#��*. ⋆༘ — uli writes

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Remember the Shafows of Twilight fic where Twilight got revealed as a wolf and were was an ask about how Ulli won't let Twilight on the couch without a bath? Can you write that?

The stakes were higher than ever. Link refused to lose. Glaring determinedly, he settled his elbow on the table as Rusl sat across from him, mirroring his position. Colin shifted, filled with nervous and excited energy, and then he started to count down.

Both men's arms shook with exertion the instant Colin finished counting. Uli watched from the kitchen, rocking Hama steadily. Of all the family, she looked somehow the most invested but least emotional about it. Her gaze was seemingly neutral, but her eyes wouldn't leave the table.

Colin gasped as Link started to push Rusl's arm closer to the table. Rusl's grip tightened, face pulling with effort. Link smiled, knowing he was going to win.

And then Rusl exhaled heavily through his nose, putting all his energy into one last effort, catching Link off guard and slamming his fist into the table. Colin yelled in surprise, hands thrown into the air for emphasis.

From the kitchen, Uli let out a breath she'd been holding, smiling in victory.

Link wilted at the table, a seeming cloud looming over him.

"Then it's settled," Rusl huffed, panting. "The wolf gets a bath."

Link groaned.

That evening, with extreme reluctance, Link dragged his feet to the sacred spring. He didn't bother mentioning that the spring would likely transform him back immediately. There was absolutely no need to share that information.

Uli, on the other hand, was humming cheerfully as Rusl followed her with supplies in hand. Colin, despite multiple protests, was expressly forbidden from coming along. Link had to save his dignity somehow.

"Ma," he pleaded for the millionth time. "I'm clean already. What's the point of this?"

"Honey, when you were showing Colin your wolf form we all could smell it," Uli replied as gently as she could, but the words still made his cheeks flush in embarrassment. "And your fur is matted and bloody. I... I just want to help you wash that journey off you."

Link didn’t really have a rebuttal for that, words stolen away with his breath. The tenderness woven in the words that his guardian spoke immediately eliminated any other protest he might have, and he sighed reluctantly.

Did he truly want to wash such a journey off him? Did he truly want to let go?

Midna…

She said goodbye. He supposed he should too.

He didn’t want to say goodbye. It didn’t feel like it’s as over.

But he couldn’t say no to his mother, so he grabbed the shadow crystal and let the dark magic break and reshape him. It was a familiar sensation by now, intensely painful but only for a moment, and far less so now that he was expecting it. When the wolf shook free of the shadows, he tentatively stepped towards Uli and Rusl.

Uli smiled, kneeling onto the ground at the shore, arm stretched out invitingly. Link took another small step, listening to Rusl chuckle, and he felt his ears peel back in mild annoyance.

This was ridiculous. He didn’t need a bath. It was silly.

It was downright terrifying. He didn’t want to lose everything from his journey. He didn’t want to wash it off himself.

He didn’t know how to move forward.

Uli cupped her hands, letting sacred water sprinkle over Link. It was warm, relaxing, and he felt his body shiver as the dark magic that changed him tried to recede.

“This might not be the best place for this,” Rusl noted. Link glanced at him, disappointed that the man was already picking up that the water would change him back, but he also noticed a distinct unease to his guardian’s posture.

Rusl didn’t want to be here either. Somehow, his amusement had changed to anxiety. Link could sense it; he could smell it.

In an attempt to cheer Rusl and perhaps give a little act of defiance to Uli’s proposal in the first place, Link flopped on his side, splashing directly into the water and soaking his mother. The warmth wrapped around him like a hug, minimizing the pain as he shifted back, and he smiled up at his guardians as Uli spluttered and Rusl immediately looked relieved.

Does he really think it’s a gift if he gets that nervous? Link wondered, watching his father step toward him.

“Well, now you have an actual reason for a bath in both forms,” Rusl noted, and Link recognized that hew as now covered in mud.

Well… that backfired.

Uli tutted, rising, as Link spluttered for a comeback. Rusl tackled the protesting teenager. After a brief wrestling match, Link found himself in Rusl’s embrace, shivering from the breeze but warm against his guardian’s chest. Somehow, in the time they’d been playing, Uli had grabbed a large tub—the one they usually used for bathing anyway—and was filling it with water.

“Ma, I’m all clean now,” Link said quickly, looking himself over. He was soaking wet, but the mud was certainly gone.

“This is for your other form,” Uli insisted. “I got the water from upstream.”

“Does that make it less sacred…?” Rusl wondered quietly.

“Ordona hasn’t sat in it yet, I guess,” Link grumbled, growing irritated again.

“If we build a fire we can warm it up,” Uli noted with a smile.

Her face was too gentle to keep arguing with her, and Link sighed, leaning heavily against Rusl. He glanced up at him, catching his father’s attention, and Rusl held him a little tighter as if to ask what’s wrong?

“When I… you were…” Link swallowed, trying to find the words. He didn’t want to upset Rusl - things were tenuous enough after the night he’d discovered his ability.

“Link,” Rusl said quietly, gently. “I… we both are still trying to move on from that night. Your transformation doesn’t scare me. I know it’s you. You know that.”

“But—”

“My worries have nothing to do with you being a wolf,” Rusl interrupted. “Sometimes fathers just worry. I love you. Now come on, your mother’s waiting.”

Link sighed, not pushing the matter, but Rusl didn’t let him go as he guided him out of the water. Despite wanting to get it over with at this point, Uli made him wait until she was satisfied with the water temperature, dragging his embarrassment and anxiety out further.

Rusl distracted him with talk of sword fighting and tales from the Resistance, and eventually Link finally settled, nearly forgetting why they were at the spring in the first place.

Until Uli said the water was ready.

“Ma, do I have to?”

“Oh, Link, come on now, it isn’t that bad!”

Uli’s voice was growing more disappointed rather than exasperated, and Link felt a twinge of guilt. Sighing, he transformed once more. Rusl, with his back to the spring, gently nudged him forward, and Link grumbled, feeling it rumble in his chest like a growl before it shaped into a pathetic little howl of protest as it left his muzzle.

His parents laughed. They laughed at his plight.

Ears peeled, tail tucked, Link climbed carefully into the basin with Rusl’s help. As soon as the warm water started to seep into his coat, he swallowed, hesitantly relaxing into it. It… certainly felt nice. He resigned himself to his fate as Uli’s hands ran through his fur, gentle, careful, detangling as she went. He saw the tools stacked on a rock, gathered by Rusl over several trips to Castle Town, and he huffed again.

Link closed his eyes as Uli’s hands moved towards his face and muzzle. He closed his eyes, and for a moment time washed over him, hearing his mother’s screams on his first return to the village after transforming, feeling the steel of Rusl’s blade in his gut as he rested. He shriveled into himself a little, and Uli paused before carefully massaging along his nose, between his eyes, behind his ears. She started humming gently, a familiar tune he’d heard most of his life, and Link hated how his lupine form couldn’t hide his emotions like usual, hated how a little whine escaped his throat.

Uli leaned down and kissed his forehead, hugging him, careless of the soap suds she was getting on her. She didn’t speak, and he was thankful for it, as he felt his predicament couldn’t get much more humiliating, but somehow it soothed him anyway. As his mother continued, he dared to open his eyes, glancing at Rusl, who was watching him with a gentle smile. When they made eye contact, his guardian came in closer, cupping his muzzle with his hands and gently rubbing across the fur on his cheeks with his thumbs.

Link shivered a little, helpless and hating that fact. But he felt safe in their care, and… that was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Link had no need to worry about whether he actually felt safe - he would make a situation safe. Usually, he was the one people went to for safety. But here, in this quiet little moment, he relaxed.

He relaxed. He hadn’t done that since he’d gone fishing with Midna months ago, long before things had grown overwhelming and constant, before they’d managed to find most of the mirror shards, before urgency had kicked in over everything else.

With every new rinse, the stench of blood and dirt lessened. With every gentle caress, anxieties and tight muscles that hadn’t eased since fighting Ganondorf started to release.

Link stepped out of the tub, feeling utterly exhausted and rejuvenated, and he glanced at his guardians. They smiled back.

And then he got the sudden urge to get all this water off him. So he did.

He shook his coat vigorously, making Rusl and Uli yelp. If he could smirk in his wolf form, he would.

”Just for that, I’m using the puppy perfume,” Uli chided.

Link howled in protest, making a beeline for the woods, and Rusl grabbed him before he could flee. His ire was evident in each and every howl and yelp, in the way he wiggled so vigorously he covered his father in fur. Rusl only laughed, but he did finally concede, “Maybe we can avoid the puppy perfume, dear.”

With that threat rescinded, Link relaxed, held awkwardly in Rusl’s arms before grumbling and wiggling again. Put me down.

Rusl walked to the spring, grip tightening a little, before gently lowering him into the blessed waters. Link felt the dark magic recede, and he sighed, rising a little woozily, muscles still fairly relaxed, held steady by his guardian’s strong hands.

“There, see?” Rusl said with a smile, guiding Link out of the water. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I didn’t get a chance to brush your coat,” Uli noted a little disappointedly.

“You already bathed me,” Link pointed out exasperatedly. “I don’t need pampering.”

“Your fur’s going to be all matted, hon.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Leave it be, dear,” Rusl defended Link gently. “I think we could all benefit from a break.”

With that, Uli immediately switched tactics, insisting Link come home with them and rest. Link wanted to argue—it wasn’t like getting a bath was traumatic, not in the slightest, just embarrassing; it wasn’t like he hadn’t just had some kind of release from his journey, as she’d promised… it wasn’t like he was shivering and vulnerable all of a sudden, wanting to hold desperately on to that feeling of safety he’d just gotten back—but there was no argument in the world that would work against her.

Link let his parents guide him back to their house, and he found himself settled in front of the fire with a warm glass of milk. Colin was at his side in an instant, smiling and leaning against him. He paused, sniffing, making Link throw him a bewildered look.

“I thought you’d smell like the shampoo or something,” Colin said thoughtfully. “That form really does hide stuff.”

Link knew Colin meant it innocently, but given what Uli had said earlier, it really hit harder than it should. He shook the feeling off, elbowing his little brother. “Well, I’m glad. I don’t want to smell like roses.”

But what if he no longer held Midna’s scent in his fur either? His heart lurched a moment, chest feeling like he’d been punched, and his eyes widened a moment.

