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#what a beast of a man tbh

astorythatwritesitself · 10 months

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Trying to play in the Untitled OC Project 'verse again so fuckit, digging up a moodboard I made a while back for one of the characters. (Made on canva, images via unsplash)

OOC he's called Mammon, while in-universe, he's... currently kinda nameless tbh. He's a central figure to a major religion in 'verse, a powerful extraplanar entity that, ultimately, is... basically an embodiment of all that exists but in the brattiest, greediest way possible - he knows he's a shard of everything, but unfortunately such a concept can only have so much of a tangible embodiment without burning it out entirely - anyway, all this to say, Mammon is a relatively young version of this deity, and he is a petulant little bastard who believes this gives him the right to literally everything and anything that exists, in his plane or others.

He is remarkably powerful, though, and happy to share that power with those who will in turn devote their entire beings to catering to his whims - enter into his service and you can live forever, never age or grow ill or even hunger, and all he asks is - as the text says - your constant, undivided attention. Sounded like a pretty sweet deal, in 'verse, for those who first managed to make contact with him, fearing the chaotic results of their native magic that had resulted in monsters and unnatural disasters being A Thing as long as anyone could remember. Mammon offered them a means to purge the sources of this magic - dragons - and a promise: slay all the dragons, purge their magic (ever-changing and proud, diametrically opposed to his desire for single-minded order and devotion) and he would make this plane his primary domain, sharing his blessings with all those who worked to make it fit for his arrival.

The humans of that world never forgot that promise, reasoning that the increasing infrequency of answered prayers - to total silence, now - are simply because the work is nearly done, and he will commune with them again once it's completed.

(Mammon, meanwhile, just... got bored and wandered off, pretty much. He enjoyed the attention from afar, for a time, but they moved too slow, and anything they killed would eventually come back anyway - not that he ever thought to share that bit of info lol)

#untitled OC project #also fun reference Mammon is a gigantic radiant goat-beast COVERED in fancy shit #idk man i want to get back on this story and build this world a little more so infodumping over random shit i guess???#but yeah enjoy the origin story of the holy order of dragonslayers - it should PROBABLY get a better name but like tbh it???#that's what it WOULD have started out being called so like why fuck with a good thing

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tenitchyfingers · 1 year

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I mean, people who watched Good Girls and don't see what a great fucking job Matthew Lillard did on Dean are just pitiful. Like this character could've been the blandest, most boring and meaningless one on tv ever, and I've seen similar ones too being played, you know, that way, with no pussy put in them. And I would've hated THIS character so much had he been played by literally anyone else. But there's a humanity and a frailty coming through with this performance that just steals my heart. Yes the character is not a goddamn saint, yes he fucked up, yes he did shit that gets you angry because of how dumb he was in s1-2. But throughout it all you see so well how Dean is just a person (in fiction anyway) and how he feels the way a person would. He's not a stereotypical man, he's not a performance, he's a guy who's pretty normal and feels like just a guy, with human complexities. Stan feels the same. And I really do believe it takes breaking a character into pieces to see who they are and how they work, and I love how Dean is fundamentally a flawed person who's grown SO much since season 1, probably more than anyone else, and you see that growth through this performance. He just feels authentic. Rio, though? That guy's just such a one-dimensional Bond villain. Seriously, no depth is put in that performance, there is nothing real in it and honestly? That's why I want him dead. He's a flat character played by an actor who gave a flat performance. and hey, I'm not saying Manny is not a good actor, he just probably could not get into the mind of someone doing what he does. He's too surface-level for it, which is counter-intuitive because playing evil villains should be fun and should get you to dig deep within a character and find ways to connect to them. But Rio just feels like a pretty shell and the hotness factor wore way off back in the beginning of season 1. And I mean, I absolutely LOVE bad guys, shit most of my favorite characters ARE bad guys. My favorite performances by Lillard are the bad guys. But honestly, he's the best performer in this show along with Reno Wilson and Christina Hendricks. It's not just because I'm currently hyper-fixating on Lillard, it's because he's objectively a scene stealer even as, if not even more as, a supporting character. And that's his thing, he gets cast as a secondary character and delivers the best performances in anything he's in. I'm not going back on this.

#matthew lillard appreciation club for life tbh #i don't think i've ever stanned an actor who did SO well in secondary roles and was the most versatile performer in everything they were in #and who carried the performing side of entire productions on his back so consistently and without fail #this man's a beast dude #i can't believe i spent 25+ times not seeing him for the fucking amazing actor he is #i stanned a whole bunch of actors but this guy deserves so much more recognition than the industry is giving him #anyway good girls fans know nothing bye #if you hate Dean you are a shallow stupid bitch there's that #especially if you stan Rio #like honestly I was intrigued with Rio at first #but this fucker's been the same since s1e1 how did people not want him dead by the time s4 rolled around #and like i'm on s3 season finale and this guy literally did NOT change one bit #and yeah that's on the writers mostly #but this means people who stan him only do so because Manny is gorgeous (which he is)#and that's valid but then like... just say it #'i like Rio because Manny's hot' because i do respect that #what i don't respect is people dogpiling on Dean for some very minor things Beth did too and Rio DEFINITELY did as well #but they love Rio to death and not Dean? Wut???#and why don't i see people loving Stan??? At least this guy's character's been changing and evolving #Rio is literally the one character who's kept static the whole time #weren't you bored while watching this show and watching rio being predictable as hell every time?#matter of fact if I'd been watching this show while it was airing #i would've dropped it too ultimately #because the main antagonist is the dullest piece of shit ever #and i mean he's BORING #i'll watch s4 and whatever happens i'll be satisfied because my guy gave his whole pussy and gave me amazing scenes and a great performance #which is what i want there's that #vent #i'm not even mad #just irritated

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jonnywaistcoat · 2 months

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Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

#writing advice #rambling #first drafts #gotta say not mad on being called a horrormaster #feel like ive a ways to go yet #horror journeyman maybe

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s-4pphics · 5 months

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click! 3 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 7.4k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black :3, crack, light smut [masturbation], sexual tension… it’s starting, light angst, weed, brief mention of suicide, pretty cute tbh

one. two. four.

A/N: hi stinks :3 i’m obsessed with them….. taking my time with these two hope yall like it LOL bye

Butterflies are fluttering, birds are chirping, and the crops are watered when you wake. You slept through the entire night, and the beast inside you is satisfied.

But the gorgeous scenery in your mind dies in an instant when you recall what the fuck you did last night. Maybe you are a low-down, dirty whore, just like your roomie said. She has the audacity to terrorize your subconscious enough to actually feature in one of your meat-beat sessions. Not only that, but you busted in two minutes to the thought of her demanding you to fix a window that isn’t even broken.

You… are a hoe. How awkward. You just wanted to fight her days ago, and now your pussy’s got a crush. Not you, your pussy. You accepted that you and your cunt are two separate entities a long time ago.

You lay in your bed, eyes melting holes into the ceiling; What the fuck is going on?

Ellie… sex… her asking for head… you asking for head from her… The math isn’t mathing. Ellie’s gay as a bitch, you know that for a fact, but why her? The math has never mathed, actually. You’re going to fail statistics, speaking of… Is statistics considered math?

It’s still freezing in your apartment. Is Ellie still not back yet? Your shared space is never this silent or cold; A rat could be crawling around in search of cheese and you would hear it like a hounddog.

You throw your blankets off and instantly regret it; You’re shocked snow isn’t falling from inside your fucking apartment. It has to be negative thirty in this bitch. If Ellie’s asleep, you don’t know how she survived the night.

Your knees crack as you quietly pull your door open, light creaks from the hardwood sounding your walk to Ellie’s bedroom. You can’t imagine how crazy you look, ear pressed against her door, listening for any movement to prove that she’s alive and not a fucking block of ice.

Either you’re hallucinating, or she’s mumbling in her sleep. Her voice is hushed and croaky, supposedly asking if Spider-man stole her fucking lunch money to pay the Pope back for stealing… something; You can’t pick up what she said from out here. Your hand flies over your mouth to hide a laugh. She must be exhausted; When did she get back last night?

You let her sleep-talk in peace and head to the kitchen to brew your coffee. You really beat off to that bonehead. Go figure.

For the first time since Ellie moved in, you’re gone before her.

