Moreover, Dent is physically much more prepared. And extra guns never hurt.

Edward immediately picked up his phone and found Two-Face's number in contacts. He called him and invited for a drink at their favorite bar. Fortunately, Dent accepted the invitation.

▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢

Half an hour later, Nygma entered the bar where Harvey was waiting for him. He was holding some papers with schemes and explanations. It seemed like he had drawn the whole diagram by hand, with every single detail painted.

Harvey rolled his eyes and chuckled as he asked: "I thought you invited me here to chat, not to lecture me about your new "genius" plan. To be honest, Ed, I've had enough of it and so have you."

"You don't understand, Harv! It's a win-win option. This time I'm sure on one hundred percent, I did the research and, believe me, I thought it all out. The usual. Yet, you didn't even try to hear me! When some stupid coin offers - you agree and go forward it, but as old friend ask you for help, you immediately "quit". And! AND, it's not about crime! The plan is legal, for note. Believe me, you'll regret your refusal if you won't listen to me. Therefore, let me give you a little tip - listen, or rather write it down. Maybe not only half of your brain will start working! Harv, please, don't be an idiot for the next ten minutes and let me explain. I quitted crime, agree, BUT I'm not going to get rid of my mind in order to meet the standards of society!" Edward quickly interrupted Harvey, not letting him get a word in until he finished his tirade by asking," Which one of us is the brain, after all, me or you?"

Harv frowned, not appreciating the "hints" about his past decisions. He took a deep breath, counted to ten and exhaled. Edward had a point, it was worth listening politely, Dent can refuse any time later.

" Well, let's imagine I believe you," he finally said, adding, "Go on, smart-ass."

"Harvey, what do you think about private detectives?" - Edward's smile returned as if he didn't throw a tantrum five seconds ago.

"Seriously, detective? What's the riddle here, Holmes?"

"Right, like Holmes."

"You're kidding, Ed..."

"Please, remember, I'm not the one to joke about important things. What I said doesn't sound a joke, does it? Sooooo," - Nygma wanted to push his friend to the right conclusion.

"It means you being honest. Let's assume that's not some kind of trick. Besides, your "honesty mania", or whatever it's called..." Harvey paused for a moment, trying to recall the exact word, but alas, no other idea came to mind. "Forget it. How does this relate to me?"

"That's a great question, Harv! Good job! I told you the brain would start working. Fpr why I'm here - I need your expertise. You know the law inside and out, being an expert in document management and stuff. You're the real professional, aren't you? You know how to do good work and I need someone I can trust without fear of back-stabbing," Edward seemed almost sincere for a moment, however he quickly hid behind his sarcastic mask and strange sense of humor. " Harv, I'm going to die of boredom or kill someone! Think about it. You wake up in a trap, failing to answer my riddle and getting HEAD OFF! Not that you use it anyway..."

"Come on, Ed. I was just asking." Former DA sighs, thinking about how it could be beneficial for him, after all he wants to help people again. "Ah, screw it! Will do! I agree 50%. Is that a deal, partner?"

"DEAL! It's a deal!" Edward replied, feeling happy about the success awaiting him at the next step. Of course, success always awaited him, because the unrivaled genius of E. Nygma had never let him down. It was rare to see the Riddler in such good spirits, especially after his career ended. Well, there he was, walking down the street with a happy smile on his face. A suspiciously happy smile...

"You have no idea what a great decision you made, Harvey!" He exclaimed as they walked towards the bus stop, where they would split up.

Harvey smiled, but said nothing. He was still unsure of why Nygma was doing this. It's unlikely that he was doing it out of kindness. Moreover, it was also unlikely that Ed had called him only for the sake of working with papers. Harvey knew it was too soon to hide his colt. "I should keep an eye on him," Harvey thought, waving goodbye as he disappeared into the bus. "I promise you, Gilda, I will not let him hurt anyone else. Not after what happened... not ever".

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First step was made. Gotham's own Sherlock Holmes now planning brilliantly solve the case, case waiting for him to be found. No one knew that the case would find them on its own.

#batman #the riddler #riddler #edward nygma #edward nigma #two-face #two face #harvey dent #ENPIverse #fanfiction #fanfic #writers on tumblr #sam_fics

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