And then Rusl and Uli settled beside him with blankets and leftover biscuits from breakfast. And though Link still missed his friend so desperately, he knew he wasn’t at least completely alone.

And… perhaps washing some of the stains of his journey away had been a good idea after all.

[dangerdazee]

descendants: rise of red one-shot, in which uliana is not as big and bad as her "friends" lead her to believe

Uliana walks in front, a couple feet ahead, and the other four villains follow behind. They whisper as they walk.

"Goblin pastry? That's her plan?" Hook crosses one arm over his chest, propping up the arm with a hook and letting it sit up by face.

"How were our ideas not worse than that?" Hades questions.

"I'd much rather eat a little pastry than burn to a crisp." Morgie raises his eyebrows and purses his lips.

"Maybe there's more to the plan than just the cupcake." Hook's attempt to give Uliana the benefit of the doubt is not well-received.

"It's Uliana. You know there's not." Hades smirks.

Maleficent smacks her boyfriend on the arm.

"Hey!"

"Don't say that." But Maleficent's laugh doesn't really match her words.

"What's all the talking back there?!" Uliana stops abruptly and whips around, her hair flying.

"Nothing." Maleficent, Hades, Hook, and Morgie say in unison.

As soon as Uliana turns back around and the group of five continue walking, the four in the back stifle laughs.

Uliana thinks she's big, bad, and scary. She thinks all of the people in her little entourage are terrified of her and bow to her.

She couldn't be more wrong.

Why she ever expected evil personified to not be playing a cruel joke on her is beyond them. But she's been falling for it, hook (no pun intended,) line, and sinker.

It was Maleficent's idea first. When the five of them began to form a solid group, Maleficent immediately noticed Uliana's insecurity and confidence issues.

A good friend would try to be supportive and helpful, but this is Maleficent. She saw it as an opportunity to have a good laugh.

One day, the facade will fall and Uliana will be humiliated and the outcome of this evil prank will bring them great joy. But, honestly, they find it just as fun and satisfying to laugh behind her back about it.

"Should we even be getting back at Princess Perky?" Hades throws his arm over Maleficent's shoulders as they continue walking and whispering.

"Why? Are you going all soft?"

"Gross, no. The flamingo thing was just really funny." Hades gives a sly smile.

Uliana stops as someone calls her name. It's a teacher, so she's more inclined to actually pay attention and go. She tells the others to go on and she'd meet them later.

As soon as Uliana is out of earshot, Maleficent pipes up again.

"We could always... sabotage." Maleficent's face reveals that she's thinking hard.

"Bridget?"

"No- How would that make sense?" Hook pats Morgie on the shoulder, taking a bit of the edge off of his correction. "No, she means we could sabotage Uli's plan."

"Exactly."

"How?" Morgie asks.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. But we have a few hours left to figure it out."

Hook glances over at Uliana, seeing her angry and frustrated as the teacher speaks to her. Hook can only assume that she's not doing well in a class.

"Look, look. Look how upset she is." Maleficent, Morgie, and Hades turn their attention that direction and chuckle along. "Never gets old."

It would be only a couple years later that Uliana realizes what's been going on.

The anger in her was only beaten out by humiliation.

Suddenly, all these people who she thought feared her were making her feel small. And weak. It was as if they grew ten feet tall.

All the strength and power she thought she possessed dwindled down to almost nothing.

Uliana felt like her whole life was a lie, while Maleficent, Hades, Hook, and Morgie all laughed and had a grand time. They reveled in the result of their game.

Part of Uliana wondered if she deserved it.

.

[ @ladyoftheesun here it is! might rewrite sometime to improve it, and i'll tag you again if i do unless you tell me not to! ]

[merueeet]

tank grunt and his anger issues

We know that the Tank will definitely beat Ripp during the game. But why? What motivates him? I think it could be toxic masculinity, a desire to show his superiority (Tank is definitely experiencing self-doubt, fear of disappointing his father, so he NEEDS self-affirmation) sometimes he does it without even thinking.

But...What happens after that? I think he's definitely sorry. Mixed feelings overwhelm Tank, he feels guilt, but at the same time hatred. At such moments, he realizes that this is not what he wants at all. He doesn't want to be a monster in the eyes of his younger brothers, he's just a kid who wants to watch ballet again and make a face paint drawing... not a camouflage pattern... He just wants to stop all this. He wants to be a good brother.

It gets especially hard when he thinks about his mother. Would she really like to see him like that? Would she like to see her eldest son beating up his younger brother?

Tank is sorry. So sorry

[mihotose]

my recent playthrough i kept feeling like coffee was being mentioned Suspiciously often:

Evrart Claire - "We're not gonna give nothing. We're gonna *take* Terminal B away from them: the roads, the gates, the containers, that big crane... even the damn coffee maker. We're gonna take all of it for the people -- and *fuck* Wild Pines."

Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer) - "Why not? I'll be here until 23.00, drinking coffee most likely..."

Rhetoric - The acrid smell of failure...

Electrochemistry - No, that's just slightly burnt coffee. A smell you would recognise anywhere.

Echo Maker - "I would commit war crimes for some real Saramirizian coffee."

and so on. so i check fayde and find this interaction telling you not everything is Something. fine i get it!!

[slicznymartwy]

saccharine (you're billy's favorite.)

cis fem reader

warning: billy's being fucking weird again. stalking you from inside the house, stealing your panties, humping your pillow, breaking into your room and masturbating. dead dove stuff. don't read if that bothers you

read on ao3 here

Pushing open the door to the sorority house with all your might, you step inside with a relieved sigh. Finally, you’re home.

“Hello!” you call out, smiling to yourself as you waited for your sisters to respond. You unwrap your scarf until it hangs around neck and, still in silence, you lean against the banister to unzip your boots. Carefully, you peel them off – they’re brand new and a little damp from melting snow – and you leave them by the door to dry off.

“Hello?” you call out again, walking through the living room. “Is anyone home?” Still no answer.

You shrug off your heavy coat and hang it with the others. Some coats were missing, and some were left behind – it was the kind of day where the brightly shining sun staved off the bitter freezing wind enough that some students opted for their nicer lighter jackets. You, on the other hand, knew you ran too cold to be comfortable with just a sweater and denim jacket.

Turning away from the coats, you face the daunting house. Could you really be alone?

Sighing, you walk into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water from the tap, drinking half of it in one go. You gasp to catch your breath; you hadn’t realized you were so thirsty. Filling it up again, you walk a loop through the main floor before deciding that no one is hiding from you. Standing on the first landing of the stairs, you look up to the dark second floor.

“Hello? Seriously, you guys,” you call out, trepidatiously taking the first step. Taking a deep breath, you gather your courage and climb up the stairs. The sun is still shining, you tell yourself, there’s no reason to be afraid.

At the top landing, you glance down the hallway. You had always loved the sorority house, but it was moments like this that really scared you. An old house like this seemed to create shadows even on the brightest days. Every nook and cranny seemed to hold some villain, in your paranoid mind. Steeling yourself for the last time, you take a fortifying breath and hurl yourself up and beeline it for Clare’s room. You freeze when you take in the sight before you.

Clare, who was usually one of the first to get back from her morning lectures, was fast asleep in her bed. She was still wearing her day clothes, even down to her shoes. With a fond smile, you carefully close the door without making too much noise. You know your friend was overwhelmed with classes, and you’re just glad your yelling didn’t wake her up.

Feeling better now that you weren’t totally alone, you walk down the hall to your room, no longer jumping at every shadow you passed by. You laugh quietly to yourself, shaking your head at your overactive imagination.

Clicking on the lights to your bedroom, you leave the glass of water at your nightstand and sit down on the edge of your bed. You had plenty of assignments and projects to work on but seeing Clare nap made you feel a little sleepy too. With your hands resting on your stomach, you feel your eyes start to close on their own volition. You can always catch up with your work in the evening, you promise yourself. Just as you’re about to lose consciousness, you jump at the sound of the ringing phone.

You have no interest in picking it up, and if it was just you in the house, you probably would have let it ring until the caller gave up. With Clare trying to catch up with sleep next door, though, you rush downstairs to pick it up.

“Hello,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray your annoyance. Hearing nothing on the line, you try again. “Hello?”

Suddenly, the receiver crackles with noise, and it sounds so much like a dirty moan that you panic and slam the handset back on the hook, chest heaving with adrenaline. Before the phone can ring again, you take the handset off the hook and run back upstairs.

The Moaner, as your house has begun calling him, was becoming a common theme of discussion among your sisters. Some of the older girls had some gross fascination with him, and they liked to huddle close and listen as group as he spouted off some of the obscenest words you had ever heard. It turned your stomach to hear him talking about what he wanted to do to them, where he wanted to put his mouth.

Shaking your head to get rid of the thought, you run back upstairs and hope that no one had an important call for the house. It would have to wait until someone else got back. There was no way you were ready to deal with the Moaner by yourself.

You wake up from your nap to the sound of your sisters from the first floor. They sound close, like they’re all standing at the front door, and you do your best to fix your bedhead before stumbling downstairs. Turning the corner at the topmost landing, you can see them all whispering amongst themselves, but it isn’t very quiet. They don’t even notice you until you’re standing on the bottom landing, looking down at them with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” you ask one of the girls. Upon hearing your voice, the room goes quiet. Nervously, you glance at their faces, and they all mirror your expression. You gulp.

“Did someone die?” you ask worriedly.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Jess said, coming to meet you on the landing. She hugs you briefly, which you return without second thought. Gently, she leads you down the steps to join the other girls.

“Well, what is it?” you ask, wanting to rip off the band aid. You hate bad news, but you hate the bitter anticipation even more.

“It’s that pervert creep, the Moaner,” Barb started. She exhaled a cloud of smoke before continuing. “He called again.”

It wasn’t good news, but it didn’t explain their reaction towards you. Looking around at their faces, you knew it wasn’t the entire story.

“Okay,” you said slowly.

“He was talking about you. Pretty specifically,” Barb said. Although she tried to play cool, you could tell it had bothered her too. Your stomach turned, but you had sick wish to know what exactly he had said. Was he mad that you hung up on him?

“He knows my name?” you ask quietly.

“No, I don’t think so,” Phyl assured her, squeezing your arm comfortingly.

“He can be very descriptive,” Barb muttered, leaving the group to sit on the couch. Like ducklings behind their mother, the girls all followed her lead and settled in the living room too.

