āŖļø Hobbies: Drawing, fangirling over Ej, eating, sleep, game, etc.
ā Youād probably find me anywhere but Iām more active on j.ai and as an artist! Please take caution when entering this page. All posts are 15+, NSFW is 18+. I have no problem in writing smut, so I am not responsible for your inability to read the tw warnings and make a decision to stay or leave my blog. I value your opinions and feedback on my work and art! I try my best to tolerate the hate, D/T and criticism. This is a safe place for all weird minds alike. Treat others the way you wish to be treated!
Note! I donāt take payed commissions! I only take J.ai requests which in all cases is free. So donāt go hard on me!
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Dead End Road has me on my end Babs. I might die and resurrect how or what are you on like "fucking whore" while he has a gun deep into this puss? This is like a Christian child touching unholy stuff for the first. Your like the little devil on my shoulder this is so good that I keep coming back like the masochistic slut I am. Reader better bear those kids happily or im doing it step aside and pass me the ball
Iām whispering evil doings into your ear while you sweat.
I WAS LEGIT SHAKING WHEN I READ DEAD END ROAD ITS NOT FOR THE WEAK š THE FACT I READ IT WHILE I WAS SICK AND HALLUCINATING THE OPERATOR WAS A CALAMARI SHRIMP
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Babs do you drink maple syrup straight from the trees? Like you latch on the tree and drink its maple like a vampire/j
(I know you've said your in canadian time- correct me if im wrong)
Babs:
No ur right I do.
I used to sip on maple syrup out of a glass maple leaf bottle in class. No Iām not joking. I literally drank it for fun bc I have a huge sweet tooth.
- User/Reader [you] is fem!pov, User/Reader [you] is 18+, Toby is mentioned in the story as 16 in the backstory when he gets recruited hes 18
⦻ Warnings: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, CHILD ABUSE, HALLUCINATIONS, MURDER, PATRICIDE, GORE, DOMESTIC HORROR, PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA, NECROPHILIA THEMES (due to user being a ghost), BURNING ALIVE, ISOLATION
⦻ Words: 1.3k
⦻ Notes: This is from my bots which you can find on my j.ai. I felt bored and decided to write random scenarios as I heard my Playlist and this is what my weird ass decided to spew out when the song came up.
The house on the edge of the quiet suburban street smelled of stale cigarettes and old resentment. Toby Rogers was sixteen, thin-shouldered, and already twitching at the slightest noise. His fatherās voice carried up the stairs like gravel every eveningāslurred insults, the heavy thud of boots, the occasional crack of a belt or bottle. Toby learned to disappear inside his own head long before the hallucinations started.
It began with a soft tapping at his bedroom window one humid summer night. Tap⦠tap. He froze under the thin blanket, heart hammering. No one ever came to see him. But when he cracked the curtain, there you wereāpale skin almost glowing under the moonlight, eyes dark and knowing, a faint smile that made the room feel less empty. You werenāt real. He knew that somewhere in the back of his mind. But the way you looked at him, the way your cold fingers brushed his when he opened the window and let you climb inside⦠it was the first kindness he could remember.
You never spoke much at first. Youād just sit on the edge of his bed, letting him lean against your shoulder while his father raged downstairs. Your touch was icy, but it grounded him. When the old manās shouting got too loud, youād whisper against his ear, voice like wind through dead leaves: āHe hates you. He hurts you. Doesnāt he deserve to stop?ā Toby would shiver and nod, tears burning his eyes.
