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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

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

Big orc with a small mate who is just so small and fragile they just cry sometimes scared they'll hurt them

This is a little on the darker side, but I hope it is a bit of schadenfreude.

General Plot: You meet and befriend an orc who has a penchant for finding tall bridges.

Orc (Orion) x female reader

also, just a note, when I say "small" in this I'm saying as compared to an orc, not any particular body size or shape

Word Count: just under 3k

W: as brief as i could while still getting the message across descriptions of sa and suicide, otherwise sfw soft yandere behavior

“Damn,” Orion’s friend and coworker Joss whistled, peering across the shitty dive bar they were posted in, “don’t think I’ve seen a prettier sight in my life.”

Orion’s eyes flickered from his drink to where Joss was looking, a table of women, your heads huddled together as you worked on your answers for the trivia game you were playing.

“I got it!” you shouted at the guy running the game, “the answer is Oregon!”

Orion gulped on his drink and it went down like a lump of lead in his stomach. You were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his life, your eyes glowing and your cheeks warm from smiling. The women around you were all beautiful in different ways, but his eyes focused on you and he couldn’t look away. You were so small. It almost made his eyes prickle as he considered how you could possibly survive in this world being so delicate.

As a mercenary Orion knew the darkest dregs of the world. He’d seen pretty, innocent things like you broken and bloody in the snow when his team had arrived too late. It broke his heart every time and looking at you…something in him was moved.

“Let’s buy the ladies some drinks,” Joss grinned, already turning to the bartender to organize a pitcher of margaritas for your table.

You glanced up at the waiter as he carried an armful of drinks over to you and your friends. You’d never done trivia before and you didn’t go to bars, but they’d convinced you to get out of the house for once and join them. So far it had been fun, though as the waiter spread the drinks out in front of you and your friends you frowned.

“No thanks,” you said politely, pushing the glass back across the table when he got to you, “don’t drink.”

The waiter smiled, scooping up the cup before gesturing to the two orcs sitting at the bar.

“Compliments of the gentlemen,” he explained and the rest of your friends raised their drinks and smiled at the handsome orcs.

They were obviously military of some kind. You could tell not because they were dressed in fatigues, but because the hair that was traditionally worn longs for orcs was instead cropped close to their heads.

The larger one seemed to be looking at you and you held up your soda and tipped it at him with a friendly smile, before turning your attention back to the game. For some reason you didn’t want him to think you didn’t appreciate his attempt at a gift, but this was why you didn’t go to bars. Everyone was trying to ply everyone else into sex with alcohol. It just wasn’t your scene anymore. You didn’t do hookups and you didn’t drink, so…what was the point? Trivia, was your best friend's answer.

“I’ve got the brunette with the curls,” Joss said to Orion as he smirked at your table.

Your friends were eating up the orcs' attention, casting them wily smiles and flipping their hair. You didn’t blame them. They were good looking, with large, shining tusks and bodies any human body builder would kill for. The larger one had an arm full of tattoos peeking out from the tight black shirt he was wearing.

For your part, you huddled down into the hoodie you were wearing and took a sip of your soda. It wasn’t like the orcs were flirting with you anyway. They were probably looking at Emily, who had long blonde hair, or Tina, who had dark flawless skin and tight, shining curls.

You didn’t notice Orion’s gaze focusing solely on you.

“She doesn’t like margaritas?” he asked the bartender, nervously, when he returned with your empty glass.

“Doesn’t drink,” he murmured, already moving on to his next customer.

That comforted him a little. At least you weren’t going to be wandering drunk through the streets on your way home, but the idea of you walking home all by yourself bit at him. Orion was feeling things he’d never felt before and he didn’t even know your name.

He was a mercenary. He wasn’t a kind, warm orc; never had been. He was good at killing. Very, very good at killing and that’s what his life consisted of, death, blood, and lonely cold nights camping out waiting for orders.

He had his fun with girls he ran into in the odd cities he found himself in. They had a way of finding military men with money, but he’d never had a girlfriend or any sort of real connection. He’d never expected to live long enough for it to matter…but there you were. You weren’t all made up like the other girls, dressed in a bulky hoodie that swallowed you, with your hair brushed away from your face. Yet, you were the most beautiful one sitting there, chewing your lip and wrinkling your brow as you tried to think up answers.

“Come on,” Joss said to him, throwing back the rest of his beer, “I think the game is ending.”

The winners were announced (not your team) and you were trying to figure out how to slide past your drunk friends to escape home when the orcs approached your table.

“Evening ladies,” the shorter one said, flexing his biceps as he scraped his thick fingertips through his short hair to the delight of your friends.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, wiggling past your starry eyed friends and almost completely ignoring the orcs.

You bid them all goodnight, but they are busy batting their eyelashes and circling their fingers around the mouths of their glasses. Best leave them to it, you thought as you made your way to the front door, not noticing the taller orc abandoning his friend to follow you out.

Orion didn’t have a plan. He’d never stalked a woman before, but there he was, using his combat skills to make his huge form disappear in the urban environment.

He got more and more uneasy as you left the nice part of town and turned on to a dark street. A siren blared, startling him for a second as a cop car flew past and he almost lost track of you before he caught sight of you again fidgeting with the loop of keys in your hand and stuffing one into the door of the first floor apartment you lived in.

Orion frowned, sneaking as quietly as he could up to your side window. Your home was incredibly insecure, he noted. With his strength he could easily pop the rusted bars over your windows out to get to you and your door was a laughable piece of plywood.

His eyes watered again imagining your pretty face twisted in fear from some unknown attacker. He had to stop for a moment to take a breath and gather himself. Feelings he’d never felt before were bubbling up in his stomach like a witch’s cauldron, but standing outside of your house like a creeper, he had no idea how to approach you.

He ended up keeping vigil outside of your house all night and woke from a shallow doze when you started moving around inside. Peeking through your window he could see you smoothing your hair dressed only in your panties and a little t-shirt that rode up on your waist. Compared to him, you were just so incredibly small! It still confounded him that you could survive in this awful neighborhood and not be harassed daily.

Since it was the weekend and you weren’t hung over like your friends, you went about your morning routine and donned your usual hoodie to hit up your favorite coffee shop. An iced latte was the perfect way to start a Saturday.

In the light of day, Orion hung back as he followed you down the street, waiting a few moments before he entered the coffee shop after you.

The shop was busy, but there was a loveseat open and after getting your latte you took a seat on one side to drink it.

“Mind if I sit here?” Orion asked, after he’d gotten his own coffee.

You smiled up at his looming figure and scooted a bit to the side so there was plenty of room for him.

“You look familiar,” you mentioned, making light conversation as you sipped your drink.

The orc gave you a small smile.

“Name's Orion,” he said, pleased to have a reason to talk to you, “I think I saw you last night at the bar…you were with your friends…but you don’t drink…”

You giggled.

“Oh yeah, they dragged me out to that,” you said with a grin, “they think I’m a hopeless homebody because I don’t like to get drunk. I’m (Y/N).”

He smiled back at you, taking in your pretty twinkling eyes and soft looking skin. He had to hold back his tears as he looked down at you, so little in the seat next to him and tucked cutely in your big hoodie. He wondered what you would look like dressed in his t-shirt and wondered how he could possibly hold you without hurting you with his big hands.

“That’s not a bad quality to h-” he started to say, but was interrupted by a slightly nasally voice trying to get your attention.

You winced as you looked up to find one of the last people you wanted to see and part of the reason you didn’t drink hanging over you. Dane, a man you’d met once at a bar was holding a coffee with his other hand stuck in his pocket.

“(Y/N)!” he said grinning, “Great to see you! I’m surprised I didn’t hear from you after all the fun we had last time…did I put my number in your phone wrong or something?”

He reached down to snatch your phone out of your hand, as if he were going to check it.

You winced and shrank back.

The reason you didn’t drink was the last time you went to a bar you might have had a bit too much and Dane offered to take you home. Though his idea of “take you home” meant assault you while you were too drunk to fight back and then leave you crying on your couch with a text in the morning that said, “had fun last night, can’t wait to do it again.”