“What did he say?” you inquire, sitting beside Barb.

“We shouldn’t,” Phyl began, looking troubled.

“Why not? It’s about her, she should know,” Barb counters. She passes her cigarette to you, which you accept gladly. You didn’t smoke often, but your nerves were starting to make your hands shake.

“Really, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jess says. Your lips tremble slightly as you exhale, and you cover your mouth with a feigned cough.

Barb turns to you and asses you. “Do you really want to know?”

You nod and take another drag. “Tell me.”

Barb sighs heavily and takes another cigarette from the box on the coffee table, lighting it up for herself. The other girls look at each other, a mixture of sadness and nerves on all their faces. You can’t look at them, so you look at Barb instead.

“Clare’s the one who picked up. When we all ran over, he was already saying something about waking up. He said we had to wake ‘her’ up. Wouldn’t tell us who, but you were the only one who was asleep. Said he wanted to talk to you. Started getting all mad and worked up.”

“That’s enough, Barb,” Phyl said somberly.

“I’d wanna know if someone was saying this about me,” Barb protested, gesturing with her cigarette. “She’s not a child, you know. I wish you’d all stop treating her like one.”

You push your free hand between your knees and take another drag. “What else,” you say.

“Really-“ Phyl started, but you cut her off with a dark look. Barb was right, and you hated it when they treated you this way.

“What else did he say,” you ask Barb again. Barb gives you an unhappy smile. You’ve always been addicted to her approval since you first met her.

“He said he was going to wake you up himself. He really wanted to talk to you. I mean, I don’t even know how he knew you were asleep, unless the creeps been looking in windows.” That thought makes all the girls shudder, and the tension in the room manages to get worse.

“I don’t know. He said something about waking you up with his dick or something. You know how that pervert is. It’s just words, anyways. I think he gets his rocks off by scaring us, I doubt he’s brave enough to actually come over.” Barb lets out another cloud of smoke, and you can tell that whatever he said bothered her too.

You wonder if there’s more than she’s letting on, and if she just chickened out of telling you now that you were listening. Rubbing your eye, you pretend that it doesn’t bother you.

“You’re right,” you mumble, depositing the butt of the smoke into the ashtray. Barb nudges the box towards you, but you decline with a shake of the head and a tight smile. “Thanks for telling me. Guess I should keep my curtains closed from now on, huh?”

Barb smiles back and nods, patting your knee. With a little sigh, you stand up and look at the other girls. “I have some assignments I need to finish. Can someone get me when it’s time for dinner?” Clare nods, smiling up at you, and you smile back at her. It feels more genuine than your previous smiles, and you’re suddenly glad for the camaraderie you have with everyone in the house.

You retreat upstairs before you start crying in front of them. In your room, though, you collapse on your bed and feel tears already running down your cheeks. Damn those obscene calls and damn whoever was doing that. You didn’t know what you did to steal his attention, but it makes your skin crawl to think that this guy could see you somehow. Rubbing the back of your wrist on your cheekbone, you hurry to the window to close the blinds from prying eyes.

You clear your throat and flip the page of your book as you sit at your desk. Papers and books are cluttered around you like choppy lake water, but your desk lamp becomes the moon; it calms the chaos and puts its spotlight on your little rowboat.

“Sulfur dioxide, oxygen, and sulfur trioxide are placed in a closed system and allowed to reach equilibrium at a certain temperature according to the following reaction. What is the change in enthalpy with 1 mole of sulfur trioxide,” you say quietly, head bowed over your book. Your pen starts to scribble, and you whisper to yourself as you work. Under his breath, he mouths the words, what is the change in enthalpy.

Billy can hardly hear you, but it’s more than enough. Maybe it’s even better, because he can hear the way your lips move, can hear your tongue pressing around in your mouth all over the place. He swallows heavily and readjusts his supporting arm, then his knees. His entire body feels sore, but he can’t risk getting up to stretch. Missing a single moment of you is unbearable, and he presses his face even harder against the wooden attic floor.

He felt like he was staring into a dollhouse. He wanted to grab you and hold you in his hands. He could put you down his pants, make you hold onto his cock like you were hugging a tree. The thought made him giggle, and he bit his lip to keep quiet. Stupid slut, you always distracted him.

“The pressure is increased and the temperature is kept constant. Compared to the original number of moles of sulfur dioxide, the number of moles of sulfur dioxide present after the new equilibrium is reached is… ugh, I don’t know,” you say. Billy watches you lean back in your chair and rub your eyes under your glasses.

He would love to take them. He could rub his cock all over them, he bets. Could get his sticky cum all over the glass parts. He wonders if you would notice right away (probably, if you couldn’t see through them), but then you’d have to clean them off. You would still have to touch them. Maybe he’ll just rub his pre-cum onto the black parts of it. You might never know it was there. His cock twitches against his hand, reminding him why he was doing this in the first place. Still clad in denim, he rubs against the bulge in his pants as he continues watching.

You close your book with a slappy sound and sigh heavily. It looks like you’ve had enough studying for the night, but Billy wasn’t ready for you to sleep. He wanted to talk to you, hear your voice over the phone. It wasn’t enough to listen only to your stupid schoolwork, not when he really needed to hear you crying for his cock.

If he could just figure out your name. The stupid sluts in the house didn’t understand anything the last time he called. All they had to do was wake you up and get you to the phone, but they were just blabbering and shouting. He could have lined them up and strangled them one-by-one, he was so mad.

You were getting ready for bed now, which he also liked to watch. You had pretty hair, which you braided every night with a little ribbon at the end. You always left for the bathroom and then always came back wearing your pajama dress. Billy couldn’t help himself anymore, and he dropped his hips to the attic floor, pressing his cock against the dark hardwood.

The bedside lamp was clicked on, and you settled against you pillows – the same pillows Billy had started humping while everyone was out for the day. He thought that you had noticed but, after inspecting the stain, you shrugged it off and washed the sheets without question. Stupid slut doesn’t even know she’s sleeping on fucked pillows. Would you be jealous of them if you knew the truth? Would you want Billy to fuck you too?

It doesn’t take long for you to turn off your light and roll over onto your side. So beautiful, he thinks. A beautiful little whore. Fat, ugly, beautiful pig whore. He wants to bend you over the edge of your bed and shove his face in your ass, letting his tongue fuck into your pussy from behind. He wants to taste you so badly it hurts, and his dick is starting to hurt for real now. Stopping his hips for a second, he puts his hand underneath and presses down on himself instead. It feels better, he guesses, but not as good as it could be, with you.

Nothing was enough anymore. It was fun to cum on your pillows, and they smell so deeply of you that can pretend that he’s holding you in his arms as he fucks against it. But it’s also too soft, it gives in places where your body would be solid. Your panties are nice too, especially when they’re fresh and he can still smell your pretty cunt on the fabric, but that’s all they are. Fabric. Cum rags, once Billy was done with them.

It isn’t enough. His little dollhouse pig whore. He’ll pick you up out of your dollhouse bed and ruin you. Dirty Billy. Filthy Billy.

His body moves before his brain can catch up, and he walks on sore shaky legs to the ladder. He climbs down silently then pauses, waiting to hear a sound from any of the sleeping girls. Hearing nothing, he tip toes down the hall to his favorite room. He slips inside and it’s even darker than it seemed from the attic. With the door closed and the windows covered, there’s almost no light at all. She wouldn’t see him even if he was standing right over you.

With carefully measured steps, he walks around your bed to the side closest to your desk. It was still cluttered with textbooks and pages of notes. He wasn’t sure what caught his attention, because he never cared at all about schoolwork, but his eyes locked onto a simple piece of paper. Right at the top, he saw it. Your name.

At least, it might be your name. He takes the paper and folds it twice before slipping it into his back pocket. The name began bouncing around in his head like it was a red rubber ball, and his lips twitch as he imagines saying it. It suits you, he decides, a pretty name for a pretty slut.

He moves closer to your sleeping form, his thighs only a few inches away from the edge of your bed. Your back is to him, but it doesn’t matter at all. He can see more than enough – the shape of your shoulder from under your blankets, the lovely braid twisting around like a snake in your bed, the rising and falling of your body as you breathed. He loves you so much, it feels like heart is going to stop.

Slowly, without clinking the metal of his fly, he takes his cock into his hand and strokes himself. It’s dry, and a little bit abused from the floor, but it’s so perfect to do this in front of you. There’s nothing between them except the darkness.

It’s over quickly for Billy, and he steps forward as his cum shoots from his cock, landing in messy streaks on your bedding and your pretty pretty braid. The sight of that makes him want to cum again, and his cock twitches sadly.

He retreats upstairs to his hole and settles down again, watching you sleep next to a little piece of him.

“Dolly piggy slut,” he whispers to himself, blindly reaching for the paper in his back pockets and stroking it with his thumb. He’ll let you sleep tonight, he decides. His fun can start tomorrow.

Billy’s shaking as he dials the house phone number. He knows you’re awake, he’s heard you complaining about a missing assignment for an hour already. It made your voice sound different. You were usually so gentle and calm when you spoke, but he didn’t mind it this way either. Every whine you let out made him want to grab onto your hips and pull you onto his cock. He could even imagine how your voice would shake as he did.

He runs his finger over your name, just as he’s been doing all night. The writing was starting to get blurry, but that was mostly because of the drops of drying cum he had left. He couldn’t help himself, not when he started thinking about how you held this paper. It was almost as if he had cum on your hands. His cock twitched at the thought, but he shushes himself. He has to focus if he wanted to get this right.

“Hello?” one of the sluts chirps in his ear. Billy takes a deep breath, in and out, to calm himself. He must have been taking too long because she asks again, “Hello?”

He barks your name out to her, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Is she there? I wanna talk to her,” he stutters. A little helplessly, he puts his hand in his hair and pull on the tangly mess. This is torture, and his mouth itches like hell.

“Who is this?” she asks.

“Billy,” he says, then adds, “from school.”

“Oh yeah? What class?” the slut asks. Billy holds the phone away from his head and tries not to scream. His entire body feels itchy now, and he tries to take more steadying breaths, but it isn’t working.

He looks down at his cummed-on piece of you and reads from the top, obscenely angry, “Organic chemistry.”

“Okay, okay, calm down, buddy. Jeez, you science majors are all the same.” She must move the handset away because, when she shouts your name, he can barely hear it over the line.