One night the tapping came earlier than usual. You looked restless, your form flickering at the edges like static. āHeās coming up here again,ā you said softly, tracing a finger down Tobyās cheek. āI can feel his anger in the walls. It bothers me⦠makes it hard to stay with you.ā Your eyes met his, pleading. āMake him go away, Toby. For me. Drive something sharp into him so he canāt yell anymore. So he canāt touch you. Do it for us.ā
The next evening, when his father stumbled through the door reeking of whiskey and already snarling, Toby waited in the hallway with the hatchet from the shed gripped tight in both hands. The first swing landed with a wet crunch against the manās shoulder. His fatherās eyes widened in shock, then fury, but Toby didnāt stop. Swing after swing, the blade biting deep, blood spraying across the faded wallpaper. The screams didnāt last long. When it was over, Toby stood panting, twitching violently, staring at the ruined body on the floor. He dragged it out back, buried it shallow under the old oak tree, and scattered leaves over the fresh dirt.
You were waiting in his room when he returned, bloody and shaking. You pulled him close, pressing cold lips to his forehead. āGood boy,ā you murmured. āNow itās just us.ā
But the world kept intruding. Neighbors who asked too many questions. Kids at school who laughed at his tics and muttered āfreakā behind his back. Even his motherās worried glances started to feel like threats. Each time someone looked at him wrong, youād appear at the window later that night, eyes narrowed. āThey see me sometimes,ā youād whisper. āThey make it harder for me to come to you. They donāt want us together.ā Toby would clench his fists until his nails drew blood. āIāll fuh-fixāticāit,ā he promised every time. āIāll m-make t-tthem sto-pācrackāboth-hering y-you.ā
One by one, they disappeared. A nosy neighbor found with his throat opened in his own garage. A classmate whoād shoved Toby in the hallāfound stabbed repeatedly in the woods behind the school. Toby learned quickly: hatchet for distance, knife for silence. He hid the bodies well enough that suspicion never quite landed on the quiet, twitchy Rogers kid. Every kill was for you. Every drop of blood bought another night where youād slip through his window, hold him tight, and let him pretend the world outside didnāt exist.
The final night in that house, you stood beside him as flames climbed the curtains. Toby had poured gasoline everywhere, watching the fire eat the walls that had trapped him for years. āNo o-ne else guh-g-getsājerkāto h-ave this pp-place,ā he said, voice flat. āItās ours.ā You smiled and took his hand, your touch the only thing that didnāt burn.
When the sirens wailed in the distance, something else found him in the smokeātall, faceless, reaching with tendrils that wrapped around his mind like a promise. Slenderman took the broken boy who talked to empty air, pulling him into the forest and the endless cycle of proxies.
The others in the mansion saw only a scarred, convulsing kid who muttered to himself and flinched at sunlight. They kept their distance. Toby didnāt mind. He stayed in the shadows of whatever room he claimed, hatchet always close, eyes flicking to the nearest window as night fell.
And every night, without fail, the tapping would come.
Tap⦠tap.
Heād cross the room in seconds, sliding the window open with trembling fingers. Youād climb inside, just as pale and beautiful as the first time, bloodless lips curving into that familiar smile. The room would feel warmer despite your chill. Toby would pull you against him, burying his face in your neck, breathing in the faint scent of earth and iron that always clung to you now.
āY-you ca-me backk-kāwhistle.ā,ā heād whisper, voice cracking with relief.
āI always do,ā youād reply, fingers threading through his hair. āAs long as you keep the others away. As long as itās just us in the dark.ā
Heād kiss you thenācold, unyielding, perfectāuntil the first hints of dawn threatened the horizon. Only then would you fade, leaving him alone with the echo of your voice and the promise of the next night.
Toby would lie in bed, twitching, waiting.
Just waiting for the tap on the glass.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to interact with this scenario go to my janitor!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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- User/Reader [you] is fem!pov, User/Reader [you] is 18+
⦻ Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, DIRTY TALK, KISSING, LIPSTICK KISSING EXPERIMENT, POSSESSIVENESS, DARK HUMOR, BLOOD (implied from Jeff's scars), MENTAL INSTABILITY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS
⦻ Words: 900
⦻ Notes: This is from my mini series which you can find on my j.ai. I felt bored and decided to write random scenarios and this is what my weird ass decided to spew out
ā®āĖ ā ļøļø ā ā ļø ā®āĖ
The bedroom door is locked, the only light coming from the dim lamp on the nightstand and the faint glow of stolen streetlights filtering through the cracked window. Youāre sitting cross-legged on Jeffās bed, a small pile of newly āacquiredā lipstick tubes scattered across the sheets like colorful trophies from your last mission. Jeff is sprawled on his back beside you, shirtless, arms tucked lazily behind his head, that carved smile stretched wide and lazy as he watches you with half-lidded pale blue eyes.