Of course, you hadn’t told anyone as you probably should have. You were too embarrassed and ashamed, so instead you tried to shake the experience away and swore to yourself you’d never drink again.

To your surprise, however, before Dane could reach your phone, Orion’s hand intercepted his. He could see by looking at you, you were uncomfortable and though he couldn’t possibly have known what happened, he didn’t like the man.

“Hi,” he said, scooping up Dane’s hand into a tight handshake, “I’m (Y/N)’s boyfriend Orion, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Dane sneered and looked Orion up and down. The look on his face said he didn’t take the orc seriously.

“Boyfriend?” he laughed, “that must be new…(Y/N) and I had a good time just a couple of weeks ago, didn’t we?”

He turned his attention to you, but your eyes were filling with tears, stressed and embarrassed that he would even say something like that after what he did. You would not describe it as “a good time.” Orion growled and squeezed Dane’s hand until the bones popped, wiping the smile from his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?! You’re going to break my hand!” Dane howled, causing the whole restaurant to look at the scene he was causing.

Fire flooded your cheeks and you tried to make an escape, pushing past Orion, but in another surprising move, he dropped Dane’s hand and put his arm around you. In any other circumstance, you would have been a little frightened, but at that moment a warm hug was just what you needed and you leaned into him without thinking.

“Let’s get out of here, (Y/N),” he said, giving you a gentle smile, before giving Dane a pointed look, “this place is starting to smell like trash.”

He hustled you out of the building and led you to a small park where there were some cozy benches tucked amongst the trees. Spaced out from your encounter, you let his strength lead you without a fuss.

He sat you down and you just sat in silence for a few minutes coming back to your senses. Orion had seen enough victims of assault in his line of work to know what the look on your face meant, so he gave you a little space to collect yourself before speaking.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to…but I’m a good listener if you do,” he said quietly, brushing a loose hair out of your face.

You looked so small and helpless in front of him and he focused all of his will into not scooping you up and carrying you off, keeping you locked up so tight no one could ever get to you again. He could snap you like a twig with just a flick of his wrist, no wonder some horrible man thought he could take advantage of you.

Without meaning to you let out a sob and the whole story came spilling out. It took all of Orion’s mental fortitude not to respond with anger. That wasn’t what you needed right then. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin and rubbed soothing circles on your back while you cried.

Despite his fear of smooshing you, he managed to squeeze you just gently enough to reassure you without hurting you.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, realizing why you didn’t drink, “men can be disgusting. No one should take advantage of someone while they are intoxicated…it’s just sick.”

After you’d had a good cry, you exchanged numbers and Orion walked you home promising you everything would be okay. Even though you weren’t sure you quite believed him, something about him felt safe so you let yourself feel comforted and spent the rest of the day resting in your pajamas trying to keep your mind off of it.

That only worked for a day, because the next morning as you were flipping channels you saw a familiar face on the television. It was Orion. He was being interviewed by a news reporter. You hurriedly turned the volume up to hear what he was saying.

“I saw him climbing the railing,” he said evenly into the microphone the reporter had shoved in his face, “but I was just too late…I couldn’t get to him in time to save him.”

His face was oddly blank considering the warmth he’d shown you the previous day. The camera centered back on the reporter.

“Depression has taken yet another victim here on the St. Anne’s bridge. It seems the security cameras on the bridge were not functioning when the event occurred, so there is no video record. Officials are promising to put more cameras and safety measures in place to stop tragedies like this from occurring. If you are experiencing thoughts of harming yourself please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline. Simply dial 988. Dane Andrews will be remembered as a…”

You muted the television and blinked as images of the man who assaulted you flashed on screen. Dane is dead. You didn’t want to celebrate someone’s death but for some reason it put you at ease. You’d never accidentally run into him again. He’d never have another opportunity to taunt you. You couldn’t erase what had happened but it felt like you’d gained some closure. You were so focused on that, you didn’t even consider that it was a bit odd Orion was the last person to have seen him before he jumped off of the bridge.

You hurriedly pulled out your phone and texted him.

I saw you on the news…want to come over?

It was only a few minutes before he responded.

Be there in ten.

You quickly put on some proper pants and brewed a pot of coffee while you waited for him to knock on the door. When it finally came you found yourself smoothing your hair and glancing in the mirror before answering it. For some reason you wanted to look some kind of way when he saw you.

You opened the door to the Orion you remembered, not the cold emotionless one on TV. He gave you a big smile and to your surprise he had a bouquet of peonies in his hands.

“For you,” he said, holding them out to you.

Despite the somber mood of the morning, you smiled back, letting him inside and hurrying to the kitchen to find a vase for the pretty pink flowers.

“It’s crazy what happened to Dane,” you said as you poured him a cup of coffee, “I guess even people like him have their own inner demons.”

“Mmm,” Orion said, noncommittally as he sat at your kitchen table and took a sip, “I hope you feel a bit safer…”

His eyes followed you as you got a cup and poured yourself some coffee. Of course, he had no intention of telling you, Dane did not kill himself. He had thrown Dane off the bridge after making sure he regretted ever laying a finger on you. He knew just what to do to make it look like the damage had been caused by his body banging on the rocks under the bridge, not Orion’s fists.

You sighed.

“You know I feel a little bad for saying this, but I really do feel safer,” you admitted, your gaze meeting his gold irises.

He smiled.

“Good,” he said, “you deserve to feel safe. Nothing like that is ever going to happen to you again.”

Sitting down next to him at the table you fiddled with the handle of your mug.

“You can’t be sure of that,” you murmured into your coffee, “things happen all the time.”

He pulled your chin up to look at him, cupping your cheek gently. He knew he would have to be gentle with you always and he looked forward to holding you even closer.

“While I’m around they won’t happen to you,” he stated.

You had no idea why, but for some reason you believed him. Your cheeks flushed just a little and your heart fluttered.

“D-do you plan on sticking around?” you asked quietly.

“I don’t ever plan on leaving you,” he said and you swallowed thickly.

If it were anyone else those words would have been frightening, but Orion had cast some kind of magic spell on you with his kindness and you only felt safe and seen.

You raised your much smaller hand to place it on his larger one against your cheek and looked up at him.

“I think I’d like that,” you said with a small smile.

#monster x girl #orc x reader #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster fluff #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere romance #monster boyfriend

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violetpixiedust · 8 months

Text

something angsty tonight for steve x sinclair!reader. no descriptions of hair, skin tone, or body type however. up to interpretation. season!one steve vibes.

part 02

౨ৎ

“this was a mistake..”

steve awoke from the sound of his own voice with a trembling start, shooting up from the frigid comfort of his bedsheets as he choked on his own gasp. salty tears began to burn within the corners of his twin black eyes, causing the sun kissed boy to wince painfully at the ache of his broken nose, wearily coming to in the dim outdoor pool lighting that seeped into his dark bedroom.

he hadn’t meant it. he really hadn’t.

he was such an idiot.

weighted flakes of ivory delicately fluttered down to the thin layer of snow currently blanketing the small town of hawkins. the warm, multi-coloured lights that decorated the outside of the sinclair home twinkled throughout the washed lavender night sky, contributing to the neighbourhood’s holiday cheer. inside, frank sinatra’s “merry little christmas” echoed throughout the home as the record spun along the glossy sage turn table in the downstairs den. mrs. sinclair was currently abusing the family video copy of dirty dancing for the fourth time that week while mr. sinclair was on a business trip in tokyo, a glass of white wine in her soft grasp. the crackle of lucas’s walkie talkie echoed throughout the upstairs hallway from his open bedroom, dustin’s lispy voice excitedly talking about their plans for christmas break that started the day after tomorrow. erica’s voice echoed from the study down the hall, gossiping with tina about the students in their fifth grade class.