You’re strolling the icy streets, strutting to your heart’s content, Tina Snow vibrating your eardrums. Last night’s nut really did something incredible to your spirit; You’ve never felt lighter. One more unsuspecting gust of wind and you’re taking flight, for sure. Your brain gives subconscious Ellie knuckles.

You burst through the coffee shop like you own it, silently celebrating when you realize there’s no line. You order and receive your dark drink in record time, taking a seat by the large window at the back of the shop. What gorgeous scenery!

Your cup is almost empty when your phone vibrates on the table. It’s Maymay! You answer with the brightest smile. “My babyyy— “

“Bitch, cut the shit! Fuck you! Why haven’t you called?” She yells through the line.

“Well, uh…” You almost committed arson in your building! “Just… just school stuff! You wouldn’t know about that, Ms. Celebrity!”

Your best friend giggles, “Shut up! I’m a D-lister at most!” You shake your head in denial; That internship program doesn’t understand the blessing that Amaya holds. Her ear is godsend and she comprehends sound like no other.

“How’s the roomie thing going? I haven’t heard much!”

Oh, fuck. “… Fine.”

She’s silent for a second, “The fuck does that mean?”

Your fingernail snaps between your teeth. “I mean it’s fine, just like I said.”

Amaya hums, clearly suspicious, “… Whatever you say, then.”

“Yup.”

She snorts. “Anyway… what’re you doing for Chri— “

“Ellie made me bust with her telepathy.” This is not the conversation you should be having in a coffee shop, but if people heard you, fuck it.

“… Bitch… What?”

“I didn’t wanna tell you, okay? I didn't! Incel made her way into my fucking brain and I busted! Sue me!”

Silence passes, and then there’s laughter from the other line. “Are you high right now?”

“No, it’s fucking nine in the morning— “

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a lil’ wake-and-bake— “

“I just told you I mentally fucked my roomie and that’s what you say?”

She sighs, “I mean… I saw the picture you sent me. She's not ugly. Doesn’t seem like your type, though.”

“She’s not my type! I thought about her for two seconds on accident and I came! Abby couldn’t even get me there and she—”

“Woah, woah, pause… Abby couldn’t get you where?”

“Not a location, bitch. I couldn’t bust!” A sharp gasp from her. Your brows furrow, “What?”

“Oh, bitch…”

“What, Maya?”

You hear the smile in her tone, “You gotta crush?”

You gag, “Fuck no! Have you lost your mind! My…” You pause and check to see if anyone’s near. Nobody. You whisper-shout into the speaker, “My pussy’s crushing!”

Amaya sucks her teeth in annoyance, “Girl…”

“It’s true! You know she gotta mind of her own! I can’t do anything about that!”

Your bestie’s snickering to herself, “Whatever you say, mama. But for someone that thinks with her clit… you might wanna have a conversation with her. You know her better than anybody.”

You’re stunned to say the least. You love Amaya to death, but she’s batshit crazy to suggest that you’re crushing on someone like Ellie. She called you a worthless tramp in broad daylight, for fucks sake. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but it still stung a little.

You sip your coffee, “I love you… I gotta go.”

“Mhm…” You hate how sure she sounds. “Love you, too.”

You nervously twiddle your fingers until your first class, the day dragging even more than usual. Mainly due to the fact that you’re wondering if Amaya was right. Your lectures feel like a blur; All you can think about is Ellie. The spot-covered hermit. Squash-loving loser with a decent nose… and decent hands… and decently toned arms.

Your pussy squeezes in the middle of class when you briefly envision them wrapped around you, and it sends a shockwave to your brain.

Oh, shit.

Raja was sweet enough to cover your shift for you; You can’t focus on credit card sales today.

The second you enter your freezing apartment, you hear quiet sobs. Ellie sits at the small table as she scrolls through her phone, forms scattered all over the glass. She’s sniffling and wiping her face with her hoodie sleeve, and your brows crease.

You shut the door behind you before making your way over to her. Not too close, though.

“Uhh… you good?”

“Yeah.” Her voice breaks, and something shifts in you. Somewhere in your chest. Why’re her cheeks so red?

“… You sure?” You cringe.

“I said yeah.”

She clearly doesn’t want to chat. Whatever’s going on, she can handle on her own. She doesn’t need coddling, especially from you. Why’re you still standing here?

“I, uh… I found a Snicker’s.” You slip.

Ellie finally faces you, clearly confused. Why can’t you just shut the hell up for once? Another shift from your chest at her teary eyes.

“What?”

“I mean, uh, I bought a Snicker’s. Like, candy.” You pull said bar from your puffer pocket. You did buy it for Abby for when you see her to study, but it looks like your roomie needs it more.

“… Okay?”

You pull out and hand the wrapped chocolate out to her, “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

Her eyes switch between your face and the candy bar; She doesn’t look impressed. Maybe she’s allergic to nuts! You knew you should’ve got the fucking Sour Straws—

“Thanks.”

You barely register her taking the bar, her cold fingers brushing against yours. Another zap in your brain. She rips it open and eats it in silence. An awkward chuckle from you, “Is it yummy?” You expect her to tell you to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She just nods and chews.

Your nosiness gets the best of you, discreetly inspecting the forms on the table. A bunch of random names are crossed out in her notebook, a couple of signed forms crumpled up and raggedy. You don’t know what any of this means.

“You’re not slick.” Ellie talks with her mouth full.

“Hm?”

“You’re really gonna read my shit like that?”

You take a seat next to her, “… I didn’t.”

“Okay,” She mumbles. “Remember…” She scratches at her ear, “Remember that booking that got canceled because of the storm?” You nod. She swallows the last bits of her candy. “I was supposed to take pictures of this couple before their wedding, but…”

“They, uh… They don’t wanna reschedule. Said it’s too hectic because of the holidays and there’s not enough time.”

You hum, “Okay… So, what does that mean?”

“I can’t submit my portfolio without those pictures. And it fucked my money up.”

“Damn… how much were they paying?”

She scoffs, “A lot. I don’t even wanna think about how much I lost trying to get the setup right.”

You ponder for a second, “I mean, I’m sure there’s other people who want nice pics. You’ve been hustling this whole time— “

She interrupts, “I don’t wanna hustle anymore. I’m… I’m tired. It’s fucking exhausting doing promotions by yourself.”

You hear the stress in her voice, and you feel for her. Being a full-time creative can be pretty shitty at times. Most times. The amount of attempts you’ve had in commissioning in your lifetime is astronomical; Some pick-ups, lots of disappointment.

“What was the shoot about? Like… the scene, I guess.”

Ellie nibbles at her lip, “Romance.”

“Boooring,” You joke. Ellie doesn’t laugh, so you cough awkwardly. “You gotta come up with a new plan, I guess. It’s all about the grind mentality.”

“You sound like a misogynist with a podcast.”

You chuckle and she continues, “There’s no new plan. The portfolio I’m submitting is based on emotion. It’s not… complete if love isn’t somewhere in there. That’s how I see it.”

“Speaking of see, can I?” You arch your brow, “Your portfolio, I mean.”

“No.” She says plainly.

“Wha— why not? You saw my paintings!”

“They’re on the wall… in the living room. There’s no other choice but to look at them.”

“Bro, what the fuck. You’re not the only visualist in this house! I might have some pointers you could use!”

“I don’t need pointers from you.” Aggravation clouds her pupils. You try not to take offense to that, but it doesn’t work.

“Why the fuck not?” You glare.

Her tone gets louder, “Because you wouldn’t understand it! Why do you wanna help so badly, anyway!”

“I’m—“ But you don’t know what to say. Why do you want to help? Ellie squints, awaiting your answer, but nothing comes out. You’re uncomfortable; It’s suddenly not that cold in here.

“Whatever. Forget I asked!” You rise and march to your room. Another slammed door, another pending noise complaint.

Ellie hasn’t talked to you in days, and you’re not sure why it’s bothering you. You’ve been sending her looks throughout the entire stats lecture, but she hasn’t acknowledged you once. She’s just scribbling and tapping her ballpoint on her notebook. Her notetaking seems very intense from where you sit, her eyes scanning the board.

