#₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slicznymartwy · 9 months

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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

#billy lenz #black christmas (1974)#billy lenz x reader #slasher posting #slasher x reader #slashers #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slashers x you #billy lenz x you #₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes

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code31-onthedancefloor · 1 year

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dont get me wrong while uli learning disco dancing and other horrifically outdated ways to pick up dates with harry is absolutely fucking hilarious i feel as if he would naturally gravitate towards kim more. not just because of the nilsen parallel but because he wants to be taken Seriously. and here is this very Serious (lonely) man who is Serious (repressed) about the way he loves and he drives a car despite being legally blind (stubborn) and has beaten the odds of survival time and time again (at the expense of others; which he feels as if he does not deserve). ulixes will learn Something from kim but it certainly won't be related to how to get steban to like him.

#kim probably wouldnt let uli anywhere near his gun so shooting's off the table #their interactions are more akin to 'estranged uncle drives you to a pretty place and #you both stiltedly philosophize on whether the love is worth the grief'#and then he shows you his cool camera and maybe get into photography since ampoules are cheap #and then maybe you build a collection of pretty photgraphs. you're an amateur but surely steban will see the beauty of them. right?#countless nights and days. whenever kim's free to drive you around to places you've seen a picture in #and then you place a photograph between each page of a new book of theory and gift it to Steban.#what comes next? uh... i'll write this fic someday 🧍‍♂️🏃‍♂️#disco elysium #echo maker #ulixes bücher #txt #steban the student communist

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smilesrobotlover · 6 months

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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.

#rip Leon and Talon they’re wives are dead :c #Linebeck and Jolene’s relationship is… complicated #Sarah is helping Ammon deal with phantom pains #she has a very calm demeanor and it’s nice to him #helps him relax when he’s overwhelmed #Uli and Rusl try not to be cute challenge #when Faima shrinks she looks like a regular Hylian with great fairy clothes #but when she’s big she has her pink hair #strangers across eras #if you put all of them together you have the wives #the exes #then you have the daughter which is Malon #and then you have Leon’s one friend Valensuela #oh Kass #gonna do a minor totk spoiler so stop reading now #problem with writing Kass is that I’m growing attached to him which sucks cuz he got frickin sniped in totk #like COME ON I MIS HIM WHERE IS HE

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fictionadventurer · 8 months

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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.

#random thought of the day #adventures in writing #presidential talk #feeling this strongly tonight #as i look at how pathetically little i've written in the last few months #despite a lot of time commitment #with almost nothing written that's actually going to be used #it's crushing #and then our buddy ulys came to mind because i finally finished the presidential letters book #and he got a couple at the end #written during the mexican war and his california years #and i was struck by his eye for detail even then #his clear-eyed perception of a place and the clear way he lays out a landscape #exactly the kind of thing that filled his book thirty-odd years later #and when writing comes so hard it's a combination of awe and frustration to see someone for whom it comes so easily #what a fun post you get presidential facts and my own insecurities at the same time!#an absolute bargain!

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weepylucifer · 2 months

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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.

#answer'd #writings by me #yep there was one more prompt this whole time!!#steban and harry: just nicely chatting really. one sensitive instrument to another. making a bit of harmless fun #uli and kim: where did that other dog come from. who is he >:(

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floenz · 5 months

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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

#also herman gottlieb pacif rim meme the movies are occuring closer together #next dfk movie in 10 years #pls let me write it #or no #let jinx write it #i didnt include matz and uli because i feel we got some good representation for them)#correct me if im wrong #dfk #das fliegende klassenzimmer

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brainrotdotorg · 1 year

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The farmer’s son is a smart boy, very studious, has big dreams of getting into politics one day and always seems to have his nose in a book the size of his head. Though he’s got a good work ethic, his mother thinks it needs to be put to the test in a way he’ll understand— all of his big talk about generating plasma falls on the deaf ears of a farmer who knows that the true way to revolution is through toil.

When his big, grand dreams about liberation drive him to want something greater than working as a farmhand, his mother brings on a new project— a temperamental steer, rescued from inhumane living conditions, with a penchant for violence and an unrelenting stubbornness. The farmhand is tasked with the care and keeping of the cattle, and though the two get off to a rocky start, the man treats the steer with the first show of humanity he’s ever experienced— giving him his abuela’s old glasses, allowing him to see clearly for the first time in his life.