you usually loved the romantic atmosphere of hawkins in the wintertime. each shop along downtown’s strip sparkled from the glow of their christmas lights, while each lamppost was decorated with a wreath or large red bows. the rush of skipping class to sled down the vast hills near the trailer park, the freezing satisfaction of seeing your snow angel’s reflection. drinking hot cocoa after skating across the icy lake, cuddling up by the fire as billie holiday soothingly serenaded you in her alto pitched voice. then, all of a sudden, george michael brought you to your feet, causing you to giggle and tumble to the floor with your friends as the lot of you tripped over your dance moves, landing in front of the half decorated christmas tree in heaps of tangled limbs and laughter.

however, you were currently cuddled in your soft cream coloured pyjama set, soaking into the small semblance of warmth that your light pink sheets and duvet provided. your makeup bled into your pillowcases as you thought about what steve had said to you earlier that day at school, a wave of embarrassment and nausea coursing through you once more, causing you to half-choke on the tears that dripped down your throat, straining to be silent.

you didn’t want anybody to hear you.

steve trembled on your door step, unbeknownst to you, clutching onto a bouquet of roses he had managed to snag from the mini mart on his way to your home just before the shop had closed. his light grey jacket did nothing to protect him from the icy chill of winter in hawkins, the tears by his eyes stinging with each whip of below zero air. shakily, his bruised fingers managed to ring the doorbell, gulping when he heard your mother’s slippered footsteps echo from the other side of the door. fuck, he should have expected this-

“steve? oh my- honey, what happened-?” steve felt more than embarrassed in front of your mother at that moment in time. you hadn’t even told her what happened. were you even home? he simply sniffled, pinching his nose unconsciously to prevent himself from sobbing, hissing once he remembered what had happened to it. “steve, my love, come in-“ steve avoided the elder woman’s kind eyes- so akin to yours, as she pulled his limp body into the doorway, a shiver crawling up his spine when the heat of the sinclair home hit his icy cheeks, causing them to flush a vibrant shade of red. “sweethea-?” your mother sounded confused, hesitant even, her kind voice tilted to the staircase. the elder boy at the door kept his sore gaze glued onto his nikes, noticing the speckles of blood there from when he had been punched.

“what are you doing here?” it wasn’t until he had heard your soprano voice that steve’s head unconsciously snapped up to look at you, stood at the middle of the staircase. his fail safe expression softened at the smudged mascara and messy lipstick stain that riddled your doll like features. your plush lips parted with a gasp, with concern, almost as if you had forgotten that you said you were done with him earlier this afternoon.

that you hated him.

to be fair, he hated himself too.

“m-mom, c-could you please grab the first-aid kit?” your usually bubbly and airy voice was now raspy, sore, as if you had been sobbing the whole afternoon, stuttering like you were scared of him now. steve quickly averted his gaze back to his shoes as your mother looked between you both, roses limp within his grasp as they practically kissed the floor. your mother cleared her throat lightly without a word, mumbling a “my gosh” under her breath as she quickly climbed up the stairs to retrieve the kit.

he followed your bunny slippers to the kitchen, wordlessly sitting down at the kitchen table as you prepared a wash cloth sacrifice. steve winced as your mother half-carelessly plopped the kit onto the wooden table top next to his cellophane wrapped apology, immediately giving you a kiss on the head as she murmured something into your ear that he couldn’t make out.

steve felt sick.

once your mother had left the kitchen, dirty dancing raised in volume as it played from the living room at the opposite end of the house. you carefully sat atop the table in front of him, and steve felt the blood pound through his ear drums, breath hitching as your manicured hand gently cupped his chin, as if he were made of glass, as if you didn’t hate him like you promised you did, tilting it up so he would look at you.

your doe eyes watched him carefully for a moment, studying him, almost reluctantly which caused the pit in his stomach to deepen, before you raised the worn washcloth to his face, pausing as if silently communicating “this will sting.”

and steve hoped that his expression whispered back. “i deserve it.”

unfortunately, the weighted silence between you two couldn’t have prepared him for the searing pain that bloomed from the middle of his face, grunting out a wince as you quickly pulled back, apologetic. as if any of this had been your fault.

jesus, what was wrong with him?

“i-i’m sorry.” steve finally broke, finally being able to look you in the eye. he hated the sight of crystal beginning to blur your wide pupils, sniffling as he grabbed your hand with both of his bruised ones before you could pull away, engulfing it as he held it to his chest, wheezing. “i’m so fucking sorry, angel. please-“ finally, the dam broke, his guilt finally bubbling over as he sobbed unabashedly, his long chestnut locks forming paint strokes over his eyes as he held your hand to his mouth, placing kiss after kiss onto your knuckles as he weeped. “i didn’t mean it-“

warm tears free fell from your waterline, burning against the soft skin of your cheeks that had been rubbed raw with denial after denial after denial, stinging on the way down as mascara clumped your lashes. you sniffle, an awful, wet sound filling the kitchen that you would have giggled embarrassedly at had you not been so hurt by the boy in front of you. how could he have done what he did today if he loved you? how could he have spoken to you that way?

“steve-“ you whimper, hoping that your family couldn’t hear you over their collective noise, hoping they wouldn’t walk in to see your resolve breaking beneath steve’s heartbreaking gaze. your voice fell into a pleading whisper. “steve, please let go-“

“no!” steve gasped, desperately falling to his knees along the tile with a screech of his chair, wrapping his strong arms around your calves, nearly skin to skin as his cheek pressed into your knees, staining your cream lounge pants with wet scarlet. “please, baby. i’ll do anything. please- please don’t let me go, please.” you realized then that your delicate fingers were threaded through steve’s silky strands, instinctive. you heard him sniffle, whispering heartbreakingly under his breath as he hugged your lower half tightly, as if you’d disappear beneath his fingertips. “please don’t leave, please don’t leave, please don’t leave..”

you bit your bottom lip harshly, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth as you watched the boy you love break in front of you. the sight of his beautiful face blotched with plum, burgundy, and olive made your heart weep. you pushed your trembling fingers through his hair, lightly scratching behind his ears as your thumbs rubbed his temples. instantly he shuddered, broad shoulders practically dropping to the floor as he relaxed under your touch, arms however only tightening around you. “stevie, baby,” he whimpered at the nickname, fearing the worst as your soprano voice sweetened, nearly replicating the tone you had used when you first met him all those months ago, kind and angelic. “you gotta get up for me. i need to clean you up-“

“no.” steve’s bambi gaze glimmered with tears, rubbed raw as shades of pink peaked through the whites of his eyes when he stared up at you. “no, please. i deserve it. baby, i deserve it, please just- just say you didn’t mean it when you said you hated me.” steve whimpered as he pleaded. “please.” his bass voice was two octaves higher as he begged without shame. as if impressing everyone at school today suddenly hadn’t mattered to him, as if he had taken a moment to consider whether or not he would undeservingly punish you when he did what he did. as long as he was protected, as long as he was respected, as long as he was king steve by the end of it.

you didn’t answer, instead swallowing the lump in your throat as you quietly pulled your fingers from his hair, holding your hands out of his reach as he fruitlessly attempted to grasp onto them. “say what carol said wasn’t true.” steve’s expression fell at your whisper, paling when he remembered carol’s cackling, her taunting, her tattling. steve turned his gaze to the kitchen stove, running a large hand over his mouth as he sighed helplessly, missing the way you bit back a sob. your mother stood in the doorway behind steve as she gazed at you with a type of sympathy only a woman who had lived it would, clenching her fists nervously but determinedly as she interrupted for both of your sake’s.

“i think you should go home now, steven.”

#was really sad today so i thought hey let’s write something that’ll make it worse 🥲#part 2?#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x sinclair!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #steve x poc!reader #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #mean!steve harrington #season one steve harrington #joe keery #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfic #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

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thanotaphobia · 6 months

Text

sweet tea

team soulfire has my entire heart rn btw. they deserve to win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CROSSPOSTED TO AO3

⋆

There is very little comfort in this place.

The water is icy cold, the kind of cold that steals your breath away and forces you to hyperventilate and drags you down with claws. This kind of water feels heavier than it should, like it’s trying to kill you, like it’s malicious. The cold. The darkness. It feels like a trap. On Quesadilla Island, at least, the water had been warm.