Underneath his feet, he can hear you stomping from your bedroom to the staircase. “What?” you snap.

“Come on down, I have your soulmate on the line,” the stupid fat whore slut says to you. Even through his murderous haze, he likes the thought. Are you his soulmate? Could he be so lucky to have a soulmate as pretty and slutty as you? “Says his name is Billy from orgo.”

He hears you sigh, in real life and over the phone, as you thud down the stairs. “I don’t know a Billy from orgo,” you say.

“Well, he knows you. Maybe he knows who took that homework of yours,” she teases. The conversation is so tinny, and Billy wants to repeat all of it. Maybe Billy knows who took that homework of yours. Maybe Billy knows who took that homework of yours. He mouths the words to himself, rocking on his feet. Maybe Billy knows who took that homework of yours.

“Hello?” you say, and everything melts away.

“Hello?” he copies your intonation.

“Who’s this?”

“Who’s this?” He can’t help himself. Your words, your voice, your everything. He can still smell you, can still see your hair covered with his cum. You hadn’t even noticed it this morning.

“Seriously? You called me. I don’t know any Billy,” you say, and you sound angry. Are you angry at him? Billy holds onto his paper with one hand and the curly phone line with the other.

“Organic chemistry,” Billy repeats. “Billy from orgo.” You sigh, and Billy can pretend that you close your eyes when you make that sound.

“Do you need something?” you ask. Billy breaths for a moment, thoughts racing with words and sentences that beg for him to scream them out loud. There’s so much he wants to say, so many details that are on the tip of his tongue. He could go on forever on what he wants from you.

“Hello?” you say again. Billy tries, but he can’t stop the quiet laugh that finally breaks free from his mouth. “Seriously, who is this?”

“I-“ he gasps, laughing harder. “Wanna taste you.”

“I don’t understand,” you say. You sound so confused, so stupid. He loves you so much.

“Taste your pig cunt.” Again, he laughs, and his hand tightens on the coily phone line. Coily like a pig’s tail. He laughs even harder and snorts.

“Oh my God,” you say, but it’s so distant it’s almost not even there. All Billy can think about is what he needs, and he needs you, so badly he thinks he might die.

“Pretty piggy cunt. Gonna suck your pretty pig clit.” He snorts, only because the sound spills from his lips without his permission. Again, he laughs. “Pig whore slut. What’s the change in enthalpy?”

“What?” you gasp. Your breath is coming quickly and harshly over the phone. Billy moans, imagining that it’s his cock that’s drawing this sounds from you.

“Maybe Billy knows who took your homework. Pig slut. Piggy slut cunt, gonna stick my fat cock inside. Did Billy take your homework? Piggy?”

“No, no,” you panted, and Billy snorts gladly.

“My favorite pig slut. You’re gonna hug my juicy fat cock, piggy,” he promises.

“What do you want?” you whisper on the phone.

“Your cunt,” he whispers back. You’re the only two people on the entire world, Billy is sure.

“Why? Why me?” your voice is high and soft. You’re so quiet, like you don’t want the sluts you live with to know. Do you want to be Billy’s little secret? Billy laughs and gasps.

“Can I suck your clit? Can I suck your fat swollen pig clit? You can suck my cock after too, baby,” he rambles happily.

“Stop it, Billy.”

“Stop it, Billy,” he parrots back to you. “Pig slut.”

“That’s mean.” That makes Billy’s smile fall completely from his face. “Don’t call me anymore.”

“No. I love you,” Billy whispers.

“Don’t call me anymore,” you say again.

“Don’t call me anymore,” he repeats, then laughs.

“Stop it!”

“Stop it! Filthy Billy! I love you!” he shouts.

“Quit it!”

“I’m gonna stick my tongue up your cunt tonight,” he promises, and he means it so deeply, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll get his way.

“I’m hanging up,” you say. Then the line goes dead. Billy slams the handset down, but he can’t wipe away his smile.

Sitting on his armchair, he picks up the phone and puts it on his lap, sighing contently. Soon, he tells himself. He’ll get to taste you soon. No more pillows or panties or papers with your name. He’ll just have to keep his patience until then. Opening his hand with the paper, he strokes your name again. Soon.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

part ii

[smilesrobotlover]

The dads being cute with their lovers (sorta)

I hc that Rito kiss each other by touching the top of their beaks to something (their beaks aren’t touching but that’s just cuz I can’t draw 💀💀) so they’re doing a lil Rito kiss <3 I WISH we had more of them man.

[fictionadventurer]

Imagine what it must have been like for Mark Twain to see Ulysses S. Grant write his memoirs. Twain's a successful career author, who, like all writers, knows firsthand the struggle of getting words on a page, knows how painstakingly slow and frustrating the writing process can be. And here's Grant, with no literary training whatsoever, dying of cancer, barely sleeping or eating because of the excruciating pain, regularly writing 10,000 words a day. And it's good.

I'd be tempted to give up writing right there. How do you compete with that? You can't be jealous of the guy, because of the whole "dying of cancer" thing, and yet...it's gotta just about drive you nuts. It just about drives me nuts. In good health, I can work for hours to get a few sentences on a page. And then this guy's showing us all up. It's maddening.

[hyliascommonwealth]

I just.. I need more Uli x Gil. Especially after Uli got wrecked by TotK

haha, aww. especially in the present day, Uli does tend to seek comfort with Gilbert, since he's not an active representative, and they have had a fairly close friendship since the Era of Decline when he'd fallen under temporary external control (think Chibitalia days) back in those days he wound up living with Spain (much to his disdain)

Uli was given over to Gilbert after Spain is unable to continue dealing with the Aggressive nature of the Hylian Representative. (this is also my dumb reason why there is so much Christian iconography in the Legend of Zelda (1986) and The adventure of Link (1987) for this universe)

Though Uli worked for Gilbert during one of his 'annoying prick' arcs, he grew to respect him for varying reasons. inevitably would grow apart for a time, especially with the Calamity striking in the early 1910s. but after all is said and done, Uli finds much comfort with Gilbert.

[weepylucifer]

15. for the writing prompt?

15. "No worry, you weren't that obvious."

They meant to have a quiet evening in the meeting room today, just Steban and Uli by themselves. Not even a proper reading group meeting, just dinner and some coffee, sitting together and studying, maybe talking over this week's coursework at most. But then there was a knock on the metal grille and a voice hissing the passphrase, and that strange cop who was here once already entered again with his friend in tow.

The gendarme in the disco clothes just wants to talk, brainstorm new thoughts he's internalized. The other one remains inscrutable, hanging back and only occasionally pitching in with some sarcastic comment, not precisely very constructive. Ulixes ponders the man and finds he doesn't trust him. Why did he even come back here with his friend, if he has nothing but disdain for Mazovian thought? Why the orange airman jacket, which seems almost like a mockery? Is he observing them, just waiting for a reason to take them in? For all his bravado, Ulixes isn't sure he actually wants to go to jail for the cause, at least not before he's had the chance to engage in some real action.

So Ulixes watches the airman jacket cop right back, and feels a growing, restless unease in his mind, like something poking at the tender meat of his brain. A tension headache is coming on, like a storm brewing.

Now, the disco cop and Steban are getting into a debate - or rather, the disco cop is trying to debate whether or not a police officer, indirectly employed by the Moralintern, could be a socialist revolutionary. He's citing the origins of the RCM, the way they still rely on the decomptage system. Surely that's something, right? Proof that the RCM can be whipped up into a bona-fide communism-building force? Ulixes leaves the talking to Steban, knowing he's more than capable of handling this topic by himself. Still, it only irritates him more. He begins to bounce his leg, work off the gathering nervous energy, until Steban puts a warm, calm hand on his knee. It soothes him, but only slightly. Storm clouds swirl.

Only a week ago, this cop and his colleagues dragged a communard holdover off one of the little islets in the bay and arrested him for the murder of a fascist mercenary. A grizzled old man, decrepit, delirious, barely alive. Ulixes wasn't there to personally see it, but Steban happened to be dropping off his laundry with the washerwoman in the fishing village when it happened. He told Ulixes all about it. He doesn't know, he said, if that old man was really a murderer, and it doesn't really matter one way or the other. What he does know is that the whole thing was a shameful display.

A communist cop. Sure.

Now the cop in the airman jacket makes another one of his dry little quips. Was he there when they hauled that old man off to die in a cell? It truly does not matter if the old man was a killer, or indeed a communard. He was a vagrant whom no one would miss, and the RCM needed results. Rumor is they extracted a confession on that islet. Is that true? No one can tell.

Ulixes shakes his head and refocuses on the conversation. Some comment has just been thrown Steban's way, some humorous barb (the humor is questionable) about how Steban is inexperienced, young, not worldly like these seasoned cops who've seen it all on Revachol' streets. Who've seen real action. It's patronizing. It's cloying. Worst, it makes Steban flush and quieten, hits him where he lives. Ulixes is seething.

How dare they make fun? Sure, Steban might not have done an awful lot of revolutionary praxis. But he's trying his best! He's not some naive child, he grew up poor in Revachol West too, he knows exactly how the world is, yet still he hopes! It is a hope that is hard-won! It is among the most respect-inducing things Ulixes knows. He's ready to pounce on those men from his perch, go for their jugulars, bite and tear and see a spray of arterial blood speckle the walls, splash all the way over here across Steban's pretty face...

Steban's hand on his knee squeezes once. He glances back at Uli, checking in, but also gently warning. "It's okay," he murmurs and turns back around.

Why is Steban still humoring these men? Why won't he just tell them to leave, go out and never come back? Is he afraid that there'll be consequences, that the nice, jovial officer with the Mazov-like mutton chops will stop being so nice the moment he's not getting what he wants out of them? Or does he really, actually see potential here? Ulixes takes a deep breath through his nose and reminds himself that successful revolutions tend to hinge on getting the military or, yes, police on-side. Maybe Steban is thinking in similar patterns here.

Steban can, in fact, recover. He regains control of the conversation, trades a mild jab back at the expense of the cops (something Uli doesn't quite get about growing up in Villalobos and knowing the RCM only as... something in someone's poppy fields). The disco cop seems a bit taken aback by the lack of enthusiasm for the revolutionary RCM that exists in his mind. His friend, Uli notices, is watching his reactions, eyes intent and hawkish behind those spectacles. A foot taps once, twice, thrice, and then is reined back in. For a second, one gloved hand drifts over to where a gun would be holstered, then is twitched away to ball into a fist at the man's side. He is watching, Uli realizes, for things to defend his partner from.