Somehow, the young man is able to tame the bull, who listens intently as he reads him theory, parrots his speech; the two eventually grow to have a bond. It is anyones guess whether this relationship, unseen before in history, will succeed— with a creature who is finally trusted to learn, and a man who is only beginning to experience the world in anything but theory.

#not putting this in the main tag I don’t. i don’t think #i don’t think the main disco elysium tag needs to see my hucow content #this came from the fucking big eyes uli post and it all spiraled from there #when I said he had brown eyes like a cows eyes #hucowification is just gonna he inevitable in this house. anyway #bats my eyelashes cutely #do you like the lore. what do we think #i don’t want to say I’m gonna write a fic about it because good god #i have a lot of fics in the works #but if anyone else wants to #take this idea and run with it PLEASEEEEEE #BECAUSE I LIKE IT A LOOOOOOT #sooooo many fucking thoughts about this one #when things get more tense between these two then Steban is for sure having an ethical quandary #what are the morals of this #he asks himself terrified. oh my god the power dynamics #i do see him as my equal I do not own him because he is not property but is this ethical #meanwhile ulixes is actively presenting himself to him in the background #anyway. I’m sorry I’m so sorry for this #thinking about uli reading mazovian theory under a tree while eating an apple or something

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yellow-yarrow · 1 year

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coming up with scenarios that would work best as fanfictions or long comics but i cant write and dont have the motivation so im just 🧍‍♂️

#that one artist who drew a long kimxharry doujinishi before de was really popular. god i wish was like that #if my brain wasnt nerfed by mental illness i would be drawing 200 pages of steban and uli for sure #im mutuals with so many good writes it would be embarrassing to post anything i tried to write #(i've only ever written essays for school and thats it lmao. i did come up with stories for animations and comics but thats different)#eh. whats left to do is to take those ideas and try to fit them into one page funny comics

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feymaid · 1 year

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You can't even PRESUME the amount of joy when I read that you're making a pic of the whole Aeducan family! Really hope tumblr won't screw up the quality like it tends to do. Big fan here, I'm curious: how much the kids resemble their father, will the mother make an appearance on that portrait? I wonder about your headcanons on her looks, personality and what could have been, if she stuck around long enough to at least see her kids grow up. Who takes after who & what (in personality this time)?

Hello!! Thank you so much for your interest!! This turned out to be pretty long so I have it all written out below for you :D ~

It's funny because I actually only was intending to originally focus on the three Aeducan siblings but this ask got me thinking about their parents and who each child takes more after. I would say all in all that all three of them resemble their mother at first glance. But their father's features become more easily identified as they all get older.

In my own headcanon, mommy Aeducan died after giving birth to Bhelen, which didn't help his older siblings feel any sort of sibling-y affection for him since they were too busy mourning and resenting Bhelen "killing her". As for the Queen herself, I've always pictured her to be very stern but slightly kinder and more patient than her husband. She would have still been just as obsessed with keeping up with her children's education as Endrin was, and had a passion for dwarven histories (something that she and Uli have deeply in common.) Nonetheless, the pressure she would have put on her children would have been very high.

Despite Uli and Trian having memories of her as small children, Bhelen still is the most like her in nature. Bhelen is all of his mother's calm and patience warped into a mask of his true brutality, which came as a result of being raised by Endrin. As a child, Uli saw her mother as a pillar of strength and beauty, and to this day still wants to emulate this idolized version she has of her mother in her head. She very much blamed Bhelen for her death and had to face the guilt and complexity of her emotions during her return to Orzammar during the events of Origins. Trian on the other hand was more of a loose cannon. Trian has always learned and thrived in action and wasn't interested in learning about anything that didn't concern the glory of the Aeducan house or learning the ways of a warrior. Trian admired his mother for her role as the dutiful wife of the king, but he has always craved the complete undivided attention of his father and would often try to abandon her lessons in favor of his.

Endrin as a father is a whole different story, as I imagined he completely relied upon his wife to be the moral and educational model for his children to follow up until he felt they were old enough to be taken under his wing for their more 'respective' roles. When his wife died and he was left with two small children and an infant, he panicked. Trian, Uli, and Bhelen were passed around from nursemaid to nursemaid and grew up without their father being an active parent in their lives. Endrin still very much loved them in his own right but was primarily concerned with making absolutely sure they would be successful heirs and ingrained in them to be absolutely ruthless and competitive.