Missa can remember it, remembers skimming his hand over the top of the ocean as he’d sat in a motorboat beside Phil and talked and laughed. The water hadn’t seemed scary then. It had been a comforting presence. Maybe it’s a bad thing he’s pining to be back on the beach on Quesadilla Island, because fuck knows it wasn’t a good place.

But it was better than purgatory.

Missa is sitting on the beach with his knees to his chest, staring out at the water and thinking. He knows he should be doing something better with his time– gathering resources, making armor and weapons, building a base. But it’s easier to just sit here in silence, eyes fixed on the horizon without really seeing it. Nobody will notice him, nobody will kill him and send him back to the rocks and snow.

The cold bites at the tips of his ears and his fingers, even as he curls tighter against the wind. The ice breaks against the shore with each pulsing wave, shards of it being pushed up the beach and settling in the sand. He watches it happen over and over, some of the ice being pulled back out to sea, other bits left abandoned in the surf. Occasionally, out in the distance where the waves aren’t as prevalent, some kind of eldritch horror breaches the surface, exhaling mist or flashing its teeth before disappearing again into the depths.

Missa doesn’t think he likes boats much, anymore.

Above him, the night sky is studded full of stars. When he drags his gaze to it, some of them wink in and out at him, as though communicating through morse code. He thinks someone could translate, but certainly not him. He’s not smart enough.

He’s not much of anything these days. Missa’s brain supplies him with the image of himself, frozen on the beach in the same position he’s sitting now. Icicles dripping from his hair, eyes a pale blue, empty as they stare into the nothingness. No one would even notice if he froze out here, would they? Would the cold kill him? Or would the dehydration and hunger get to him first? He’s never felt thirsty like he has in this place– it’s almost desperate, the way they guzzle down water. But the water is evil. He can tell just from the wine-dark waves.

And then out of the darkness, a voice.

“Missa? Are you dead?”

Hm. Missa stretches his stiff fingers out, then clenches them again by his knees.

“No,” he decides, even though his joints creak in protest.

“Oh, good. Wow, it’s cold out here,” Tina says, moving to sit beside him in the sand. Her hair whips in the wind, long and dark, and Missa looks over at her face. She’s pale, matching the moon, eyes two dark slivers that he can barely make out as she squints against the salty gusts.

“Yeah,” Missa says. Without looking at him, Tina fumbles with a strap over her shoulder, bringing a thermos around her front. She unscrews the lid, the metal clinking softly above the sound of the waves and the wind. When she pours the tea into the lid, the steam billows up into the sky, and Missa thinks of the creatures in the ocean.

Then she holds it out to him.

“Oh,” he says, staring at the cup. She smiles at him, lips curving up gently, and he doesn’t want her to feel bad so he reaches out and takes it.

The metal lid is warm, hot even, and against his cold skin it feels like it’s burning. He nearly drops the cup but he knows their food supply is limited at best, so stubbornly hangs onto it and passes it from hand to hand until his fingers have regained some of their mobility. Then he cups it between the two, the steam shifting up into his face now. It smells earthy, and kind of sweet.

“Is there sugar?” Missa asks, a little surprised.

“Nope,” Tina says, tucking her own fingers around the rest of the thermos, which is also steaming slightly. She smiles. “Tubbo found a beehive!”

“Honey,” Missa says with a little bit of wonder in his voice. He hadn’t even known there were bees here. He blows across the top of it, then takes a careful sip– and it is sweet, in a way, the bitter taste of the tea undercut by a current of sweetness. “Wow.”

“It’s good, right?” Tina says, beaming as she takes a small sip out of the body of the thermos. Missa carefully takes another sip. It’s warm, almost uncomfortably so, and he can feel it as it travels all the way down and pools in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he says, marveling at the warmth. Then he abruptly remembers his manners and stutters out– “Thank you.”

“Of course!” Tina’s face is soft, nonjudgmental. “When I couldn’t find you at the base, I kinda got worried. There are dangerous things out there.”

“Yeah,” Missa says, glancing back out at the ocean. It seems a little more distant now, the waves less malicious. “I was just thinking, I guess.”

“About?” Tina asks. She raises the thermos to her lips and when he looks back at her, she raises a perfectly pointed brow over the rim.

“Um.” Missa thinks back, and finds he can’t actually remember what he was thinking about, if anything at all. “Actually, I don’t know.”

“Honestly me neither,” Tina says, and something about her cheerful tone and presence is already making him loosen up. He sips the tea and savors it now, rolling the flavors around on his tongue. It warms him from his very core, wetting his mouth and making him feel full. “My mind feels like it’s been going crazy these past couple of days, like, boom! Bang! Thinking all the time. It’s like we’re all going nuts!”

Missa has a little bit of a hard time keeping up, his brain lagging a little as she speaks and gestures with one hand, but her enthusiasm is hard to ignore. The beach seems a little brighter, the stars more stable in their places in the sky. He smiles back at her as her words register.

“I know,” he says. “But at least we have it pretty good, right? Like, with the tea.”

“Yeah!” Tina says, giggling a little. “I’m starting to get tired of it, man. It’s so smart but I feel like it’s all I can taste. I even drink it in my dreams now.”

“I wish I could dream,” Missa says, taking another sip of the thermos lid. The honey bites through again, and he presses his tongue to the top of his mouth and closes his eyes. “What do you dream about?”

“Other than tea?” Tina asks. Missa glances over, opening his eyes to watch her as she purses her lips to think. She draws her knees up closer to her, tucks her chin against her legs and closes her eyes after a second, as though trying to picture the space in her own mind. “Lots of things. Capybaras.” Missa snorts a laugh, and Tina smiles. “The sun, but like, when it’s not evil. Home. Bagi.” She says the two last words as though they’re the same thing, and Missa doesn’t doubt it’s what she means.

“I dream about home too,” Missa says. Tina opens her eyes, looking at him. Her hair whips across her face and nearly gets in Missa’s mouth too, and they both giggle as she tries in vain to tame it back. Eventually she manages to tuck it behind her ears.

“The wall?” she asks, drawing back to their conversation.

“No,” Missa says. “Philza.”

“Right,” Tina says. She moves to elbow him, wiggling her eyebrows up and down. “Your husband.”

Missa smiles and tucks his chin over the cup of tea he has, hiding his smile in the drink. The honey on his tongue tastes extra sweet when he says, “Yeah, husband.”

“You’re so lucky,” Tina says, sighing a little dramatically. “You two were together from the very start. Bagi and I have been circling each other for weeks, it’s been so looooong. I wish I could get the courage to just… y’know?”

“I know,” Missa says. He understands what she’s feeling intimately. “Why not just tell her?”

“She knows!” Tina says. “That’s the thing! We both know, we just don’t freaking say anything and when we do it’s all messy and stupid but you and Phil are just so…” She sighs. “So perfect.”

That makes Missa laugh. Truly laugh, laugh to the point of hiding his face in his elbow. Him and Phil, perfect. Yeah right. He wants to say as much, but bites his tongue instead and looks out over the water. He hasn’t seen Phil since they argued– and he doesn’t know if he wants to or not.

“Have you seen Bagi?” he asks. “Since… we got here?”

“Not really,” Tina says. “I’ve been staying close to home base. But we’ve talked. We’re not going to kill each other.” She sounds determined– looks it, too. Missa smiles at her and rests his cheek on his knee, pressing the warm cup to his temple. He wishes he could say the same about Phil, but these days, he’s never one hundred percent sure. Tina is watching him, and her voice is gentler when she says, “Do you want some more tea?”

Missa looks down with mild surprise to find his cup mostly empty. Wordlessly he nods, holding it out as Tina carefully refills it with more tea. He takes another sip, and Tina lets out a sigh. Across the water, the very first dregs of sunlight start to peek up, the deep indigo sky lightening shade by shade as the curtain of night crawls upwards. Tina lets out another sigh, then huffs and sits up a little straighter.