Does Ellie like math? Or logistics? Or whatever statistics is considered? Curiosity pokes at you; You don’t know much about your roommate. You’ve been living together for nearly a month, and you haven’t had one valuable conversation yet. What about photography interests Ellie so much? Why does she enjoy disgusting vegetables? When did she get her tattoo? Is she actually gay or are you a dickhead for assuming?

Your venturing thoughts makes class fly by; Another successful day of not taking useful notes!

Ellie’s packing her run-down backpack and you watch. She’s meticulously placing her books on top of each, at least from what you can see from the big hole on the side. Her headphones are thrown on, and in one swift motion, her bag is on her shoulder and she’s heading towards the door, holding it open for everyone leaving.

You swiftly pack and walk towards the exit. Ellie’s too distracted by her phone to notice you turn the corner to watch her. All the students vacant the room, and she lets the door shut. You follow from a distance as she moves towards the staircase, down the steps, out into the quad and onto the open field. She pauses, so you do too.

You follow her line of vision, right at the sky. It’s pretty today: the sun’s peeking out, just barely, from underneath the dark gray clouds, rays of light highlighting various sections of the quad.

Ellie unzips and digs in her bag, retrieving the olive-green polaroid before setting her bag down on the frosted grass. She maneuvers around the grass, trying to avoid obstruction from the trees, adjusting her stance, picking the best angle before holding her camera up. One quick flash, and she’s holding a photo of the sky.

She shakes the picture a bit before squatting to search through her bag, pulling out a large binder and placing the photo in a laminated encasing. You can’t see any of the pictures in detail, but there must be a lot in there. That binder is thick as fuck.

And just like that, she’s off into the cold.

You wonder what else is in that binder.

You’re starving. The second you get that direct deposit, you’re whipping up something fierce. Shrimp and eggplant have been calling your name for weeks; You’re ravenous for it.

You run up to the apartment to snag a granola bar, Ellie already in the kitchen, propped against the counter eating Kraft mac and cheese.

You shut the door behind you, “Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Ellie stops chewing, eyes large and soft cheeks filled with creamy noodles. “Hm?”

You walk to the cupboards, mouthwatering for Nature Valley, “It’s just beautiful outside! The trees, the sky! Almost pretty enough to paint, ain’t it!”

More chewing. She just shrugs, but you’re not having it, “I wish I gotta picture!”

“… Go take one.”

“Oh, my fucking god,” you mutter to yourself, “Can I see the picture you took earlier?”

“… How’d you know— “

“The details aren’t important! I was thinkiiing,” you rip open the wrapping, “if I can’t see your portfolio, I can see that giant photo book you have!”

She glances around awkwardly, “Were you watching me earlier?”

“… Well, yes— “

“What the fu— why?”

“I like seeing people do shit they enjoy.” You shrug and bite your bar. Ellie isn’t looking at you, but her cheeks tint, and it makes you grin. Interesting.

You chew and swallow, “Especially talented people.” You inch closer, just barely. “You should show me some pictures sometime… I’ll show you some of my secret creations, too. A little exchange, if you will.”

Her fingers clench around her plastic spoon, and her breathing changes, cheeks even brighter. Her hands are very nice… They look so soft.

“Think about it,” you say, quieter, just between the two of you, “Call it… roommate bonding.” You crunch and adjust your bag before walking towards the door. “I think it’s overdue!” You throw over your shoulder before shutting the door behind you.

You’re not sure if Ellie likes or hates compliments.

Closing was so hectic; you don’t make it home until one in the morning. Training rookies is probably the worst part about working in hardware; They never know where shit goes.

You don’t feel tired, though. The drive back home is usually when your exhaustion takes over, but this ride was smooth. Sleep is going to be difficult to come by tonight.

You unlock your front door and… push. And push. And push again. What the fuck. Something’s blocking the door. You fight with the wood until the crack is wide enough to slip through. The smell in the air is very telling as to why there’s a pile of hoodies blocking the slim opening at the bottom of the door.

Your mouth gapes at the sight of Ellie on the couch with no pants on, blunt in her hand… blowing O’s. Her eyes are glistening and lazy when she opens them. You quickly shut the door and kick the hoodies in their original position before the scent escapes.

“Hey,” she mutters. Goosebumps rise on your arms at her voice.

“… Why the fuck are you chiefing in this no smoke building.”

She stares like you’re stupid. “De-stressing.”

“Deez-fucking nuts! Ellie, we’re not gonna have a place to sleep if we get caught. Bitch ass Carol doesn’t play that shit.” You hate your landlord with every fiber of your being. The second anyone accidentally breaks a rule, she’s on their ass like grass. You can’t imagine how she’s going to react if she sees Ellie being disobedient on purpose. You’ll both be living out of your car. Fucking hag.

Your roommate sighs and crosses her legs, boxer shorts riding up her taut thighs. Alright, okay. She pats the empty cushion next to her.

“I'm bored.”

“Okay, what about it.”

She taps the cushion again. Your heartbeat spikes for some reason. “Roommate bonding.”

You gawk. Ellie’s never been this relaxed in your presence. Her posture is incredibly comfortable, leaning back against the propped pillows, manspreading. Why is it attractive?

So, you drop your bag and unzip your puffer before plopping down next to her. She says nothing, just extends the lit herb to you. You look between her and the big B. “That’s a fat doinker.”

“… Right.” Ellie puffs once more before attempting to share.

You push her cold hand back softly, “I don’t smoke.”

“Okay.” One last long pull from her, and she’s putting out the grass on the ashtray. “Do you wanna play checkers?” She exhales around smoke clouds, cold air blowing in from the barely cracked window.

“… What.”

“I said do you wanna play checke— “

“Are you a lesbian?”

Your eyes widen at your own question. Interrogation? Fuck. Ellie’s looking around the warm space blankly as if she’s trying to register what the fuck you just said. You’re a fucking asshole.

“E-Ellie, I’m sorry, I dunno why I asked— “

“Can you not tell.”

“Well, yeah.” You stutter, “… But I thought it was like… fucked up to assume based on uh, appearances, or whatever. I don’t have good gay-dar, so.”

“I’ve been called a carpet muncher since I was eight.”

“… Fuck, really?” She nods, face flat. Your fist extends, silently asking for knuckles, “Me too! That’s what’s up.”

“I almost killed myself.”

Your fist drops with your expression. “Oh… uh, damn… Sorry… I’m glad you didn’t, though, real shit.”

“What does love feel like?”

This conversation is giving you whiplash. “Are you one of those fake-deep potheads? Like, you believe in flat earth and all that other bullshit?”

Ellie blinks dumbly, “Uhh… I don’t think so…”

“Why do you ask?”

Ellie points at the wall, at one of your paintings. Two women laying on a bed of grass, completely at peace, surrounded by colorful flowers and butterflies. A small smile spreads across your face, recalling how excited you were to show your first girlfriend what you made for her birthday.

“Love feels like you're getting shot… but not in a bad way.” You ramble. “It’s like… like, fuck I’m really gonna die without this person next to me type shit.” You think back to when you made the painting on the wall, the memories of your younger self so deeply infatuated with another person for the first time. It felt eternal back then, souls interconnected.

But then your eyes travel to the next painting, right below the latter. Complete void, no color, no life, just darkness, and your expression falls. The faceless girl trapped in the center of madness is calm, though, accepting her doom with grace.

“That makes it worse, though…” You think of Dina and how you fought. How nasty it got. How disgusted she seemed with your presence. You almost want to cry as you relive it. “When they leave… something inside you really does die. That space never really gets filled again. You’re just kinda… stuck with a hole until you croak over.”

“What if they don’t leave?”

They all leave. “… I’m not sure yet.”

Ellie hums and it goes quiet for a moment. You wonder what she’s thinking about.

“Are you a lesbian?” Your roommate throws back at you. You laugh, “Are you asking if I eat coochie?”

Ellie nods with a giggle. You stiffen; This is the first time you’ve heard her laugh. The hairs on your arms stand upright at the sound.

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Ellie laughs harder, head resting against the back of the couch. You watch the apple of her cheeks heighten. But then the wind blows harder than normal and they drop. She's blank again. “The heater…”

“What about it?”

“It’s broken…”

Fuck. “Did you put in a maintenance request?” Her head shakes.

“Uh… why not?”

“Because I heard you masturbating and forgot.”