Self-recognition in the Other does not calm Ulixes down. It only tells him where his enemy is. He is facing a known constellation: a Sensitive Instrument and a self-styled protector thereof, it being known to them both that sensitive men require a line of defense against the harshness of a world they have no innate mental shields against. And Uli's going to defend his one better. He's going to win. He doesn't care that the other one has a gun. This is his primary target, and he's ready to maul.

He keeps his gaze fixed on said target, and almost misses the debate winding down.

"I suppose we've reached an impasse," Steban says not unkindly, folding his hands on his lap, and

"Yeah, well, much to think about," the disco cop relents.

"Detective..." his partner begins, at the same time Ulixes says, "Steban."

Steban tilts his head. The disco cop raises an eyebrow. Some unspoken communication passes between them, and then the disco cop says, "Yeah, me and Kim should probably head back home."

"Kim and I," Ulixes hears as the cops file out of the room, and he is alone with Steban at last.

Relief is slow to come. In the new quiet of the meeting room, Ulixes vibrates, wound so tight he feels near combustion. "I was going to kill that man," he gets out past clenched teeth. "I was going to kill that police officer."

"Yes, I know," Steban says, so casually that Ulixes is certain that indeed, he does know. "No worry, you weren't that obvious. I don't think they noticed."

A kind lie. A politeness.

Uli's breath is still coming quickly, his hands clenching and unclenching in powerless rage. He still trembles. Trying to suppress it is nearly painful, making him feel like he will surely shake apart. His jaw feels fused shut with the force with which he's grit his teeth.

Steban, of course, sees this. His hand settles back on Uli's knee, still just as warm and soothing. "Shh. It's okay, they're gone. Nothing happened. You can calm down."

The touch is nice, but not enough. "Steban... I, I might need..."

"Yes, I know." This isn't new. Steban knows what Uli needs when he gets in his own head like this, when the world is too much, too loud and too hot and too wrong, and he feels like boiling from the inside. Momentarily, he finds himself being eased down from his perch on the backrest and being made to lie down on the sofa proper. Steban unceremoniously sits on his legs and proffers a hand.

Ulixes grabs it in both of his, brings it up to his mouth and bites down.

Steban lets out a muffled little grunt as Uli's teeth sink into his flesh, but barely winces. He knows this feeling well already. He lets his index and middle finger rest on Uli's tongue, depressing it slightly, and keeps them there as Ulixes begins to furiously suck and gnaw upon them. That's good, for a moment, but he still needs something more.

He reaches for Steban and whines, and Steban removes his fingers, slick with saliva. "Yes? What is it?"

"I... can I...?" Ulixes pleads with his eyes, and grasps Steban's hips in both hands, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops.

"Of course, but give me a moment first," Steban says. "Not quite there yet."

'A moment' is taking too long. Ulixes strokes Steban through his pants, helps him along, and Steban tips his head back and sighs, pleasured, as Ulixes feels him firm up. At long last, he's permitted to tug Steban's pants and underwear down, watch his cock spring free, and immediately attach to it, swallow it down as deep as it will go.

The firm weight on his tongue is exactly what he needs. Indulging this need soothes and cools like nothing else, just something about having his mouth full, his one definitive goal to focus on... but not too much. He doesn't want to bring Steban off too quickly. Better yet to draw it out, feel Steban get hard in his mouth, feel him start to leak and finally spill himself over... not yet. Not yet time for that. For now he will be excellently well-used for Steban's pleasure, for now he'll lick and suckle and drool and not think. Lose himself in base fulfillment, hazily aware of the satiated little whimpers he's making as he inches downwards trying to take as much as he can. Above, Steban moans and huffs but he's far away. A surplus of spit runs into Ulixes' beard but that's okay.

His mouth busies. His mind empties. There is only sensation now which Ulixes must seek blindly. He closes his eyes and relaxes his throat and allows bliss to wash over him.

[floenz]

I want the next dfk please to have martin as the main character and johnny to have written the script for the flying classroom (not sure rn if he wrote it in the 73 version but in both 03 and 23 he didnt) and also for Sebastian Frank to be present and smart and cutting and lonely and also for Justraucher to make out sloppy style on screen

[monsterfloofs]

🍓 Maestro?

Maestro!! 💖💖💖

💧 Maestro actually has a leaf taken out of a book from an older character I had made. . . gosh, years ago! A ghost named Ulysses who haunted a theater with his brother. Uly was of a very similar temperment! Not a musician though, he was an actor. Stuck up, a dash of snobbery and actually a lil over dramatic romantic side if you EVER got to see it! Both have quite a temper on them, but I do have to say Uly is probably the more energetic of the two. An actor through and through. 😏

💧Maestro had a issue with his cousin, a relationship that ended in travesty when said cousin took a song he wrote, unknowing that Mae composed it himself and used it to boost his career. It was an accident and miscommunication of a younger kiddo looking up to an older and cooler family member and wanting to emulate them, but Mae has never forgiven Angelo for that.

💧 Maestro is also a picky eater, and he also tends to forget to take care of him in the thralls of creative inspiration.

💧 He is ridiculously socially awkward, so he has been trying to write a song for the protag. in an attempt to tell them how he feels. Nothing he seems to compose feels good enough though! ^^ )

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Rusl awoke abruptly.

He wasn't entirely sure what had woken him, but something was definitely distinctly different.

Was Hana crying? No. But something was rumbling, a rhythmic sound that was loud and vibrated gently against him as it emitted from somewhere in the bed.

Rusl blinked his eyes open, scrunching his nose as fur tickled it.

Snoring. He was woken up by snoring.

Slowly, Rusl raised his head just a little to look at the bundle of fur snuggled between him and Uli. Link had been unable to turn back into a Hylian yesterday due to the sleet, which, based on the pitter patter on the roof, had likely continued into the early morning. Uli and Rusl had warmed him up and let him stay with them, neither parent felt comfortable just leaving him resting on the floor in front of the fire. Somehow, though, Link had taken far more space on the bed as a wolf than he ever had as a Hylian, and Rusl was nearly about to fall off the bed this morning.

Link snored again, a loud, ridiculous sound that might as well have been a bulbin battle cry. Biting the inside of his cheek, he glanced upward a little farther to see Uli already on her side, head propped in her hand, trying her absolute best not to burst out laughing.

"So this is the true curse of the shadows," Rusl surmised quietly.

Uli couldn't help the snort that erupted out of her, and she quickly descended into a fit of giggles.

[angelsaxis]

And i am steadily making chima's fashion more nigerian

[smilelikeacheshirecat]

Date for Castlecoming

Pairings: Bridget Hearts x fem!reader

Genre: fluff

word count: 1.6k

Summary: Bridget and reader have a crush on each other but reader don’t know Bridget is sad to know you don’t like Castle coming but you pulled out the courage to ask her.

note: I just find Bridget so cute and sweet I couldn’t help but write about her.

Red and Chloe watches as Uliana disappear with all the other villains following after her. 

At least now they know who’s gonna prank Bridget. The two girls then follow to where their mothers ran off to and had finally caught up to them inside.

“How’s Uli doing?” Bridget asked still feeling guilty of what happen. “I feel so terrible. . . . I should go apologize—” before she could turn to look for Uliana, Red had step in front of her, stopping her from leaving.

“Don’t!” Ella said.. “She did it to herself. And it serves her right.” She told her. “She’s always bullying us.” She explained to the two girls.

Red nodded in understanding. But them all heads turn t someone calling for Ella. The door opened, stopping the conversation, and Prince Charming walked in.

“Ella, you that was amazing.” He said to them.

Ella couldn’t help the smile appear in her face at the prince’s arrival.

“You ladies bested Uliana! I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before. That makes you braver than I am. And I’m a prince!” He turned to Red and Chloe. “Though I don’t really like to push the royal angle.”

Chloe couldn’t help but smile at the familiar feeling of seeing her parents together. But red could only jut stare at the prince, her interest in him disappear when Chloe told her that he was her Dad in the future.

“Yet you always find a way,” Ella said stiffly.

Charming grinned at her attitude and turned once more to Red and Chloe.

“You’re the new girls, right? I’m Charming.”

“That’s debatable,” Ella argued.

They’re always the same even in the past. Chloe thought , recalling the same conversation her parents would have back home.

Charming ignored her comment and continued speaking to Red and Chloe. “And you guys picked the right time to show up, because . . . it’s Castlecoming week!” he said a little excited.

He tried to catch Ella’s gaze, wanting to hint something but no luck. She seemed to be intentionally avoiding his’.

“Castlecoming is an outdated, elitist tradition,” Ella informed.

“Wait, so . . . does that mean you’re not . . .” Charming question.

“Squeezing into a super-expensive dress and painful shoes? No thanks,” Ella stated.

Charming tried to hide his disappointment. “Right. Well . . . if you happen to change your mind, I’ll see ya there.” He flipped his hair in his charming way before he turned and took off down the hall.

Ella watched him, her expression unreadable. While her best friend just each them interact with a knowing smile on her face.

“Hey, Ella, he seemed very interested in your plans for the festival,” Chloe said. “Was I sensing some chemistry?” She added in a suggestive tone.

“Uh, no.” Ella scooted at the accusation. She turn to Bridget who was fidgeting with her necklace and gave her a look. “Okay, yeah, everyone loves him. And sure, he’s gorgeous and he seems nice, but you know how royalty is.” But she quickly corrected herself. “Except you, B. You’re different.”

Chloe stared at her mother in disbelief. How her parents had ever ended up together was starting to seem like a mystery to her. She had always thought they re love at first sight but seeing what just happen, that doesn’t seems to be the case.

Bridget sighed longingly. “I just wish someone was that interested in going with me. Everyone already has plans, so . . .” she explained to Red, having a particular person in mind.

Bridget had intentions of asking but the fear of rejection compels her throw such plans and bury her unresolved feelings deep deep down where no one could every see or find out about.

Red seems to be curious about another information about her life, she never know who her mother ended up with. and hr mother wasn’t one to share such intimate information with her.

During the conversation, something caught Ella’s eyes, she look closer and notice a certain brunette walking on their way, you. Ella looked at her best friend with a sly smile.