“Welp!” she says. “Do you want to go back? I think I’m going to try and make something that isn’t tea to eat.” Missa wiggles his toes in the sand and is surprised to find them warm and not dead by frostbite. It’s like the tea has wormed its way into his veins– actually, considering how much he’s been drinking it, he wouldn’t be surprised if all his blood had been replaced with it.

“Sure,” Missa says, and Tina smiles as he downs the cup of tea he has, then hands the lid back to her. She caps the thermos swiftly and stands, holding a hand out. He doesn’t need to, but he takes it anyway. “Thanks, Tina.”

“Hey, we have each other's back,” she says, letting go of his hand to shoot finger guns at him. Missa giggles and she does too, their laughter mixing above their heads.

As they make their way down the beach, the sun finally breaks over the horizon. Missa doesn’t bother to turn back to the water and watch.

#qsmp #q!missa #q!tina #missasinfonia #tinakitten #team soulfire #purgatory event #my writing

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heartbreak-sandwich · 4 months

Text

Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC

Summary: After a day of sledding with a group of her former classmates, JJ is freezing and prepares to walk home when Billy offers her a ride. She invites him in for a warm drink to repay his favor, and things quickly heat up when he lights a fire and shares his best tips on keeping the frost bite at bay. Bask in the glow of this incendiary encounter in the next 1.8k words🔥 CW: SMUT, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, Billy is a little demanding A huge thank you to my beta reader and editor @lifesshort-imshorter for helping me bring this piece to life!!!

DAY THREE OF HOHOHOE WEEK Prompt: Fireplace Read the rest of this mini series here: Part 1 | Part 2

JJ stood at the top of the snow covered hill with the rest of her classmates. Quite a few of them showed up to the Hawkins sledding reunion party Nancy had organized for those of them that were home for the holidays. Everyone was complaining about how cold it was and how they didn’t want to be chilled to the bone by falling in the snow. She couldn’t believe these people had agreed to make an appearance solely for a party to play in a winter wonderland and then refused to participate.

“Seriously, you guys?” She shook her head in disappointment. “Move. I’m going down.” The small crowd parted, and JJ steadied her sled at the top of the hill, making sure it would travel straight from where it started. Everyone’s eyes were on her, including Billy’s, whose burned brightly as he watched her daredevil antics.

“Need a push?” He stepped forward and offered to help JJ start her downhill journey. She smiled over her shoulder at him and replied with one simple word.

“Nope.” With that, she took a running step forward and jumped into the sled, the momentum propelling her forward and down the hill. Inspired by JJ’s bravery, the rest of the group followed suit, everyone finally conceding to having the good time they all gathered for in the first place.

The rest of the afternoon was spent laughing, catapulting snowballs, and wiping out in the icy powder. Everyone agreed they couldn’t remember the last time they had so much fun. Billy was just glad to be there with JJ, soaking in the warmth that emanated from her on that freezing winter day.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting, and JJ was completely soaked through her clothes. Teeth chattering, cheeks aching from smiling and the bite of the bitter wind, she began saying goodbye to her classmates.

“I need to get going so I’m not walking in the dark. I’ll see you guys at Tina’s in a couple days!” She waved, a chorus of farewells arising from the group as she gathered her sled.

“Walking?” Billy’s voice boomed above the rest.

“Yeah,” JJ answered. “It’s not far.”

“No way. You’re freezing. Come on, let me give you a ride. It’s on my way.” Billy stepped toward her while all of the bystanders quieted, waiting for her to bite back sarcastically. To their surprise, she accepted graciously.

“Actually, that would be nice.” JJ’s whole body shook from the cold as she spoke. Following Billy to where his car was parked, she was thrilled to see he was still driving that cobalt blue Camaro she had always made fun of him for but secretly loved.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thanks again for the ride.” JJ was still shivering as Billy pulled into the Ferons’ driveway.

“Any time,” he drawled, his signature smirk sliding into place. JJ had the house to herself for the night. Her parents were being entertained at another stuffy cocktail hour for some other overly posh law firm, and while she originally planned to get some relaxation time in, she now had a better idea.

“You want to come in? I’ll make you a hot drink for your troubles.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Billy replied, his smirk blooming into a smile. He followed JJ inside, and he couldn’t help but notice she was still shaking from the cold permeating through her wet clothes.

“I’ll put the kettle on. You make yourself comfortable,” she instructed, leaving Billy alone in the living room.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s all this?” JJ’s grin shone brightly against the dim glow of a fire crackling in the fireplace. She handed Billy one of the mugs she was carrying back from the kitchen, taking note of the pile of blankets on the floor in front of the dancing flames.

“You’re freezing. We need to get you warmed up, and I thought a fire might help. Here,” Billy said, taking JJ’s hand and leading her over to the bundle of warmth he had prepared. They sat down on the plush area rug together, and Billy draped two of the blankets over JJ’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around her, moving them up and down slowly to create friction.

“What a gentleman,” JJ crooned in jest, giggling at Billy’s display.

“Frostbite is no joke, Jacqueline,” he quipped back, his smile still bright in the low light.

“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. They shared a comfortable silence looking far off into the fire, the crackling and popping sounds keeping them company.

“You know,” Billy started. “Body heat is really the most effective way to warm up.” JJ met his gaze, and his ocean eyes were dark with a devilish haze. She knew exactly what he was playing at, and she loved this game.

“Oh, well, in that case.” JJ stood up, letting the blankets fall from her shoulders, and pulled her sweater over her head, discarding it onto the floor. Billy’s eyes followed her every move as she peeled off more layers – t-shirt, undershirt, pants, socks – until she was down to just her underwear, her blue lace bra almost matching the color of his stare.

Billy followed suit, shedding his sweater, shirt, and pants, still watching her all the time. JJ felt the heat of a blush creep up to her cheeks just looking at him. He was like a God. The outline of every dip and valley of Billy’s body was contoured by the flickering of the fire. His golden skin looked butter-soft, and all JJ wanted to do was touch him, but she forced herself to be patient.

They returned to their seats on the rug, and Billy leaned closer to her, cupping the side of her face in his hand with a hungry look in his eyes. JJ’s lips parted as Billy ghosted his thumb over them, and there was no more talking. He kissed her slowly, with passion and sincerity, and she was already losing herself.

Billy tasted sweet like honey and warm sugar, and soon JJ was melting into him while their kisses turned fiery, all teeth, tongue, and desperation. Billy pressed wet, needy kisses to her jaw, her neck, her collar bone, leaving playful bites in his wake. JJ’s breathing grew heavy, and all she wanted was more, more, more.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, Billy leaned into her until her back was pressed into the thick, plush rug in front of the fire. He lowered himself to her face one last time, locking her lips into his and running his tongue along the bottom one, then the top. He was teasing her, and she was eating it up.

Billy placed nips and kisses again down her neck, to her collar bone, to her chest, and he didn’t stop until he got to the top of her panties, taking the waistband in his teeth and letting it snap back against her skin. He glanced up at her from between her thighs, eyes full of sin, and JJ’s heart hammered double time.

“Are you warming up yet?” Billy asked seductively before pressing his warm, wet tongue flat against her clothed slit, just enough so that she could feel the rush of his hot breath.

“Whatever you do,” JJ warned, running her fingers through Billy’s sandy curls, “just don’t stop.” A dangerous grin formed on Billy’s face just before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs, tossing them to the side. Big, strong hands pushed her thighs apart, making room for Billy to nestle down in between them. His breath ghosted across her bare skin, creating goosebumps over her entire body as he licked a long stripe through her folds.

JJ’s breath hitched at the contact, and she pulled lightly on Billy’s curls, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. His tongue was like warm velvet sliding up and down and in delicious circles around her clit, and her vision grew hazy in the glow of the flames. She didn’t have room in her mind to care that her moans sounded pathetic and desperate as she tightened her grip in Billy’s hair and moved her hips languidly against his expert mouth.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” Billy’s eyes snapped up to meet hers as she glanced down at his mesmerizing movements, the work of his mouth and his dark stare setting her core ablaze. She let out a gasp when she felt him push two fingers inside of her, curling them up to meet her sweet spot. He fucked her slowly, the constant contact of his tongue pushing her closer and closer to the breaking point.