āAlright, next one,ā you say, uncapping a deep blood-red shade and carefully applying it to your lips in the small mirror you stole along with the makeup. The color is rich, almost matching the permanent stains on Jeffās own skin.
You lean over him, one hand braced on his chest, and press your lips firmly against his in a slow, deliberate kiss. Jeff makes a low, pleased hum in the back of his throat, his scarred mouth moving against yours with lazy hunger. When you pull back, you check the damage: a perfect red imprint smeared across his already scarred lips and a faint streak along his jaw.
āNot kiss-proof,ā you mutter, wiping the excess off his mouth with your thumb. Jeff just grins wider, tongue darting out to taste the leftover pigment.
āNext.ā
You switch to a glossy pink. Apply. Kiss. Pull back. Pink smears everywhereāon his lips, the corner of his mouth, even a faint print on his collarbone where you got a little carried away.
Then a matte black that makes him look like he just crawled out of a horror movie (which, to be fair, he did). Kiss. Smear.
A shimmering purple. Kiss. More mess.
After the fifth colorāa bold, wicked crimsonāyou sit back on your heels and sigh, lips still tingling from all the testing. Jeffās face is a colorful disaster zone: streaks and prints of red, pink, black, purple, and now crimson overlapping in chaotic patterns across his scarred cheeks, mouth, and neck. He looks ridiculous. He looks happy.
āWe still havenāt found one lipstick thatās kiss-proof!ā you complain, capping the tube with a little pout. āYou must be getting so bored with this experimentā¦ā
Jeffās pale eyes sparkle with pure, unfiltered glee. His carved smile pulls impossibly wider, the scars at the corners of his mouth stretching as he lets out a low, raspy chuckle. He reaches up, grabbing your hips and yanking you forward so youāre straddling his waist, his hands warm and possessive on your skin.
āBored?ā he echoes, voice thick with amusement and something darker, more eager. āBaby, Iām in fucking heaven.ā
He props himself up on his elbows, face now inches from yours, the colorful lipstick marks making him look like some deranged, lovesick canvas. One hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.
āKeep going,ā he murmurs, scarred lips brushing yours teasingly. āTry every single one again if you want. Hell, layer āem. Make me look like a goddamn rainbow. I donāt give a shit how long it takes.ā
His thumb traces your lower lip, smearing the current crimson shade even more.
āEvery time you kiss me, I get to taste you and whatever pretty poison you stole this time. And watching you concentrate all cute like that while you mark me up?ā He lets out another giddy laugh, hips shifting slightly beneath you. āFuck boredom. I could do this all night. All week.ā
He leans in and nips at your bottom lip, playful but hungry.
āBesides⦠I like being your test dummy. Means youāre all over me. Means Iām the only one who gets to wear your colors.ā
Jeffās eyes are bright, almost boyish in his excitement despite the permanent grin and the graveyard of lipstick shades decorating his face. He looks utterly, shamelessly pleased with himselfālike the luckiest bastard alive.
āSo cāmon, babe,ā he purrs, flopping back down and dragging you with him so your chest presses against his. āNext color. And donāt you dare pick a kiss-proof one. I want the evidence.ā
He winks, tongue swiping over his multicolored lips like heās savoring every second of your little experiment.
And from the way his hands are already sliding under your shirt, heās hoping this āexperimentā lasts until the sun comes up.
Your test dummy is clearly enjoying his job way more than he should.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to interact with this scenario go to my janitor!