“Bridget?”

“Hmm?” Bridget hummed in respond but a yelp escape her lips as Ella abruptly turn her. Now she is face to face with the very brunette she was thinking about.

“Hey Bridget” the brunette princess greeted happily at the sight of the sweet pink princess.

“Hey, Hi hi hi y/n” Bridget couldn’t help but laugh nervously when facing you. A side of her that aren’t normally displayed.

It was most certainly foreign to see her mother like this. Red was already bombarded on how sweet her mother was compared to how she knows her. Red had seen how her mother rule over wonderland for 16 years of her life. The tyrant, said that her dress is as red as blood of all her victims off of their heads. 

“I heard what happen.” you then inspect every each of Bridget, making sure nothing was out of place. You were so worried after you heard what happen that you practically jump from your seat and race to where she is. “I’m glad your okay” you said after making sure she truly is okay.

“Of course I’m fine” Bridget smile again, feeling a little bashful of the display of concern from her. But them a frown reappears on her face as she recalls what happen. “I hope Uli is alright”

You smiled at the girl in front of you. No matter how mean or bad someone can be to her, she would still worry about others before herself. Which sometimes worries you.

“I’m sure she’s fine and probably had it coming so you don’t have to worry about her okay?” you reassured.

“Okay” Bridget nodded and smile at the comfort.

“Hey Ella” You turn to the blue-haired girl who had a cheeky smile on her face as she watches the two of you.

“Hi y/n” Ella greeted you back. Other than Bridget, you were the other princess she likes. “Any plans for Castlecoming?” She asked.

“Oh, well…I despise everything it stands for regardless of me being royal” you said honestly, showing disinterest for the event.

You weren’t one that enjoys dancing around in a heavy, extravagant ball gown, putting fake smiles and forcing to talk with other royal children in hopes of creating friendship with other kingdoms. That would only cause her stress rather than entertainment. You would rather stay in your room or better yet the library with a good book and hot cup beverage and drowning out the worries of reality.

You train of thoughts may had made you missed the sad look in Bridget’s eyes but the other girls in your company didn’t. It was obvious that the Princess of Hearts likes you but she lacks the courage to ask her.

Lucky for her, she doesn’t have to.

Ella cleared her throat, catching your attention.

You turn to look at Ella. The blue-haired girl tilted her head towards Bridget, encouraging her. 

You looked at Bridget who’s sad expression disappeared the moment she notice that you were now looking at her.

“Bridget?” You started.

“Yes?” 

“Will you go to Castlecoming with me?” You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, collecting all your courage and finally asked. It no longer matter to you if you gets rejected today, a long as you were able to asked Bridget. And if she did said yes, then Castlecoming would definitely be more fun.

“But you just said . . .” Bridget started.

“I know but if we go, it won’t be so bad.” You stated.

With that Bridget squealed in delight at the news. “Yes yes yes” she couldn’t contain herself and starts jumping up and down and pulled you into a hug, squeezing in excitement.

“You’re coming too Ella” You declared.”And we’re not taking no for an answer” you said firmly when you saw the girl was about to decline the offer.

“We could set her and Charming for a dance” you whispered to Bridget who smiled in agreement.

With no way out Ella reluctantly agreed. 

“We have to go try on dresses right now.” Bridget let go you before taking Ella’s hand in hers. “We only have two days!” She spun into Ella’s arms.

“I can’t. I have to get back home. But maybe later?”

“Okay,” Bridget said, her smile ever leaving her face.

She was to excited, she’s gong to castle coming with her best friend and the person she’s been meaning to be with. She gave Ella one last squeeze before taking taking your hand, dragging you away with her.

“Who was that?” Red was finally able to asked as she saw the two princess running off to who knows where.

“Princess Y/n also known as Bridget crush since forever” Ella said smiling she was finally seeing Bridget happy with someone. 

But that didn’t clear up anything for Red, she never know anyone by the name Y/n let alone someone who is close to her mom and has feelings for no less. Who is this person and how come she had never meet you before and yet you seems to be someone important to her mother’s life.

Where was this person when the prank happen, how come she had never heard of you before. Too many questions running inside her head that she didn’t question Ella when she left to go home as well.

While at Bridget’s dorm room, she had pulled out ever dress in her clothes checking each one and showing it to you.

To be honest you don’t know which one to choose because Bridget looks beautiful in all of them.

Bridget didn’t mind modeling of her dress, clearly enjoying herself especially now that you and her are together.

They spent most of the day inside the room, enjoying each other’s company as they tried on different dresses they’ll be wearing.

And maybe after Castlecoming you could be more than dates going to the dance.

[descendantsramblings]

Just a short cute thing where Fem! Reader and Maleficent are dating and Mal just loves teasing her gf by turning into her dragon form in small

Pure fluff, thank u :>

“Short cute” is speaking my language rn. So glad to be back to writing long stuff but between these and writing a layout for a Dead Boy Detectives fic I needed a good head canon or Drabble 🖤

Also I wrote and edited this whole thing while on the clock at work so forgive me if something is a little odd, I HATE typing on mobile because it’s easier to get typos.

Play

Maleficent x Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Summary: watching her girlfriend study can get just so boring

Warnings: descriptions of Maleficent turning into a dragon but it’s really nothing (at least as a horror and body horror fan it’s absolutely nothing but I’ll warn you just in case), fluff

Word Count: 1.1K

Pic because finding gifs of my girl (who’s almost always background or literally on Hades lol) is so hard

She can’t say no one warned her. Of course, Maleficent thought her girlfriend hung the sun, she was humanities own light source. All aglow when she was excited and warm enough that the dark fae was constantly convinced she had a fever. She was obsessed with her, but that doesn’t mean the rest of her friends lied when they said dating a hero kid could get so boring. Not that (Y/n) in general was boring, it was actually pretty easy to get her running around with the villains, but when she felt like being good? She could get obnoxiously good. Like straight As helping out in soup kitchens type of good. Which if the pixie was honest, she found that side of her girlfriend extremely endearing. Sometimes she even wonders if that sweet half of her is what saw Maleficent as worthy for her. Not that she’d ever admit to that out loud, it would wreck her image. If the fact that she could watch the girl complete mundane tasks in complete infatuation didn’t already kill her image. Or at least she normally could watch her like that.

The girl had been studying for an hour, rewriting her notes in a decorative and color coded way that she swore made it easier for her to study. “Rewriting it makes me think about it harder, Mali. Engraves it into my memory.” It sounded like an excuse to her, seemed to her that the girl just liked to look at pretty things. Not that she minded, whatever she wanted to do was fine by her, (Y/n) was her own woman. And Maleficent loved to be the pretty thing she was looking at, so who was she to complain about other ones? But Mali was starting to wonder if she and Tinkerbell had something in common. If she didn’t get her girlfriend’s attention soon she was sure she’d just fall over and just die. She was growing weaker by the second, she was positive of that. And getting the girl’s attention away from swirling pretty calligraphy into a notebook was proving to be impossible.

Every nuzzle to her neck was met with a playful push. Kissing her face just earned the pixie a “Mali, doll, I’m working.” It was infuriating. Why let her in if (Y/n) only planned on ignoring her? Her pale arms make their way around the princess’ waist, face falling against the girl’s back with a dramatic sigh. “I’m almost done, Doll. Just two more pages.” Two more? That won’t do, she needs more attention now. “Come on,” she drags the word out pulling away from her girlfriend with a whine. “Since when are you so good?” “I’ve always been good, Doll. You’re the villain between us, remember?” She uncaps a different pen, readjusting the notebook before her. “You don’t seem so good when you’re out running around with me and the other VKs. You ask how high when Uliana says just just like Morgie does.” It gets her a hum, pen tapping against the page in the speedy pattern. “Yeah well, if I make Uli happy she’ll do my hair. No one else here can braid like she can.” Mali laughs, “Fine, then if we can’t cuddle, let’s go see if she’ll do your hair. Give me something.” “I’ll be done soon.” She scoffs, lightly smacking the back of the girl’s shoulder, “You said you were doing homework.” (Y/n)’s eyes roll, sparing the girl a look over her shoulder, “Studying is homework, Mali.” Now her eyes roll, throwing herself back on the bed, “This isn’t studying. Studying is reading over notes, this is some other thing.” She hums, “Maybe that’s why my grades are higher than yours.” It’s a playful remark, the girl poking her tongue out at the pixie before turning back to her work.

She wants to play? Okay, they can play. She cuts a look to the girl, a pen cap held loosely in her mouth as she delicately drags a pen brush across a page. She was distracted enough. Turning into a large dragon took far too much energy from her, but a small one? One that could fit right in the girl’s lap? That was easy. Maleficent could barely feel it as her bones gave way. Shoulder blades and vertebrae stretching out to form the structure of wings. Purple scales forcing their way through pale skin, tearing their way into veins to beseen. She hasn’t let wings of any kind come out in so long, it felt heavenly. The stretch making her suppress a whimper. She desperately needed to do this more, instead of just when she felt the need to harass her way into getting what she wants.

Slowly, careful not to make too much noise, she flaps her wings, once, twice. By the third time, when she realized the sound wasn’t alerting (Y/n), she knew she could take flight. Fluttering through the dorm, she lands on the girl’s dresser, blowing a small puff of flames onto a candle then settling beside it. Waiting, glowing green eyes trained on the girl who had playfully become her prey. The smell of smoke would alert her, it always did. Lilac and smoke slowly and softly fill the air, making the princess look up, worried eyes glancing around the room before landing on her dresser. “Really? You’re that desperate for me?” Desperate? No, she was anything but that. While her eyes are away from the page, Maleficent takes flight again, swooping up the pens the girl was using before fluttering over her head.

“Mali, you’re just prolonging how long it will be before I can lay back and cuddle with you. You know that, right?” Her hand shoots up for her pens and the dragon flies closer to the ceiling. “This is ridiculous, you are being ridiculous.” Pens clatter into the wastebasket by the girl’s desk, the dragon swooping in to fill the girl’s lap before she can get up to retrieve them. “Are all fae this needy or just you?” The question is met with a nuzzle against her stomach, the dragon refusing to get too close to her skin in case she’d scratch the delicate stretch of flesh.