“Billy, please,” she breathed, her eyes brimming with tears at the stimulation.

“Beg me,” he purred, the low vibrations of his voice against her aching pussy sending shockwaves crashing over her.

“Please, I want to cum for you so bad. Mmmm – please, Billy.” With those magic words, he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers into her harder and faster and sucking fiendishly on her clit until her moans turned into blissful sobs. Every move Billy made stoked the embers in her core until it was white hot and smoldering, and then there was an explosion.

JJ’s eyes screwed shut, tears spilling down her cheeks as she lost control, her whole body shuddering as her walls clenched around Billy’s fingers. She writhed against his tongue, a string of colorful expletives flooding from her lips as she rode out her climax. Slowly seeping back into the fabric of reality, JJ steadied her breathing as Billy removed his fingers and set an iron grasp on her thighs, pushing them farther apart while his blunt nails dug into her flesh as he held her there.

He continued to lavish slow, lazy circles on her clit, the overstimulation sending jolts up her spine as more tears slipped down her cheeks. JJ couldn’t take it anymore and tried her best to push him away, but he was too strong.

“Beg me,” Billy commanded once more. He wasn’t going to stop until she was a pathetic, weeping mess.

“Billy, please,” she cried. “I can’t take it anymore, please.” He gave one last long lick along her clit and looked up at her, his cerulean eyes shining like the surface of the ocean under the sun. He steadied himself on his knees and stretched his back, the glow of the fire rippling over his defined muscles before he laid down next to her.

“You taste divine,” he whispered. He leaned in and kissed her fiercely, and she could taste the sweet and sour remnants of herself on his tongue.

Once she was finally able to string a coherent thought together, JJ knew she was in trouble. Everything about Billy consumed her entirely, and though she knew she’d never be the same, in that moment, all she wanted was to be completely immersed in him. He was going to ruin her, and she was content to let it happen.

💕Tag list: @imyourdaninow @justsimonrileythings @b1tchy3lf @jozstankovich @darleenjade @peachyaliien @dananahenderson @strangerthing93 @yoyokiss97 @californiaboytoybilly

#Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove smut #Billy Hargrove x OC #Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC #Billy Hargrove fanfic #OC JJ Feron #Fergrove <3 #hohohoe23 #day three - prompt: fireplace #writing events #holiday writing event #sando writes #12/20/23

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desnayy · 1 month

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So... I have decided to do a full post on what I think the different characters are in an omegaverse and including the scents... I blame my brain latching on during a moment of mental weakness... some that I don't know that well will be defaulted to beta, but I would be open to hear what other people think

Trains:

Badboyhalo- Omega; Spiced chai with vanilla with an undertone of something sickly sweet

DanTDM- Beta; Freshly clean laundry

ElMariana- Alpha; Citrus with an undertone of fresh air

Fit- Alpha; Earthy with an undertone of still water

Foolish- Omega; ocean breeze and apples with an undertone of metal

Jaiden- Beta; Blueberry trailmix with a very faint undertone of clinical cleaner

Luzu- Alpha; Licorice

Maximus- Omega; Dark chocolate with raspberry

Missa- Alpha; Marigolds and cinnamon with an undertone of something sickly sweet

Philza- Omega; Matcha chocolate and petrichor with an undertone of something sickly sweet

Quackity- Omega; Roses with an undertone of fresh snow

Roier- Alpha; Something spicy and sweet, like Mexican hot chocolate

Charlie Slimecicle- Omega; Lime jello with an undertone of water

Spreen- Beta; Woodsy

Vegetta- Alpha; Blackberry with an undertone of pine needles

Boat:

Cellbit- Omega; Coffee with a very faint undertone of blood

Felps- Omega; Myrrh with an undertone of fresh air

Mike- Alpha; Strawberry ice cream with an undertone of gunpowder

Pac- Alpha (?); Pomegranate lemonade with an undertone of ocean air

Plane:

Antoine- Beta (?); Freshly mowed grass

Aypierre- Alpha; Grape juice with an undertone of metal

Baghera- Alpha; Lemon candy with a very faint undertone of clinical cleaner

Etoiles- Beta (?); Fresh air with a very faint undertone of something burning

Kameto- Beta; Woodsy

Frozen Peeps:

German- Beta; Cherry limeade

Ironmouse- Omega; Spiced chai and cotton candy

Lenay- Beta; Ocean breeze

Niki- Beta; Fresh sugar cookies

Polispol- Beta; Ink and aged paper

Rivers- Beta; Fresh air

Tina- Omega; Spiced chai and carrot cake with an undertone of fresh air

Tubbo- Omega; Maple syrup with an undertone of ocean breeze

Willyrex- Alpha; Whiskey with an undertone of gundpowder

Others:

Bagi- Alpha; Coffee and chocolate

Carre- Beta; Petrichor

Doied- Beta; Tilled soil

Cucurucho-Alpha; Clinical cleaner (all the workers are the same due to being clones)

#qsmp #qsmp omegaverse #help....#didn't include the newer people cause i don't really know them well enough #the scents are just things that popped in my head as i thought of the person #the question mark ones aren't me being confused btw :)#queued to go

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atthebell-moved · 2 years

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atthebell mcyt fics masterpost

QSMP:

la crianza: Drabbles/character studies on QSMP & egg parenthood. Complete, oneshot.

confiança: Forever reassures Cellbit that despite the Federation pulling the wool over his eyes, he'll figure it all out in the end. Soft late night insaneduo! Complete, oneshot.

not quite but we're almost there: Roier decides to give Cellbit a much-needed distraction, in the form of theft and flirtation, and they go on what is definitely not a date. Not yet. Complete, oneshot.

promise me you'll try: Roier hasn’t been sleeping, worry and fatigue etched into the lines of his face. Cellbit is running himself ragged trying to find any information. They talk about it. Complete, oneshot.

Series:

a heart's a heavy burden: Crimeboys Howl's Moving Castle AU, with plenty of domestic fluff, soft magic, and shenanigans. lots of clingyduo and bedrockbros as well. WIP, 8/?? chapters, on indefinite hiatus (unlikely to be finished).

monster for monster: Tntduo Fae!Quackity/Vampire!Wilbur AU, idiots in love (and competition). 3 chapters.

sink your teeth in (and never let go): Feral vampire baby Tommy gets adopted by fantasy creatures SBI; fluff and shenanigans ensue. Unfinished, 2 chapters.

for i to you, and you to me: Wilbur-centric Fae!Tommy crimeboys. Wilbur is a lonely bard who travels from town to town without a home; Tommy is a gremlin in the woods looking for a new older brother. lots of fluff. Unfinished, 1 chapter.

Oneshots:

soak you to the bone: Bedrockbros hybrid fluff (Techno pulls Tommy out of a wet dumpster & brings him home), SBI fluff as well. Complete, oneshot.

stardust in your eyes: Tinarose Among Us AU for the Tinarose Spin the Wheel event! ft. Imposter!Tina & minor Karlnapity. Complete, oneshot.

under the marble and the snow: O!Crimeboys fluff, holiday exchange fic. Complete, oneshot.

except you, you can stay: Bedrockbros/SBI fluffy hurt/comfort hybrid AU. Complete, oneshot.

to cure it of sorrow would destroy it: my (semi) in-canon dsmp fics (these are not connected unless otherwise noted)

nothing has changed: Wilbur-centric, angsty. Wilbur realizes that he and Ghostbur aren't so separate after all. Complete, oneshot.

a gentle hand: Tinarose, domestic fluff. Post- Hannah's wings being destroyed, she stays with Tina and feels, for once, at home. Complete, oneshot.

equilibrium: Tommy thinks about all the types of justice other server members believe in, and his own. Complete, oneshot.

there is a crack in everything (that's how the light gets in): Wilbur is the son of Death. Most people (one in particular) don't piece that together (aka dark(ish) Wilbur kills Dream with Death powers). Complete, oneshot.

epistolary: Wilbur writes a letter to Tommy from Utah. Complete, oneshot.

early l'manberg shifter au drabble: Short drabble about early L'manberg and Tommy's doubts. Shifter AU. Complete, oneshot.

set free from narrow places: Same canon as epistolary; Wilbur writes Tommy a letter during passover and reminisces on past years. Complete, oneshot.

give and take: Emeraldsduo domestic fluff ft. wing grooming and forcing each other to rest, damn it. Complete, oneshot.

once upon a time you asked to stay the night (and now i'm saying yes): Soft tntduo fluff, in which they act like fools, eat dinner together, and reminisce. Complete, oneshot.