Your heart, stomach, pride is at your feet, “… What did you just say.”

Ellie finally looks at you, eyes doe-like, guilt swimming in them. “I’m… I’m sorry! I was sleeping and I woke up to pee but I couldn’t because you were— “

“Ellie— “

“It kept… buzzing, and I couldn’t move! I kept asking

myself how is her stamina this fucking good! It didn’t turn off until like�� an hour later! I almost pissed in my bed— “

Your body heats at her confession; She thought about your stamina? You place a hand on her shoulder to ease her, and she stops. “It’s okay. I just… Yeah, this is awkward… We gotta submit that request before that next blizzard or we’re fucked.”

Ellie mutters in agreement, but she’s not listening. She’s eyeing your fingers, the ones resting on her shirt. If you move your thumb an inch, you’ll touch her collarbone.

“We, um… We can send it in the morning…” She whispers okay, and your fingers curl around the fabric. A sharp inhale from her, and you sigh. Her warm breath is hitting your wrist and you’re trying not to squirm. You watch her chest rise and fall at a steady pace, eyes flicking between yours and your hand.

You watch her and she watches you, hand inching up until you’re tracing the warm skin under her tee. Your nail scratches her collarbone, just barely, and the muscles in her thigh jerk. Nope. Not happening. You pull away and stand.

“This was… you’re funny.” You stare at your feet; You never took your shoes off. “Uh… bye.”

“Bye.” Her voice is flat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you fucked up.

Your shoes go flying and you rush to your room. You’re not sure if you slammed the door or not; The pounding in your ears is too loud.

Ellie fucked up. She knows she did.

I heard you masturbating and forgot? You left over an hour ago, and she’s still replaying that moment in her mind. What the fuck was she thinking? She wants to peel her skin off and her stomach is in knots. The ghost of your hand is still on her. She was freezing before you came home, and now she’s overheating.

Ellie thinks she’s done a good job of acting normally around you after that night. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it. All the time.

She hates how, every night since it happened, she listens for you. When you come home in the wee hours of the night, the devil convinces her that you’re aching and desperate, dripping and ready to get yourself to the peak you crave. You’ve been working so hard; You deserve to wind down.

It’s sick, she knows. She masks it well, but every time you're home, she’s hot. Roommate bonding, you’d said. Why did you say it like that, though? You sounded so alluring, like a siren preparing for a kill.

Maybe she’s reading into it too much. You're a flirt and you’re good at it…

It’s either hot or cold with you. Compliments, or cursing. Admiration or judgment. There’s no middle ground, and it’s driving her crazy.

Why did you have to touch her? You could’ve kept your distance like you’ve been doing, like you did in the kitchen. You gave her a chance to run at arm's length.

Ellie’s thoughts are racing; She needs to smoke again, but she’s too distracted to spark. That ache between her thighs is overpowering.

Her eyes travel over the painting that captured her attention a few weeks ago. A small self portrait of you. She commends your attention to detail, but still, you’re so gorgeous in person; There’s no comparison.

Two deep breaths, and her hand is shoved in her boxers, fingers slippery in seconds. She keeps her eyes glued to the painting as she rubs her clit in quick circles, the bud increasing her sensitivity.

It’s like the painting moves with every squeeze of her walls: she can almost see your animated eyes rolling into your skull, your pink tongue out, drool dripping down your chin. And your voice… It’s tantalizing when you want something. She can almost hear you now: it’s so good, right there, I love when you touch me like that.

Fuck, she wants your hands on her. Everywhere. Anywhere you want. She’s breathing so loud; She hopes you dozed off by now, even in your noticeably restless state.

But what if you’re not? What if you forgot something in the living room, or need a drink of water before bed, and you walk in and see the mess you make her? Her hand moves faster at the thought of you angry, disappointed that she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. She’ll never say, but something wicked happens in her underwear when you're fuming. She likes how expressive your eyes are.

Her free hand flies over her mouth as her stomach tightens, the beats in her clit and heart synced. She's so close. A few seconds, and she groans into her hand, the walls melting around her when it finally crashes. Tears jerk in her eyes as she rubs herself through it, riding it out for as long as she can.

The hand on her mouth slides under her shirt, cold fingers prodding her nipple as her orgasm descends. She gasps into the cold air, trying to catch her breath. She palms her clit and her walls twitch. She tiredly plops onto the couch, hand still in her underwear, eyes glued to your portrait, scaling the wall until she revisits the depiction of you and your first girlfriend.

The idea Ellie’s been sitting on for the last few days crashes down on her again. You’re soft, despite what others may say. You seem like a lover.

It’s Friday. Rent is due. Fuck.

You just got paid, and now more than half of your earnings is in your landlord's pocket. You haven’t even been grocery shopping yet.

Ellie has, apparently. It smells so good in the kitchen. You take back whatever you said about her and her cheffing skills. That soup was delicious; You secretly hope she cooks more. She can get down… a little bit.

You wipe the tired from your eyes and make way to the kitchen, and your jaw drops, stunned in your spot by the fridge. Empty grocery bags are stacked on the counter, and Ellie’s frying shrimp and eggplant.

“Hi… you didn’t eat last night. I heard you talking about egg— “

Your whimper, followed by several guttural sobs interrupt her greeting, hand flying over your mouth. Ellie simply stands by the counter with wide eyes, fork in hand.

Ellie thinks you’ve stopped crying, “Uh… I just wante— “

More loud sobs from you. Snot dribbles down from your nose and Ellie cringes, tearing a piece of paper towel and handing it to you. You take it graciously and blow your nose.

“This is,” sob “the best thing a-anyone,” sniffle… sob “has ever done f-for me.”

Ellie just nods and flips the eggplant. You can’t control yourself, arms wrapping around her waist, sobbing into her back.

“I, um… Consider it a peace offering, I guess.”

“I take back,” heave “I take back whatever dumb shit I said about you before you moved in,” heave “You’re so… fuck you, Ellie!” You hug her tighter.

“Queers gotta stick together.” She mumbles.

“Like wet pussy lips!” You wail, fat tears seeping into her t-shirt. She snickers to herself, “Get a plate.”

You sniffle all the way to the cupboards and set the tiny table.

Chef Butch. That’s Ellie’s new name around these parts.

For someone who supposedly “hates eggplant”, she seasoned and fried the fuck out of it. Get this bitch on the Food Network!

You’re full and energized before leaving the house for once. You don’t even need your morning coffee.

“Hey, uh… can I ask you something?” Ellie calls from the table.

You pause dish scrubbing to look at her, “Mhm.”

“It’s kinda… a big deal.” She mutters, eyes flickering nervously.

“… Should I sit down, or?”

“It’s not bad. It’s just… I don’t know.”

You rinse your hands and set the last plate on the rack to dry. You grab a clean towelette and sit across from her. Ellie can’t meet your eyes and her cheeks are fiery. You smirk.

“Need help with something?”

Her head bobs, eyes glued to the table.

“Then ask me.” You lean closer. Ellie whispers your name. A deep sigh from her, lips parting around her question.

“Do you wanna model for my portfolio— “

“Of course I’ll help you send nudes— “

Confusion paints her face, “What.”

“…What.”

“What did you just say.”

“Nothing.” You shrug, face burning.

“You can say no. It’s not that serious.” That guarded twinge in Ellie’s voice has returned. You don’t like it.

“You think I’m pretty?” You tease with a pout.

“What.”

“You think I’m sooo hot and sexy that you’re gonna make me the star of your— “

Ellie blushes, “You’re not the… star of anyth— “

Your hands wave excitedly, “I’m so honored! I’d love to! When do we start!”

Ellie sighs, massaging her temples, “Do you have work on Sunday?”

“Not anymore!” You do a little dance in your seat, “What am I gonna be doing in the pics, o ye camera master?” Her ears are so red. Why is she so fucking nervous? You’ve already accepted!

“Just look like you’re in love.”

“… Oh.”

Ellie grimaces at your tone, “Listen, I only have two weeks to finish this submission. I haven’t had any luck finding people to help me out!”

You pause, “Is this why you buttered me up with a buss down plate?”

“… Would you hate me if I said yes?”

“Fuck, Ellie— “

“I’m desperate!” She exclaims, “But I also don’t wanna just ask anybody! I need the photos to be believable! And you kinda… you kinda get it!” Ellie points to the painting of you and your first love.