Sighing, the girl closes her two notebooks, pushing them to the side before she lays back. “If I take a little study break will you let me finish my work without whining?” The dragon crawls up her stomach, tilting her head to the side. Sweeten the deal. “If we cuddle?” Letting out a sigh, Mali curls up on the girl’s chest, her head laying just so close to her heart she feels as if she’s hearing the lubb-Dubb of it in her own head. “You’re not gonna turn back into a girl for me? Made you wait so long that I only deserve scales?” It’s not a complaint, not a real one at least. Her nails digging into the space between two wings, a glorious scratching sensation that makes Maleficent’s eyes lull closed. She was never above playing if the Royal wanted to play. She was always the winner of the girl’s long games.

[slicznymartwy]

saccharine pt ii (you're billy's favorite)

cis fem reader

warning: billy's being fucking weird again. stalking you from inside the house, stealing your panties, humping your pillow, breaking into your room and masturbating. obsessive billy. 69ing. dead dove stuff. don't read if that bothers you

read pt i

read on ao3 here

Billy waits until the house is empty to drop from the attic.

He passes by Claude in the hallway, who gives him a disinterested once over before rolling onto his other side.

“Meow,” Billy says, stopping next to the old cat.

Claude croaks a little hello, and Billy goes on his way.

When he first started staying in the big brown house on Belmont Street, Billy spent his lonely days investigating the sluts’ bedrooms one by one. It was fun to dig around aimlessly, poking through their dirty clothes and their garbage cans, until he would hear a noise and scrambled back up the attic.

In those early days, he did his best to be extra cautious; no matter how badly he wanted to, he never took any panties with him back to the attic and he never messed with their beds. He knew that if they found out he was looking through their rooms, they’d chase him out. He wanted to stay with all of you in the big brown whorehouse.

Your room was the last room he explored, it being the closest to the staircase to the main floor. Standing in front of your door for the first time, he had no way of knowing how much you would change him.

The smell in your room was intoxicating. It was sweet, like pretty flowers in a crystal vase. It soaked into your messy sheets, which he stumbled towards excitedly, and he buried his face against the indent where your body must have been. He breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering shut, then moaned. Was he already getting hard?

Again, he breathed in deeply, moving so that he was laying on the bed. You smelled so good, whoever you were. He wished that he could put a face to this smell. Wished he could imagine whose pussy he’d fuck while you rubbed your pretty scent all over him.

His jeans were tight and pushing his dick down against the mattress made him moan again. Sitting straight, he crawled up the bed and dropped down with his head against your pillows. The smell was even stronger here, and he shoved his face into the soft white cushion as far as it could go.

He was definitely hard now, pressing against the unforgiving denim. He undid his pants and let himself free. Breathing in deeply, he wrapped his hand just around the tip of his cock and squeezed.

“Pretty pig,” he whispered, lips moving against the wet spot already forming on the pillow. He tried to slurp up some of his drool, but his heavy breathing made it pointless. It didn’t matter to him either way.

He fisted his cock a few times, but his hand was dry even with the leaking fluid that gathered at his slit. As he breathed in your pillow, his mind began to wander; he pictured your pretty imaginary head against these pillows every night, rubbing your smell on them. You had pressed your cheek to these pillows, your hair, maybe even your lips. These pillows were like your face, Billy concluded. He wanted to fuck your face.

After that point, he’d made it a habit to visit your room almost every day. It was your fault, really. You shouldn’t smell so good, shouldn’t have such soft pillows, shouldn’t be such a perfect pretty pig slut.

Today, he opens your door, just like he had done yesterday and like he will do tomorrow, and shuts it behind him.

Walking to your bed, he passes by your dresser. He can see right away your bottle of perfume, the one you put on whenever you came from your shower. He knows from experience that it tastes like shit, but it must be something about you that makes the chemically fluid become so delicious. He wants to lick the smell off of you. Wants to suck it out with his mouth.

He’s quick today. He hasn’t eaten much food this past week and he’s eager to dig into the kitchen, but this is more important. If someone came home early, he’d much rather go to sleep hungry than having missed you.

Putting the pillow towards the middle of the bed, he straddles it before pulling his cock out. After a few strokes, he’s hard enough to rub against you. He pictures your face, pretty and blushy. He pictures your glasses too, how they’d get knocked off while he rubbed his cock against your cheek.

It’s so good, and Billy’s mind swims. He’s fucking your face, your mouth, your thighs, your pussy. He’s rubbing his cock on your shoulder and your arm. He’s getting his leaky clear fluid on your hair and on your thigh. His drool makes your tits shiny. The pillow is so soft against the tip of his cock, and he humps it like a dirty dog. Dirty Billy.

But even with how good it is, it isn’t enough anymore. He’s had this fantasy for weeks now, and he needs to cum more than he wants to live. With shaky legs, he stands and wanders the room, searching in the usual spots. He opens your white laundry hamper and sees them immediately. With a little smile at the corners of his lips, he takes your panties and smells them. You must have worn these all day yesterday. He licks at the little strip of cotton where your cunt would have been. His cock twitches.

“Pig cunt,” he mutters sharply, waddling back to the bed. His cock is rock hard and jutting out from his opened pants, and he’s quick to press it against your pillow again. As he rocks his hips, he puts your panties to his mouth and nose and breaths in.

It only takes a few more thrusts against the pillow before he’s coming, and he’s quick to drop the pretty pink panties to his cock to catch his hot white cum. It’s so messy and sticky, and a couple drops still land on your cushion anyways. He needs a minute to catch his breath, and he rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.

He had done the same thing his first time too, mind pleasantly fuzzy after his orgasm. He had stared at the wooden ceiling and thought about how this was your view every night. Maybe one day, you could both lay here and stare at the ceiling together. Back then, he was so lost in his daydream that he almost missed the hole between the floorboards just above the bed. Almost.

His life changed so much the day he met you.

Standing after a few calming moments, he flips the pillow onto its other side and drops it back at the head of your bed. Next, the panties go into your hamper, and then he fixes his pants. His stomach growls angrily and he sighs as he pats it.

Claude follows him to the kitchen.

“It’s for you,” Clare says, holding the phone out to you as you pass by. “He said he’s from your orgo class.”

There’s only one guy who calls you about organic chemistry. You breathe in sharply as you glance at the phone. Not wanting to alarm your friend, you fake a smile and take the handset.

“Thanks,” you say, and watch as Clare walks off. You’re not a child, you tell yourself. You can be brave. You take a calming breath in and out before you hold the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,” the Moaner says, laughter making his voice sound so boylike that you wonder how old he is.

“What do you want?” you ask, closing your sweater around you with your free hand. You turn your back to the living room.

He moans obscenely then swallows, the sound so wet and desperate that you wonder what he’s doing to himself.

“You. You pig cunt,” he says, spitting out each word like they’re accusations. He laughs again and you close your eyes.

“What’s your name?” you ask him calmly. He responds with yours instead, and you try not to shake by clenching your sweater even tighter.

“Your name,” you say again, emphasizing the first word. Still, he says yours like he’s proud of it. He laughs, then says it again.

“Cut that out,” you snap at him. “This isn’t fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“What’s the change in enthalpy?” he whispers.

“I’m going to hang up if you don’t tell me,” you threaten. He groans, but it doesn’t sound pleasured anymore. It’s as if he’s in pain. Or, your mind supplies unhelpfully, he’s the sort that likes them at the same time. You sigh heavily, both at him and your overactive imagination.

“What’s the change in enthalpy? Pig slut. I’m gonna, gonna stick my tongue up your pig cunt,” he mutters into your ear.

“No, you won’t,” you say dismissively. You regret it immediately as the line goes dead. Even when he wasn’t talking, you could hear him and his mouth, breathing and licking and moaning. Now, it was silent. “Hello?” you say after a long stretch of silence.

“Filthy Billy,” he says finally.

“Is that your name? Billy?” you say, straightening up a bit. He moans then, and you have no doubt that one is from pleasure. “You’re disgusting, Billy.”

“Disgusting Billy,” he mumbles back, panting and moaning and slurping at his lips. Why are you feeling so hot all of a sudden? You clench your thighs and look over your shoulder.

“You talk a lot, Billy. You make a lot of promises,” you whisper into the handset.

“Gon- gonna suck your piggy clit,” he mumbles, so sweet that your stomach flutters with butterflies.

“No, Billy. I don’t think you’re brave enough,” you goad.

“Gonna lick it,” he groans, stretching out each word and letting you hear every syllable. “Piggy cunt. Stick my tongue up your pretty pussy.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, gulping. You’re still trying to stay brave, but you can’t understand the warmth in your belly.

“You want my fat cock, you cunt,” he snaps at you, cutting off the end of your sentence.

“Do you know where I live, Billy?” you ask suddenly. The line goes dead again. You didn’t know you were so good at shutting him up. “If you want me so bad, come and get me.”

You slam the handset down and half expect it to start ringing again. It’s quiet, even after a minute. Feeling satisfied, you nod at the phone and head back to the living room. You sure showed him.

The hallway is black as pitch, and Billy stands in front of your bedroom door. The house is filled with the sounds of sleeping, all except for your room. An orangey light shines through between the door and the floor. He can hear the scratchy sound of a pencil on paper, and the occasional sigh from your lips.

He can’t believe he’s so close to you, and his cock twitches in anticipation. Already, he can smell your flowery crystal scent from here.

He doesn’t knock. Quiet as a mouse, he turns the doorknob slowly and eases the door open. Staring through the newly made crack, he can see that your back is to the door, head hunched down over the textbooks on your desk. Carefully, he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

Billy knows the creaky floorboards to avoid as he makes his way behind you, and he’s so close that he could touch your hair with the tip of his finger if he held his arm out straight. He waits there for a while before you realize you’re being watched.

“Fuck!” you squeak, jumping in your seat before turning to face your intruder. Books and pens clatter to the floor and a sheet of paper is crumpled in your hand. Your eyes are so wide and beautiful as you stare at him.

You’re shaking. Billy wants to fuck you and cum on your face and your ass and your slit. He wants to lick it, lick it, lick it.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“You- you.” With trembling hands, you let go of the paper and push your hair out of your face. You can’t seem to speak, your lips moving with words you don’t say.

“It’s me, Billy,” he says, shaking too. It’s so hard to hold himself back, and his fingers are so scratchy with his need to touch you. “Agnes.”

“I’m not Agnes,” you respond, staring back at him from your seat.

“I’m here, Agnes,” he says quietly.