#bell fics masterpost #my fics #ahahb #monster4monster #joy. bell fics be upon ye

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meilas · 9 months

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Phantom of the Opera Wine List

Your wine sommeliers:

@meilas: Concept, Graphics, Layout, Project Manager, Hadley, Barbara the Mannequin

@gwalchmedi: Franc D’Ambrosio, Norm Lewis, Drew Sarich, Peter Joback, Bronson Norris Murphy, Hugh Panaro, Michael Crawford, Jonathan Roxmouth, Jeremy Stolle, Barbara the Mannequin, Ethan Freeman, Peter Karrie, Dmitry Ermak, Earl Carpenter

inspired by @mxbuster: Uwe Kroger

inspired by @petittneko: Saulo Vasconcelos, Thiago Arancam

@devilswalkingstick: Cooper and triptychs

@when-it-rains-it-snows: Ben Lewis

DocTy: Alexander Goebel

Tina: Gina Beck

@from-aldebaran: Derrick Davis and proof-reader

@therosenpants: proof-reader and taste-tester

@box5intern: Christopher Carl

This wine list could not have turned out so well without the loving dedication of everyone involved. Thank you everyone for putting up with this silly project for so long!

D’Ambrosio Vintage Vintage 1962, best run 1998 Other nicknames: Cabernet Franc; Franc D’Amn that’s good!

Slither yourself down somewhere comfortable and loosen a few buttons while you steal a taste, slowly swirling your tongue around a luscious mouthful of this full-bodied, ambrosial red. Every note stays with you while you are distracted by its elegant looks, get reeled in by a silvery touch, and feel it gliding along your throat. As you swallow, a slow leisurely piquancy reveals a muscular body and delivers a prominent, long, full finish. A total god of a wine. Keeps giving satisfaction long after you have embraced your last glassful.

Bottling notes: The reddest of red wines in the bluest of containers, and the perfect precursor to pants-less pastimes. Comes in our most prominent bottle.

Saulo Vasconcelos, vintage 1999

An epic year for Brazilian wines, this timeless choice has performed in many a fine vintage bottle. A few tastings will assure you that this wine leaves you anything but Miserable, being a bit of a beast in disguise. Delightfully playful, sensuously hands-on with its flavour, and encasing you in its warm, chocolate tones, you’ll find yourself helplessly succumbing to its embrace. A proper, stern Daddy of a wine, this is one for those who like their types mature and commanding. De Nada!

Crémant NormLew Château Tallahassee

A first for a Crémant from this region of Florida, you’ll be getting a plethora of orchard fruits here with delightful baritone notes! Up there with the finest of champagnes, just enjoy how this Crémant gives such a unique expression of its appellation.

Peter Jöback

This fiery Scandinavian grape is a notoriously difficult one to grow well, but prolific once it takes hold, which makes this lovely drop of sleek Swedish red even more impressive! The acidity has a true, tenor register, a light note that is just right for pairings with other Swedish delicacies, I'd say. Very quaffable indeed.

Drew Sarich

With a very young feel to this Veltliner grape, it actually delivers a surprise that is a decade ahead of itself. This wine has a long taste on the tongue, sitting there like a kitten purring in your lap. Delightfully complex, this is a New York socialite of a vintage with a phantasm of aromatic perfume on it which is absolutely phenomenal. It’s fascinating how the acidity is so high that it somewhat devilishly disguises the wine’s natural sweetness.

Dreamclimber from the House of Derrick Davis Two pressings, 2016-2017 and 2019-2020

An astonishingly underappreciated vintage, Dreamclimber will make you abandon your defenses from the very first sip. A potent mix of smooth deep notes of dark oak ranging upward to a soaring sunshiney sweetness, the positive energy in every bottle offers sweet intoxication and will fundamentally alter your outlook on life. The dynamic and passionate essence of Dreamclimber elevates everything around it, so if you need to restage a meal, add this bold and muscular yet soft and sensual wine to your table. Want to stay one step ahead of the crowd? Catch a Broadway-bound dream of a wine and you can say you were among the first to realize its genuine and soul-stirring star power. Dreamclimber has the uplifting soulfulness to take you and your guests to where you long to be!

Bronson Norris Murphy Variety: Babygrapes

The very youngest of our vintages, this wine has brought out excitingly different comments from our patrons. Respected Voices talk knowledgeably either about its Wheel of Flavours, or enjoy a genuine Laugh about how this rush of taste almost knocks them over; still others amongst the cognoscenti talk about its delightfully Icie youthfulness and endearing features, or how a glassful taken at bedtime would counter a Snowy cold evening. One Purist anonymously chuckled that a grape as vigorous as this could be put in more than one setting and still retain its delightful, child-like boyish charms. Two stunningly dressed patrons, in Rose and Cora(l), admitted they’d been given a taste of this wine secretly, a sort of cameo appearance before its launch, and had felt the vibes of the overt rosehip and petal flavours long before it had become popular. The pair’s general consensus was that this vintage was young enough to Make It on the scene, although the coquettish undertones about vinicultural size and handspan were elusively enticing. The Vast Glassy Orangery was agog with gossip about some Baguette-wielding youth (and their noteworthy tailoring) having hugely overdosed on the tasting previously, almost knocking their socks off with its pale beauty and fragrant scents. Their partner in crime, a clear Persephone of a beauty, was wearing delicious couture from the House of ChristineGrrl, and the effect of this duo almost matched the effect of the wine’s heady aroma on the delightfully younger crowd. Suffice to say the vintage was a resounding success and its aura of vinicultural adolescence bursting into manhood held everyone in its attractive grasp. One worth keeping.

Panaro Prosecco

The elevation that every note in this charismatic, versatile Prosecco provides ensures that the bubbles in this Panaro Prosecco are so much lighter than in the flatter and usually insipid Chagny Champagnes to which they are unfairly compared. For me, there is no contest; crystal clear delivery, in a bottle with movie star good looks, this vintage delivers a deliciously singing bouquet, with beautifully crisp notes of apple to finish.

Michael Crawford, vintage 1986

Oh yes, this most venerable of English sparkling wines has a well-rounded palate with a hint of the most delicate, sweetest of orchard fruits giving way to deeper notes of Parisian brioche, with a hint of French kisses. French, I hear you ask - but did you know that English winemakers use the same traditional method that the French use to produce Champagne?

Jonathan Roxmouth, vintage b.1987, run 2011-2012, 2019

Not an easy Chenin Blanc grape variety to like on first encounter, this South African powerhouse has a drawn-out tingle which stays on your tongue, and wanders high into your head. The yearning feel to break out in full fruit mode is hidden beneath the complex mix of earthy, graveyard depths. You may feel the emotional and smoky hint of stalk, but a flash of strength beneath its velvet glove packs a punch like no other. Rox your Sox.

The St(r)olle

The smoothest of our wines, this will simultaneously quench your thirst and leave you begging for more. In parts of America, this vintage used to be obscure, yet when you taste it, you’ll wonder why. This wine takes a confident, sassy stroll across your palate, its taste coiling a lasso around you as rock solid as Henry Cavill’s abs. Achingly rich and smooth, sporting lush, sweet toned, deep throated berry notes tinged with vanilla, it has suave yet elemental flavors pushing out from a deep, muscular centre. One not to be trifled with.