The silence is thick as you explore her face. Her forestry-filled eyes are nervous, but there’s a glimmer of hope in her pupils. You like it; Her orbs look brighter. Greener somehow.

“I wanna see it, then.”

“See what?”

“Your big ass binder… and your portfolio!”

Her eyes roll. “Pick one.”

“Wooow, you’re really gonna ruin another opportunity for roommate bonding? That’s wild. Alright.”

“Pick one.” She’s stern with her demand… You like that, too.

You smirk. “Show me your portfolio.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You see it when it’s finished. After the pictures are done. Take it or leave it.”

“Okay, damn,” You give up, “So… what do I gotta do for prep?”

“Not much right now. I have to set up my equipment and all that…” She glances around the living room, “we’ll talk about the rest later.”

“‘Kay.” You twiddle your fingers together before the biggest light bulb shines over your head.

“I also get 40% of the earnings— “

“Fuck no.” She says with a small grin. You pout.

You knew something was wrong when Abby randomly invited you over to study… on a Saturday night. You don’t know how she’s a STEM major; You haven’t seen her with a book since you’ve met her!

The second she opened her door, something was off. It’s been days since you’ve seen her and she barely reacted to the grilled cheese you brought. Her answers have been curt and she’s not laughing at any of your jokes. Your Cheetos are doing a great job at soothing your anxiety. You want to comfort your friend with whatever’s bothering her, but you’re not sure how.

So, you talk. And talk. And talk about Ellie.

“I’m not gonna lie,” You crunch, comfortable on Abby’s beanbag. “I’m kinda excited! I’ve never done a photoshoot before.”

Abby shrugs from her work desk, voice monotone, “I mean, just be mindful. It’s obviously not a game for her so you needa take it seriously.”

Your brows furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Your roommate slash crush— “

Your head shakes, “I don’t have a crush— “

“Slash crush,” Your friend emphasizes, “asked you to be a part of probably one of the biggest creations of her life. If that photo book or whatever is as important as you say, it’s not just a “photoshoot” for her.”

… Nah, you’re still confused.

Abby scoffs, “A photoshoot about romance and you’re her only model, making you breakfast, and whatever else she’s done! How much does she have to spell it out for you?”

“I don’t understand why you’re yelling!”

“I’m not fucking yelling! I’m watching out for you before you do something you regret!”

You sit up straighter, “And what does that mean!”

“What have you been saying this entire time? I don’t wanna live with someone I fucked!” She mocks, “It seems like y’all are pretty close to that.”

You stare pensively, “We haven’t fucked and we’re not going to! You’re doing the fucking most!”

“Yeah, whatever.” She continues to scribble.

“Abby… what’s wrong?” You clumsily stand from the bean bag. “I’m so con— “

“You wanna know what’s wrong?” She snaps, pen slamming on the desk. “Every time we see each other, you talk about her! I’m sick of hearing about… whatever the fuck you have going on at home, quite frankly! We can’t even joke around because you’re so pressed about someone you don’t even like!”

You’re going to cry; You can feel it. Abby’s never been this upset with you, “Why did you wait so long to tell me this? I would’ve stopped coming to you a long time ago!”

“Because I cared and didn’t want you to feel by yourself while Maya’s away! That’s why! But now, it’s like…”

A tired sigh from her and she gives up, hand waving dismissively, “Talking about this shit is pointless. I’m going to bed. Shut the door behind you.” Abby rises and brushes past you, switching her lamp off and climbing into her warm bed. You allow your tears to fall as you gather your belongings, gently shutting her door behind you and attacking your face with your sleeve. You hate crying in public.

The elevator ride feels much longer than it should’ve been as you weep. The doors shutter open, and you can see the weather is not on your side. It’s pelting bullets outside; You knew you shouldn’t have walked.

“You got a ride?”

You look over at the security guard perched behind the front desk. Fuck all feds, but Stanley’s cool. You shake your head.

“You can’t walk home in that. Driving is also dangerous but,” He shrugs, and you sigh. You pull your phone out of your pocket.

“Hey, Siri… Call Chef Butch…”

“CALLING CHEF BUTCH.”

Stanley’s warm laughter eases your shoulders.

DING!

You unlock your phone and smile at Ellie’s text, rising from your chair.

“Alright, Stan. Pray I don’t turn into Frosty out there,” You throw over your shoulder.

He laughs, opening the heavy door for you, “I will! Get home safely!” You throw your hood over your beanie, easing past him and nearly being blown away by the fucking wind. How did Ellie drive in this shit!

You somehow manage to follow the view of your car, pounding on the passenger window to get Ellie to unlock it. You miss your step on the curb and fall face first into the seat. You hear Ellie’s laughter.

“You alright?”

“Yup! Fucking peachy, thanks!” You stumble in and slam the door with the wind, out of breath, body melting from the heat. “You couldn’t have parked a little closer?”

“… No.”

You stare at her through the snow in your lashes, “Ellie, take us home, please. I’m annoyed and going through a fucking breakdown, like I can’t be outside right now. I’m gonna pass out!”

“… You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” You spit.

“Alright.” She puts the car in drive, but her foot is still pressed on the brake.

“I just can’t believe this shit right now!” You ramble anyway. “You think you know a person, like, fuck! This is stupid!” You punch the glove compartment.

“… What happ— “

“Like, fuck! Fuuuck! Like what the fuck!”

You’re screaming your head off and Ellie’s just watching, face flat as ever. It makes you scream louder. But your wails pause when your eyes flicker downward. Veiny hands clenched around the steering wheel. Your screams suddenly sound like whimpers. When’s the last time you had sex?

Is it sad that the thought of Ellie choking you out is easing your meltdown? This is the worst day ever!

“I’m gonna rip my fucking face off— “

“Why're you staring at my hands like that?”

“What the fuck, I’m not staring. Be quiet.”

Your roommate grins like a fox, “Okay.”

The car’s moving and so are your eyes, all over Ellie, wherever they can reach. You’re pissed and horny and you need a shot.

“You ever get the urge to strangle the fuck outta someone?”

“Mhm.”

You ponder, “How does it feel to smoke weed?”

She shrugs, “It feels good.”

“How good? Scale of one to ten.”

“… Thirteen.”

“Better than sex?” You ask quietly. Your brain is elsewhere, locked on the bulging blue veins in her hand, following the lines through her hoodie.

She ponders, “… Yes.”

“You’re biased, though. I can’t trust you.”

“Stop staring at my hands like that.” Her low voice is like a kick in your back, spine slightly arching in your chair. You’re glad she’s looking at the road; She’s making you go into heat and she doesn’t need to see it. Maybe Abby was right about you being a fucking hypocrite.

“Or what?” Your tone is icy, and she licks her lips.

“I’ll pull over.”

You shudder at her boldness, “Pull over.”

Your car jerks to a stop and you jolt forward, eyes still glued onto Ellie’s mouth. One kiss… It isn’t sex. It’s just kissing; Who doesn’t love kissing? You’re alone and warm and it’s gorgeous outside. It would be just a kiss. Just one, just one.

Ellie’s staring at you, eyes reminiscent of the storm outside. Flurrying and dark. Her tongue swipes over her lips again, and your gut swirls. “Stop staring at my hands.” You suck your bottom lip in your mouth when her breath hits it. She’s leaning forward and so are you. Just one kiss, that’s all you need.

Your pussy’s talking and she’s loud… Literally meowing for her.

“Is that a fucking cat?” Ellie whispers, nose brushing yours… She can hear that? How horny are you?

“Dude, that’s a cat! There’s a cat right there!” Her gasps shock you, and you peer out the window, finding a small, dark spot in gusts of white snow. There is a cat!

“Oh, my fucking god! Ellie, what the fuck—“ You’re pushing the door open and she grabs your arm.

“Wait, you’re gonna fucking fall— “

“We can’t leave her, she’s gonna die out here!” You rush out in seconds and you’re slipping like a cartoon character on a banana. You’re kissing the air to lure the kitty over, but she just cries. She’s probably starving!

“C’mere, baby, c’mon!” You hear Ellie muttering curses from behind you. After almost busting your face on icy concrete, you’re finally close enough to scoop up the shivering ball of fur, and you’re sobbing as you wrap your scarf around her tiny body.