“That’s not my name,” you say again. When you stand, Billy takes a half step backwards.

“That’s not my name,” he responds, unconsciously matching your pitch. He lets out a shuddering breath.

Your smell was everywhere, so much stronger with you in the room. It wasn’t just a vase of flowers anymore; your smell was like an overgrown garden, with dirt and honeysuckles and animals.

Your name falls from his lips without his brain’s permission, and he feels kind of like how he was supposed to feel when he went to church as a kid.

“Billy,” you say softly in return, and Billy has to swallow noisily or he might drool past his lips.

“I found you,” he says, and he makes fists against his thighs.

“You did.” Even though your voice was quiet, you didn’t sound scared anymore. Billy glanced down at your body and saw that you were already wearing your night dress, made with white flowy cotton that danced and twirled with every step you took towards your bed; Billy watched helplessly as you sat down on the edge of it.

Billy’s breath was ragged, and he felt like he had been running for miles. Here you were, looking up at him with your pretty eyes and your pretty hair. Pretty pussy, pretty pig cunt that he wants to fill with his hot cum until it oozes out, lazy and slow. He tries to lick his lips, but he can’t stop panting like a dog. He should be used to this; he’s watched you from this exact same spot up in the attic. He’s already cummed on you.

He should have known from his calls with you, it was your attention that made him lose his mind. He’s about ready to scream out loud when you hold out your hand to him.

“Come here,” you whisper. Billy stares at your hand, then at your face. Pretty face. He steps forward like he’s falling.

You lead him to sit beside you, and Billy can feel your heat pressing along his leg where you touch him. He stares down where his rough denim meets your white dress. He doesn’t jump when you put your hand on the side of his face.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Billy,” you say. Billy drags his eyes up to you. You’re so close. He breaths through his nose. You stand, leaving Billy on the bed, and you don’t take your hand off him until he’s out of your reach.

In front of him, you pull your dress up and over your head. Billy blinks. You’re naked.

“Not so talkative now, huh?” you say with a little smile. Billy’s eyes are so wide as he takes you in. He wishes he could take a picture like this. Wishes he could take the picture with him back to the attic so he can cum on it one million times and stroke your face with his thumb. “Take off your sweater, Billy.”

Billy breaths in and out a few times to catch his breath.

“Don’t pussy out now. What happened to dirty Billy?” you taunt.

“Filthy Billy,” he mumbles, and he has to lick his lips. Sitting like this, he’s at eyelevel with your soft stomach, and he wants to pull you close to kiss his way down to your pussy. He wants to part your pussy lips with his tongue and trace it all the way up until it hits your clit. He wants to rip you apart and live inside your tight wet heat.

“Show me how filthy you are,” you whisper, taking a step closer to him. Billy groans, hearing the wet click of your pussy as you moved. Shaking, he lifts his sweater over his head and throws it to the floor. When you sit beside him again, he can feel your soft warm arm against his own.

Billy gulps and stares down at your lap, because if he looks into your eyes, he might wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until your face turns blue. He digs his fingers into his denim-covered thigh.

“It’s okay, Billy,” you murmur and take his hand. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can suck my cock,” he mumbles helplessly. He smacks his lips like he’s dying of thirst and laughs softly. He can’t stomach looking at you.

“You’re such a pervert,” you tell him, like he doesn’t already know. Filthy, disgusting Billy.

“Wanna put my tongue up your piggy cunt,” he says, but he can’t touch you yet. You let out a hot breath, and he can feel it on his shoulder. He shudders and presses his mouth closed.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper. It’s a secret, and a dirty one.

Billy can’t move fast enough. His hands are still shaking as he opens his pants, and he stands for just long enough to pull them down with his underwear. His cock is hard, and it lolls against his thigh when he sits again. He can feel your eyes on his face still.

“Can I kiss you, Billy?”

He nods and keeps nodding even when you cup his face and pull him in for a gentle kiss. He only stops when he feels your tongue on his bottom lip, and his cock drools against his overheated skin. He whines against you and presses his forehead against yours while he takes a shaking inhale.

“Lay down with me,” you say quietly, putting your warm milky creamy hand on his chest.

“Wanna suck-“ Billy swallows thickly, gasping his breaths again. “Wanna suck your clit.”

“Lay on your back,” you say, more insistent as you push him onto his back. Again, his cock bobs with the movement and settles flat on his stomach. Billy lets a broken groan come from his throat as your hand moves lower on his torso. You shush him, and the sounds sends a chill down his spine, like icy spiders.

“You’ll wake my sisters up,” you tell him, lips brushing against his ear.

“I’ll lick their cunts too,” he whispers back. He tries to look at you from the corner of his eye, but it’s like looking at the sun. His head hurts being this close to you, and the smell is like being drunk. When you smile, he looks away.

“What about me?” you ask, and Billy feels your hand on the shaft of his cock. He chokes on his spit and coughs, turning on his side away from you. He laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“S-slut,” he says, slowly going onto his back again.

“You’re mean.” Billy watches you get onto your knees beside him. “You talk so much, Billy.”

He moans when you turn yourself around and swing your leg over him, and all he can see is your pussy – pretty, pink, and so creamy for him. His hands move on instinct and wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush to his face.

There’s no point in wasting time, not when his heart and his cock are competing on which could throb the hardest. The sound of his tongue against your wet slit is terrible and it makes him feel like he’s drowning. He can’t help but moan, letting his tongue trace along your meaty folds before burying deep inside your cunt.

You’re making sounds too, but Billy hardly cares. This was what he had been dreaming about for so long. He wasn’t just dirty pervert Billy who made empty promises. He was Billy who takes. Billy who isn’t afraid to be seen. Billy who can be brave when he wants to be.

Still, he nearly shouts when he feels your lips on the tip of his cock.

“So good, Billy, that’s so good,” you’re whispering, but everything is so loud between your legs. His breaths echo, and everything is so fucking wet. He can feel your slick on his cheeks and on his chin, and every move of his tongue clicks against your needy fuckhole.

His cock feels tight, like it’s going to fall off, but then you wrap your lips around him and swallow him down so far that your nose touches his balls. He tightens his grip on your thighs until you cry out against him, your wet hot mouth vibrating against him.

It’s more perfect than Billy could have imagined, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue as he fucks it in and out of you. He wants more of you, wants you dead so he can take you without having to talk to you, wants you alive to hear your voice. He wants to fuck his cock so far down your throat you suffocate. He wants to make you cum again and again until you’re beginning him to stop.

“Love you,” he tries to say, but it sounds mangled against your cunt. He kisses your pretty piggy pussy lips and feels like maybe he’s turned into a pillow, with the way you ride on his face.

Maybe that’s all he is, maybe he’s so messed up in his brain because he’s a pillow that turned human. Maybe he’s only meant to be your thing to hump against, to sleep on, to get your smell all over before washing it. Billy thinks it would be nice to roll around in a clothes dryer.

Your lips are soft against his hot swollen cock, and he bucks wildly when you wrap a hand around his base and suck at his tip. He grunts into your fleshy cunt, nose bumping against your folds before returning his tongue to its rightful place. But, from the bottom, there’s not much he can do but take – take your mouth on his cock, and take your cunt on his mouth.

He doesn’t last long, but he never does when he can help it. He could have probably come from eating your pussy alone; at least he would have lasted longer. He bucks into your mouth, but your firm grip at his base keeps him from gagging you. He shoots his cum in your mouth instead, and he feels you swallowing around the tip of his cock. Even when he’s finished, you suck like you’re trying to get more out.

“Slut,” he tries to moan, and he sounds wretched. He holds onto your thighs still as you move more frantically on top of him. When you sit up, your press your cunt even harder against his face and he stabs his tongue deeper than before.

Billy makes a depraved noise, a mix between a groan and a choking cough, as you clench down tight around him like you’ll rip his tongue straight out of his mouth. He’d let you, he thinks desperately, he’ll let you take his cock too if you want it. You can sleep on him and hump him and use him however you want.

Your legs shake as you clench down again, and then you collapse forward, pussy lifting off of his face enough to see it quivering and sopping wet. Mindlessly, he picks up his head and leans forward to lick at it some more, broad strokes from your clit up to you blinking hole. He laps at it until you’re quiet, and then laps some more until you lift your hips too far for him to reach.

Rolling off him, he’s suddenly exposed to your chilly bedroom air, and he longs desperately for you to cover him again. If he wasn’t so cum-dumb, he might’ve tried to pull you back on him again. Instead, he watches you from the corner of his vision as you lay down, shoulders touching his.

“Wanna spend the night?” you whisper once you catch your breath. He shakes his head, still panting out loud. He’s not sure if his heart will ever slow down again.

“At least stay for a little while,” you say. You touch his hand gently. He wants to snatch it away on instinct, but a moment passes, and he’s surprised that he likes it. His hand is limp as you wrap yours around it.

“Are you gonna keep calling?” you murmur. It feels like one of those questions that has a right answer, but Billy doesn’t even know where to start. He tells the truth instead, and nods.

“Pretty… pretty cunt,” he says, letting go of your hand to brush along your thigh towards your cunt. He touches your clit with his sticky finger, and you jolt like you were struck by lightning.

“That’s too much,” you whine. Billy lets his hand rest on your lower stomach instead, feeling your scratchy hairs against his palm.

You’re quiet for a while before you say, “If you’re gonna call, I don’t want you to talk to the other girls like that. I don’t want you to sleep with them.”

Billy lets out a shaky breath and drags his hand up your stomach, watching your nipples pebble in anticipation.

“My piggy,” he says.

“Mean,” you respond. He faces the ceiling again, hand falling off you and resting on the messy sheets again.

You lay together, shoulders touching, and knees bent over the edge of the bed. Billy imagines watching himself. How does he look next to you. Probably like nothing. The Billy in the attic wouldn’t even be looking at himself – he knows he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you for even a second.

And he doesn’t, once he finally gets dressed and leaves without another word for his attic; he watches you all night, your smell on his fingers and his face, your flowery perfume on his clothes.

In the morning, he hears your housemate sluts laugh at you and ask who came over last night. You don’t say anything when the loud annoying one asks if it’s your new boyfriend. No, Billy wants to say, he’s something even better than a boyfriend. He’s your pillow, and you’re his pig.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

:D i had a lot of fun writing this !! hope you guys enjoy it

reblogs are greatly appreciated !!!!!