Barbara the Mannequin, vintage 1988

Wooden and oaky, this wine is perfect for poorly-thought-out proposals. We’ve all known at least one weird, dorky guy who somehow engineered a vision of a hot chick. This wine is that chick. Barbara is also known for its thin, acid nature, bolstered with a dressing that feels domineering, but sadly is only a foreshadowing of a disappointingly textured mouthfeel, with little middle, and an abrupt finish.

Hadley Fraser, vintage: 2 weeks old

A light dessert wine that sometimes forgets how it is supposed to taste. It’s not its fault. Really. We just didn’t give it enough time before bottling it.

Alexander Goebel Der Goebel Veltliner - Vintage 1988

Often overlooked and replaced by the Freeman, its direct descendant, the Goebel is the true original flavour of Vienna's best vineyards, planted and cultivated by the same London vintners that originated the Crawford. Since 1988 the deep rich tones of Dunkelheit in this wine have melted the heart and palate of real connoisseurs around the globe, who also appreciate the high Skan-da-lös and Maskenball notes that follow the first taste. Best served in the Original Cast environment (especially accompanied with a side dish of Nistler and Pfeifer) to highlight its most recognizable qualities, it is also recommended in its "boot" version where its taste is sublimated by visual experience to heighten each sensation.

Peter Karrie

Vintage with a distinctive voice. A commanding flavour, this is a wine both dangerous and elegant, one a chivalrous soul would offer to another, with a heart-rending tone, and an unparalleled physicality and wealth of detail. This grape makes the wine totally in a class of its own, with a wandering taste yet, by some rare and strange alchemy, with a touch of the rock band too. A bit of The Wolf in this bottle.

Ermak Syrah

Our only Slavic wine to date. Once phans sneak a taste of Ermak, they become avid for this imposing Russian grape. Its notes are powerful and bright, dominated by scents of ripe rich raspberry, and a touch of smoke that either comes from barrels toasted over a hickory flame or all that sexy heat. The Eastern European earthy touch, common in ‘Old World’ Syrah, is always present on the back of the palate, but bright succulent flavours mingle with those of hazelnut and chocolate. The tannins swirl like Rusalki across your taste buds, as smooth and alluring as Ermak himself.

G. Beck, vintage 2010

A silken, dry, red English wine with a strong note of blackcurrant. There’s a hint of youthfulness in its complexities. A wine so lovely it will bring tears to your eyes, as the taste conjures up the image of wistfully walking through a graveyard while crying about your father. Perfect after a day of tired feet from wearing heels and heavy gala dresses for too long, and with dark chocolate… or perhaps even Marmite on toast, if you’re feeling adventurous? It has also been blessed by a certain soprano’s tuxedo cat, because why not.

Tested and reviewed by: Tina, who was definitely in a country where the legal age of drinking is 17 at the time. She immediately bought nearly the entire stock and gave it a 6 out of 5 stars rating.

Thiago Arancam, vintage 1982

A total Batata Bonita, this wine from a little-known grape has been successfully transplanted from 13,000 feet up at Insosso Opera’s vineyard to the less stratospheric Sem Sal Palco Musical’s estate. You might call it a vinho on a budget mais fácil. With an early unmasking of a distinct brasiliaro flavour, this is one wine which ought to know how to show its range of notes, but sometimes just pales into insignificance.

Earl Carpenter

A strong bold grape should produce an overbearing wine. Instead, what we have here is viniculture’s version of a smooth Movie Star. Nuanced, sensual and gentle on the palate, it has a buttery feel, although on occasion this vintage’s notes are somewhat uncertain. Building up towards a taste explosion, too much enthusiastic sampling will find you too far gone to stop at the final reveal.

BEN BEN BEN Shiraz 2011

BEN BEN BEN is most curious; the 2011 is one of just two Phantom varietals that are easily acquired, yet rarely is it recommended. Best suited to the mad friends of Dionysus, this Australian Shiraz is a magic show as run by the white tigers: absolutely beautiful, but whose idea was this? It cannot possibly end well… No amount of familiarity with the Brilliant Original will prepare the palate for this Absolute Beast. Expect to be dragged from delicately smoky baritone lows to peppery near-tenor highs; you may feel a little wide-eyed as you study the legs and ponder what that cheekbone is doing to the mouthfeel. Swooning is fine, this glass will pick you up from the floor, it is broad shouldered and surprisingly sweet.

A word to the wise: don't finish the bottle. Pour out that last twenty minutes in memory of the rare 2018 vintage, BEN! KELLY! BEN! KELLY!, of which no complete bottles exist.

Uwe Kroger, vintage 1964, 2006

Ye little gods, here was a tone with an unsettling quirky tongue to it, cutting right through the sweet fruit; an acidity, quite at odds with its vinicultural opulence. This lick of minerality which is just a fingertip’s distance away, is a bit old hat. Been done to death. Somewhat late to the party and overdressed too. It is easier to define what it is not – that is, it is not richness, nor fleshiness, nor texture, it is just there, this odd mineral flavour bringing neither a sense of purpose nor a sense of depth, fashionably unpopular, kookier and saltier than a bag of KP nuts, changeable without letting you know where it is going. And in any case, minerals, rocks and stones have no flavour at all. In Kresowy Slavic folklore, the “flavour” of stones is caused by an invisible substance called petrichor, which, according to my Russian-Greek-English thesaurus (what? It’s the only one I’ve got! Give me a break!) is “constructed from petra (πέτρα), meaning ‘stone’, and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods of Russian mythology.”

Gary Mauer

Are you married to your job? Just the wine for you! With a hint of sexy Dionysian wildness in its overtones, this sexy, vastly diverting and deliciously deep flavoured wine hits up hard on the brain. A sparkling good character with a touch of flair on its first taste, under all that joie de vivre, subsequent contact may make you come unhinged in the final analysis. Touted by wine snobs as 100% clean and wholesome in taste, those of us in the know greedily drink up the wicked taste and flavour, both of which provide a powerhouse duo, giving an amazing almost Elizabethan scent to the final mouthful. Having dashing good looks, this wine has a lovely tenor to its middle notes. While fairly standard from a non-specialist standpoint, it is sprinkled with touches of genius throughout; the distant whispered scent of a bridal bouquet of roses: so romantic. All in all, a great wine with a hugely masculine edge.

Ethan Freeman

A Viennese delight, this unexpected Rosé has distinct European notes, yet a brash American aroma. Moreover, it has a singing finish on the palate. A demanding Jekyll and Hyde of a wine, the duality of the fresh flavour of Oberhaüsen strawberries combined with the descending chill of the faint ghost of basement scents have resulted in a complex type of legerdemain that can be almost felt, not just tasted. Best experienced on hot summer nights.

Cooper, vintage 2014

Far too many notes for our taste, and most of them about this wine. Just read this review left by a customer! (We would like to remind everyone that we card any customers who appear to be younger than 21.) “A delightful wine, positively wonderful, just the perfect stubbly lad. Anytime is Coopertime. Also sweet.”

Christopher Carl

Looks like a meme but also 100% legit like a stock image of STOIC MAN (TM) sold by Hasbro. (Wine bottle and fine horses sold separately.)

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atthebell · 6 months

Text

atthebell mcyt fics masterpost

QSMP:

la crianza: Drabbles/character studies on QSMP & egg parenthood. Complete, oneshot.

confiança: Forever reassures Cellbit that despite the Federation pulling the wool over his eyes, he'll figure it all out in the end. Soft late night insaneduo! Complete, oneshot.

take a breath: insaneduo fluff, werewolf forever. Complete, oneshot.

so bad all my bones shake: spiderbit host a halloween party! Complete, oneshot.

lovely maze you've got there. would be a pleasure to be chased through it: cellbit chases pac around the halloween maze and then they make out. Complete, oneshot.

won't you lover chase me down: cellbit enjoys the way roier goes after him during purgatory-- the way he focuses on spilling his husband's blood, delights in the violence. Complete, oneshot.

sitting here won't make this any easier: insaneduo post-happy pills arc talk about punishment and guilt. Complete, oneshot.