“Ellie,” you choke, “We ca—can’t leave h-her— “

“Okay, okay, stop crying, where is she?” You hold up the bundled fabric and Ellie gently takes her, shoving her in her hoodie before grabbing your wrist and guiding you to the car. Ellie hops in the driver's seat, the car filled with desperate meows and your hysterical sobs.

Ellie cranks the heat and holds the wrapped furball, softly cooing at her.

“Where’s your mama, hm?”

Meow!

“No mama?”

Meow! Meow!

You’re wailing, “She’s a fucking or—orphan— “

“Can you be quiet.” Ellie snaps.

“O—“you sniffle harshly, “Ok—okay— “

“Hold her, I gotta drive. We’re going to Petco.” Ellie’s zooming down the street, whipping and swerving. You’re almost positive she ran a red light.

“I know you don’t like small animals, but c-can we keep her, please— “

Ellie’s lip curls, “It’s not that I don’t… not like them—” She rambles on, but you’re so focused on the baby in front of you. Poor thing looks so tired. What if she’s sick? Oh God, she would’ve froze to death if you didn’t stop—

You blabber to her between choked whimpers, “I love you so much, we’re gonna get you safe, don’t worry— “

“Oh, my fucking god,” Ellie sighs softly beside you.

Pheromones will have to wait. You’re a mother now.

After your emergency pet escapade, you and Ellie sneak the cat past the complex security and into your apartment. If anyone finds out — if Carol finds out — you’re fucked… and unhoused.

Small meows are filling your ears. Your baby’s full, at least. Poor thing was horking down minced tuna in the car. Her teeth are so small and cute. She looks like she’s going to doze off soon.

You watch as Ellie sets up her little area in the living room… Right next to her fucking photography set up when the fuck did she do that—

The corner of the living room is fully decked with maroon and ebony backdrops, Ellie’s sticker-littered camera resting proudly on its stand. There’s a… big ass umbrella-looking thing towering over the setup and a stool on the dark floor cover. There’s a small, white briefcase on it, tied down with a padlock. It’s either a gun or her portfolio.

“Bring her over here.”

Your gawking gets cut short as you cradle kitty over to Ellie, handing her over so she can lay her on the small, paw-shaped bed. She’s purring; Your heart’s melting.

“I see you haven’t changed your mind.”

Ellie’s tucking your baby in, “About?” She hums.

“The shoot.” You whisper.

“Why would I?” She faces you and stands. You shrug nonchalantly, but your mind’s racing. You probably found someone worthy of doing it.

Ellie inches closer, looking down at you. “Consider it roommate bonding… Featuring adopted cat child.”

You giggle. She's staring at your smile, all over your face. Into your eyes. Yours flicker down to her mouth. Either you're hallucinating, or she’s leaning closer. One kiss won’t hurt.

“Um…” She whispers, gaze dropping to the floor. “Earlier I was gonna… say something.”

“What is it?”

She shrugs, “… I forgot.”

“Okay.” You’re whispering now. She’s staring at your mouth. Her eyes are hypnotizing; There's a universe in them. A forest with trees that grow for eternities, miles and miles of green meadows.

“You’re staring.” She mutters.

“So are you.”

Ellie wants to say something. You can see it. But she doesn’t, and neither do you. “Gotta get up early… I’ll see you tomorrow?” Her voice cracks.

You’re cheesing and your hearts in your throat. “Yes. See you tomorrow.”

One last toothy grin, she’s gone into her room, door shutting softly for the first time. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath, already missing her presence.

You’re giddy when you finally climb into bed. You can’t help but think that Ellie is, too.

longest taglist ive ever had i am very sorry if i forgot somebody pls dont hate me i am neurodivergent : @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane @muthafuckingstargirl @mina-281 @yuckyfucky @aimformyheartt @elstoy @skylerwhitwyo @sawaagyapong @nil-eena @dewylittlestars @sakiigami @feelsoseencantdream @ellieslittlegf @fictionalgap @liabadoobee @whooknooows @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @qtgaslighter @p4ison1vy @eviestevie-14 @weaselot @elliewbbg @elsmissingfingers @lmaoo-spiderman @lyssaspengler @elliewilliamsmunch @gummydummykj @kiwikeysblog @juniorsfav @louleele @alittlextrahoney @tohoko @333-starhotline @girlkissersco @saplingkoi @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @diddiqueen @alexisvs-world @mostlyhornyandsad @lolaaa699999 @elsblunt @niyahlovesu

#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x you #black!oc #black!reader #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪

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slamminslamminmcgill · 2 months

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joel’s pussy eating game is RIDICULOUS!!!!! he claims to be into servicing ppl and he is but…. it’s more in service of himself tbh bc of how selfish and hungry he is

warning: squirting, oral, rimming

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, clit/t-dick

he’ll start slow to ease you into it. long, broad strokes of his flattened tongue up your slit. wet kisses dotting your clit. lots of spit to get you nice and wet for his tongue to just glide along your cunt however which way he sees fit.

and once your own juices start to flow, loosening you up for him, it’s blood to a shark. one drop hits his tongue and he’s GONE.

“fuckin’ christ, you taste good. yeah… yeah, i need more of that.”

joel smushes his face into your pussy, his stubble prickling your hypersensitive skin, and he fucking LATCHES his mouth on your clit, bouncing his lips off your sodden flesh as he sucks you off. soon you’re leaking enough that he can slide two fingers into you with ease. he curls them up into your g-spot and keeps them there, pushing your button over and over to get you to burst.

and may god help you if you squirt.

it splashes against his face and you hear a deep, rumbling, feral growl. it’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard from a man. one that reminds you of our basest urges, that we are naught but beasts at heart. horny fucking beasts possessed by pheromones and need.

“fuck yeah, c’mon. c’mon, gimme another.” he demands, starting his fingers right back up again, right into the swollen trigger point that has you gushing over and over. a firm hand cuts through the typhoon with a loud-

(SMACK)

on the meat of your ass.

“sit on my face. i wanna drink you.”

you peel yourself off his leather couch, knees buckling like a newborn fawn as you stand, and hobble over to where he’s laying on the carpet. he’s frantic, aggressive and repetitive in his orders.

“get over here... get over here, boy... get over here…”

your knees flank his head, facing his legs, and you lower yourself down until your pussy bumps his nose. he starts licking right away. you look down and his cock is throbbing, an angry shade of red. being that he’s been so generous to you, you see fit to return the favor. you lean down and take his cock in your hands, though you barely get to kiss it before joel intervenes.

“nope.”

he hooks his arms under your armpits, grabs you by the shoulders, and YANKS you backwards, pulling your face away from his cock and holding your back upright.

“nuh uh. fuck my face. i want you to use me. don’ worry ‘bout my cock, sweetheart, just fuck my face.”

you hesitantly hump his face, tiny jerks of your hips to get used to the feeling and get a rhythm down. as you grow accustomed to it, your soaked cunt easily glides across his face, your swollen t-dick bumps his lips and he sucks it in his mouth. his tongue swipes between your pussy and ass, your juices dripping down his cheeks.

eventually, you squirt again, just a tiny bit.

but it’s not enough.

“give it to me.” joel barks, and shoves his fingers back in for some not-so-gentle encouragement. “c’mon, kid, give it to me. squirt down my fuckin’ throat, c’mon. lemme drink you. gimme somethin’ sweet to drink, baby boy.”

you give him exactly what he wants, squirting right into his mouth in hot jets. his growl vibrates your entire cunt and he slurps it all up.

when it gets to be too much, you roll off him and onto the floor. the two of you lay side by side, gasping for air. his face is dripping, his wet hair resting on an incriminating wet spot on the carpet. you’re staring at the ceiling as it swirls, creating beautiful constellations in combination with the stars in your vision. joel reaches out and tugs you close to him. his overworked lips smooch your forehead, and he says,

“good boy. hottest thing i’ve ever seen in my fuckin’ life.”

#shoutout to dilf irl for the inspiration 💖😌 mwah #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller headcanon #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us

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baynetta · 10 months

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asking miguel to give you a back massage because your lower back has be killing you! and he starts getting distracted (y’all r in backshots position)

every single day i think about what would be to have a beast of a man always touch starved. let’s picture it, miguel is the type of guy no matter how angry, stressing or even on the edge of a mental breakdown, that man it’s always down bad for you. so when you ask him to do an subtle act like a back massage, how could he say no?. what kind of boyfriend he would be to negate such a innocent act?. the truth is that that never ends up well for you, like let’s be real why you even got that back pain in the first place. “ya mi chiquita, where it hurts?” he casually comes from behind, slowly sliding his hands from the sides of your hips. his fingertips gently carresing your curvy hips, as you throw your head back, resting your head on his solidly built chest. you close your eyes just enjoying whatever he was trying to do with you. then you feel him kissing you in the forehead. this love gestures is what send tickles down, you often love when he’s rough on you but when he’s like this, taking extra care of you makes you want to melt right there. “no te hagas la bonita, where it hurts?”. as you open your eyes, you see him looking right down at you, his stare, god how long he has been hungirly creeping at you?. “more in the center, like in the low back” you said slightly annoyed that he’s playing too much. “mmh i see..” now you have his full focus in your back, tbh the man was fully cheeking your ass, how the bum gently moves up when he drags the palm of his hands in circles, in the exact right place that you wanted. you were wearing that tight pijamas that left little to the imagination, so he’s fucking holding back like craaazy.

he use his knuckles to press it on your center and then go up throughyour spine and then down, reaching a little lower from your low back. he then uses his free hand to grab on your hip. his grip start to become tidder once a soft moan scape from your pretty dirty mouth, “te gusta así?” he asked as you can feel his lips near your left ear, the tip of his nose smelling your sweet aroma, going from your hair to your neck, that man was savoring every single of inch of you (he likes to play with his meal before eating it so 🤭), you just nod impatiently for more. now he just couldn’t take it anymore, and fully pressed down his painful erection on your beautiful plump ass, now holding both of your hips, guiding your ass to fully grind on his long hard shaft. it was still and even with the light fabric covering it with the friction you can feel every angry vein of his cock. that shit is just mouth watering to you. “miguel.. que pesado eres” you said annoyed and you kinda were, that man is going to end up breaking you in half. but with your ungrateful attitude you just earn a hard and loud spank from him, making you gasp out of the surprise and the sting that made your bum burn like crazy. god you’re just causing him to be more frustrated “who did this you?”, “who hurt that pretty back of you, huh?” he asked while forcing you to look up at him, his eyes where so lustful like he hasn’t been touched in months, “mm?” he asked again while playing with your lips with his fat thumb. you just bat your eyes at him giving him that inocent look, those bambi “fuck me” eyes that you know it makes him go insane, you’re such a fucking tease. the way he quickly pull down your shorts and panties, just enough so he can fully see that piece of ass he loves to use it to get himself off, like whenever you’re bending down he would not wait to play with it, to make it bounce on his cock until he pleases. but now he was tired of just pressing it down, he needed more. “miguel, can you..” you said as you tried to face him, “shut up” he spits as he push your back on to the kitchen counter, you try to protest but he keeps forcing you to stay still, you know that he doesn’t play, if he wants to be brutal it’s up to you. suddenly he lifts your mini top so your soft nipples are touching the freezing ceramic, you whine, you want to be his good fuck-toy and not protest but you just can’t help it. it’s humiliating, he’s just torturing you at this point. the way you know that tomorrow it’s gonna hurt even more. “now do me a favour, stay still y callada o te irá peor”

(pd: i definitely can do a part 2 of this one 🤭)

trad:

okay tiny

stop acting dumb

like that?

miguel you’re so annoying

and shut up or it’s gonna be worse

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖eyza’s mail #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spiderverse #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse

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munson-blurbs · 10 months

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hii 🫶🏻 i've had this idea of the reader and eddie being at a halloween party and her drink getting spiked (roofied or wtv) and like eddie comes to the rescue and takes care of her - enemies to slight lovers pls!! have a good day/night :))

Hi! I changed it a bit so that her drink was spiked with extra booze, but I kept it enemies-to-lovers!

Warnings: underage drinking (everyone is over 18 but under 21), reader's drink gets spiked, drunkenness, brief mention of Eddie dealing, Billy Hargrove needs his own warning tbh, enemies-to-lovers, idiots in love

WC: 2.5k

Thank you so much to @corroded-hellfire @lofaewrites and @manda-panda-monium for their help! Y'all made this fic much stronger, and I am indebted to you.

A brief, incomplete list of activities you enjoy: grabbing coffee with a few friends, walks down by Lover’s Lake powered by whatever cassette you’ve jammed into your WalkMan, reading a good book and curling up in the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window.

A brief, incomplete list of activities you despise: Steve Harrington’s house parties.

The bass from the stereo has the entire downstairs shaking, and you wince as you pass by it and make your way to Nancy. She’s the reason why you’ve started coming to these stupid things, and although Steve isn’t as big of a tool as you’d previously thought, it doesn’t make other people more tolerable.

“You having a good time?” Nancy asks now, bouncing along with the music. Her eyes are hazy with booze; her half-filled cup of the jungle juice concoction is clearly far from her first of the evening.

You shrug, hitching your bag close to your shoulder as a beast of a man in a letterman jacket pushes his way through the crowd. “Not really.”

“Cool, awesome!” Nancy chirps, senses compromised by the constant flow of alcohol and the blasting music.

Steve has his arm around her waist, pressing chaste kisses to her neck. He looks up at you for just a second and frowns. “Where’s your drink?”

You jingle the car keys you’ve had clenched in your fist the whole night, ready to make a getaway as early as you can. “Designated driver. Unless you want José Cuervo behind the wheel tonight,” you raise your brows as you motion to your friend.

Steve shakes his head. “Nance is gonna stay here with me tonight,” he tells you, taking Nancy’s cup from her hand and placing it in yours. “She’s had enough, anyway. So, uh, go crazy.”

Go crazy. It’s tempting to dull the roar of the dozen or so conversations worming their way into your consciousness. And no doubt it’ll be easier to slap a fake smile on your face and even join one of them. But you still have to get home somehow, and the thought of asking either of your overbearing parents for a ride home from a party has your stomach in knots, especially considering you’d told them you were going to the library and sleeping at the Wheeler’s.

Instead of going crazy, you toss the couple a frustrated eye roll, but they’re both too enmeshed in their puppy love for each other to catch it. Home. You just need to get home, snug in your own bed, away from–

“Hey, Goody Two-Shoes!” Billy Hargrove flings his muscular arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him despite your clear lack of interest. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad etiquette to bring down the party vibe?”

“Get offa me,” you grumble, but his strength easily overpowers yours.

“What you need,” he continues, stifling a beer-scented belch, “is to fuckin’ loosen up.” He punctuates his statement by placing one beefy hand on each of your shoulders, shaking you back and forth. He stumbles a bit in his drunken state, and you seize the opportunity to step away from him.

The entire encounter makes the drink in your hand even more tempting, and you throw it back without another thought. Your throat burns with the sting of alcohol, and you wince reflexively. Jeez, if this is what Nancy’s been drinking all night, no wonder she’s wasted, you think, grateful that you only had half of the cup.

Eddie Munson arrives when the party is in full swing, lunch box of illicit substances gripped tight in his hands. He hates spending time with these jockstraps outside of school, but parties are a great way to make some extra cash, and rich douchebags like King Steve practically throw the money at him, too drunk and lazy to actually count it out.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye, swaying to the music alongside Billy Hargrove. You’re leaning into him, with his hand around your waist pulling you into him. You laugh loudly, though it doesn’t appear that Billy’s said anything.

What a weird pair, Eddie muses, comparing your usual type-A, pain-in-the-ass, teacher’s pet personality with Billy’s thoughtlessness and indifference. He watches as Billy nonchalantly refills your drink and grabs your backside.

When Billy notices Eddie, he props you against the counter and murmurs something before staggering over to buy something. “What do you have tonight, Munson?”

“The usual,” Eddie replies casually, placing the tin box on the kitchen table and flipping it open. “So, uh, looks like Goody-Two Shoes is having a good time.”

Billy chuckles, twirling a toothpick across his lips. It’s a menacing laugh, and Eddie doesn’t care for the sound of it. “Yeah, she needed a little help, but I took care of it.”

He really doesn’t like that. “What do you mean?”

“Slipped a little extra in her drink when she wasn’t looking,” Billy whispers, flashing Eddie a now-empty mini bottle of tequila. “Shit was pretty strong to begin with, but she’s definitely feeling it now.”

“You spiked her drink?” Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and he snaps the lunch box shut. When Billy just laughs again, Eddie shoves him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Billy holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, man, you can’t blame a guy for doing what he has to do to get laid. Especially when it’s someone as uptight as her.”

Rage pounds in Eddie’s ears, and he barely hears anything after that. He marches towards you, fists clenched. You weren’t his favorite person, and he wasn’t yours–not after what happened in health last year–but he’d be damned if he let you get taken advantage of.

“Hey,” he says softly, tapping your shoulder to grab your attention. “Let me get you home.”

You sloppily shake your head, jungle juice sloshing over the side of the cup. “‘M fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’s insistent, tone much harsher than his usual carelessness. “You’re absolutely plastered, and I’m taking you home.” He extends his hand, and you reluctantly take it, letting him lead you to his van. Your feet are bricks beneath you, and you giggle involuntarily as you trip over them.

“Munson, what the fuck?” Billy calls out, charging over. His own stride isn’t much more graceful than yours; the Keg Stand Champion having reclaimed his title earlier in the evening. “Get your own girl.” He reaches for your bicep to tug you away, but Eddie’s faster, which only makes the jock’s eyes stonier. “Fucking freak!” he calls out, quickly downing another plastic cup of beer.

Your eyelids begin to close, and slurred words leave your lips. “Whas’ goin’ on? Why’s Billy shhh-so mad?”

Eddie ignores your question, not wanting to slow down and risk Billy catching up to you. Once he’s safely got you in the passenger seat, he starts the ignition and glances at where you’re leaning against the window. “Where to?”

“Home.”

“Right, and, uh…where might that be?”

You shrug, body heavier with sleep by the second. “Dunno.”

“Like an address, or a general direction…anything?” Eddie drums his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. He sighs and throws the van in reverse when you shake your head. “All right, looks like you’re staying at mine.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, stealing a peek at you every minute or so. You’re sleeping, soft snores punctuating the otherwise silent ride. He winces as he goes over a bump and puts his arm out to prevent you from falling against the dashboard.

Twenty minutes later—it would have been fifteen, but he drove slowly to prevent jostling you too much—he’s pulling up to his trailer. “Welcome to Casa Munson.” He opens his door with a dramatic grunt and shuffles around to your side. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” If any of the neighbors see him, they’ll assume the worst, but it’s either that or have you sleep in the van.

The last thing you remember is mumbling about needing a bed and Eddie leading you to his with an offhand comment about not knowing where the stains are from. When you wake the next morning, a jackhammer has replaced your brain and your throat is filled with bile.

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, pulling your sheet up over your eyes to shield them from the sun. Except this isn’t the baby pink set your mom bought you from Wal-Mart. These sheets are white and smell like cigarettes, weed, and drugstore cologne. The realization that this isn’t your room has you jolting up in bed despite your body’s protests. “What the hell?”

“Good morning to you, too,” a voice grumbles from below. You look down to see Eddie Munson laying on the floor, a towel rolled below his head in a makeshift pillow. A throw blanket covers from his shoulders to just above his ankles, leaving his sweat sock-clad feet exposed. “There’s some water and pretzels next to you, and I can grab Advil if you need.”

You nod, squeezing your eyelids together at the pain the slight head movement causes. “Yes, please.” He returns with the medicine, and you eagerly swallow it with a gulp of water. A quick assessment assures you that your clothes are still on, but you still have to ask, “did we…”

“Nope. No way. Not even a little.” He takes a seat next to you, offering the pretzel canister. Though your stomach is churning, you need something to absorb the medicine, so you take a handful and carefully munch on them. “But you had quite the offer last night.”

“Wha—?”

“Hargrove spiked your drink to get you in bed,” he explains. His mop of curls is disheveled from tossing and turning, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “And, uh, not to sleep.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” you mutter. A fresh wave of nausea washes over you, and it’s not from the hangover. Your memories are muddled, but you can vaguely piece the night together: Nancy and Steve, the unfinished drink, Billy’s arm around you… “We left before he could do anything, right?”

Eddie nods, stealing the plastic water bottle from your grasp and taking a swig. He swishes it around his mouth before answering. “Got you outta there before he could even cop a feel.”

You grimace at his brazen response. “Well, um, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” You start to stand up, fumbling for your keys in your bag when you remember. “Fuck, my car’s still at Steve’s.”

“I can take you,” Eddie offers, grabbing the jeans he’d haphazardly flung over his desk chair.

“Nah, s’okay. I can walk.”

“Seriously?” He throws his hands in the air, utterly exasperated with you. “You’d rather walk three miles back to Harrington’s—hungover as shit…looking like that,” he gestures vaguely at your smeared makeup and bloodshot eyes, “than take a ride from me?”

You remain quiet, so he proceeds with his rant.

“Y’know, when you ditched me last year, I figured you weren’t, like, into me or whatever. But, Christ, what did I do to make you hate my guts?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I ditched you?” The thunderous headache makes it difficult to wrack your brain for the memory, but you definitely would recall ditching Eddie Munson. “I never did that.”

“Last April,” he begins, tone clipped and direct, “the night we were supposed to finish our health project—”

“You ditched me.”

He shakes his head. “Uh, no. I invited you to see my band play and then we would finish the project after—which you agreed to—and then you never showed.”

“No, you told me, and I quote, ‘Corroded Coffin has a gig at The Hideout at 8, and we can put the poster together after we play.”

“Exactly!”

“Exactly what?” It hurts to roll your eyes, but you do it anyway just to emphasize the absurdity of the situation. “That wasn’t an invitation; that was just you telling me what time the show starts.”

“What time it starts,” he says slowly, as though explaining it to a child. “If I just wanted to meet up for the project, I would’ve told you what time it ends.” His eyes narrow. “Do you really think I spent all that time doing research with you just to flake when we got to do the creative part?”

The missing pieces shift into the puzzle. You’d been thrown off when Eddie had failed to show that night; you’d genuinely thought the two of you had forged some kind of friendship during your evenings at the Hawkins Library. But when midnight had rolled around, you’d given up altogether, gathered your notes, and made the poster alone.

“I…I didn’t know…” you muse, mouth drier than it was before you’d drank water. “I thought you forgot, or didn’t care…” You press a tooth into your bottom lip and gnaw at the chapped skin. “Trust me, I never would’ve ditched the guy I—”

You’d tried to cut yourself off before Eddie catches what you’d inadvertently implied, but it’s too late. “The guy you…” he gently goads. When you don’t answer, he sits on the bed next to you and knocks his knee against yours. “Would it help if I told you that you’re the girl I…” He tilts his head and peers at you through his deep brown eyes.

“Me?!” There’s no way he’s serious; you brace yourself for the ‘gotcha’ or some other punchline he’ll inevitably toss your way.

To your surprise, there is none. “What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a total sucker for a goody-two shoes.” He stands up again, crossing his arms over his chest and pacing back and forth in the tiny room. “So, since I’m the guy that you…and you’re the girl that I…can I interest you in some of the finest hangover food this town has to offer?”

“Can I brush my teeth first?” You grimace at the tang of last night’s tequila that sticks to your molars. “Unless you also happen to be into girls with wicked morning breath.”

He chuckles, a true and hearty laugh, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard. “Spare toothbrush is in the top drawer,” he says, pointing towards the bathroom.

Once minty freshness has replaced stale booze, you wash the remnants of your makeup off of your face. You look a bit better; tired and hungover, but better.

Eddie’s dressed in ripped jeans and a faded concert tee, keys clenched in his palm. “Ready?” he asks, leaning against the bedroom doorway.

“Mhm.” You feel his hand ghost the small of your back as he leads you towards the front door, sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

“Hey, by the way?”

When you turn around, his lips are on yours. It’s soft and sweet, just a bit more than a peck, but you can tell it took every ounce of courage for him to do it. You both take a small step back, swapping shy grins.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

You take his empty hand and lace your fingers with his. “Does Corroded Coffin still play at the Hideout?”

“Every Tuesday at 8.”

“I’ll be there.”

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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