Due to the insane pressure, these three kiddos were under and each of them suffering under the grief of their father emotionally abandoning them, they all fought for his attention one way or another. Trian desperately wanted to be the favorite child, but his temper got in the way of it and he was painted as unstable and cruel. Uli felt the need to rise above her own mother's status and mold herself completely to her father's wishes, all the while admiring and holding onto Trian as her role model which ended up damaging her reputation by association. (I could go into a whole other rant on Uli and Trian's relationship and how much she loved him and the cost of that but that's for another day lol). Bhelen stirred in resentment and rage for being cast out by his father and siblings for indirectly causing the death of his mother, a woman he has never known. He was arguably the most neglected child, which only made it easier for him to eventually betray his family. I do not know exactly how much would have been different if their mother had survived, but I doubt it would have been half as tragic as the story of the Aeducan family ended up being.

#also SORRY for the shitty quality on the picture tumblr doesn't like me #but thank you for your ask!!! I hope I can answer more like this in the future it's just hard to write out my thoughts coherently ahhhh #anon #ask #aeducan #queen aeducan #endrin aeducan #uli aeducan #bhelen aeducan #trian aeducan #dwarf warden #my oc #my art #dragon age origns #dragon age

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skyloftian-nutcase · 8 months

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Anyone want a mild TP sickfic? :)

I'll admit, I cheated on this a little - some of this was written before, but I just wanted to add more comfort and fluff to it. <3 Because Ordon Fam Fluff is wonderful.

Sicktember Prompt 4 - Hiding an illness

It had started subtly. A little choked back cough. Slower reaction timing.

By the first evening it had progressed to a headache. Link had written it off as just being tired.

But when Fado commented that Link had left the ranch abruptly, Rusl knew better than to wait it out. He'd gone to Link's home around dusk, and after a quick search of the abode, had come to the conclusion that Link was nowhere to be found.

Grabbing a torch as the daylight faded, he headed for the woods.

The trail was unorthodox, but present. Now that Rusl knew what to look for, it made tracking his son much easier. The grass was tousled just a hair, a few branches pushed aside, and one muddy spot bore half a paw print on it. A clump of black fur caught in a nearby bush pieced together the rest of the puzzle well enough.

Walking ahead carefully, Rusl's ears heard the sound of panting, and he turned towards the spring. When he reached the gate, he had to stop for a moment, his blood chilling.

A wolf was lying on its side at the edge of the spring, panting slowly. The sight of the animal in this spring, with a sword on Rusl's back and a torch in his hand, made him freeze up uncontrollably. He bit his tongue and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as images of the worst night of his life came unbidden in his mind, images of a wolf whining and bleeding, images of dark shadows morphing into a Hylian, images of his boy crying and bleeding to death.

Without thinking, Rusl immediately discarded his sword, trembling from head to foot. He took a step forward, trying to regain his focus. Then he took another step. The wolf whimpered, and Rusl backtracked three paces.

Come on, he berated himself. Get it together. Something's wrong with him.

Clenching the torch tightly, he stepped forward again, thought better of it, and pitched the torch into the spring to extinguish it. The splash caught the wolf's attention, and he watched his canine boy twitch, but do nothing beyond that.

"Link," Rusl said hoarsely, his throat dry, his heart racing. He blinked the images away again. For his own sake, he pleaded, "Please, turn back, son, I don't know what's wrong."

Link obeyed, shifting easily, still laying on his side, looking miserably and pale and sweaty. Rusl's chest released, allowing him to breathe normally again, and he hastened forward, kneeling beside his boy. The flush to Link's ashen cheeks clued him in, and he placed the back of his hand against the teenager's forehead.

He had a fever.

"S-sorry," Link slurred. "'m really tired. Thought... being a w-wolf would... make it feel better..."

Rusl sighed. "All you had to do was say you weren't feeling well, Link."

"'m ok, P-Pa..."

The resistance member's heart hurt listening to the boy try to reassure him, and he pulled him into his arms. "You will be, Link. Don't worry."

Link tried to argue, shifting weakly in Rusl’s arms as the pair walked through the village. He wasn’t going to be able to climb the ladder while carrying his ward, and he certainly wasn’t going to leave Link unattended, so they were going back to his house.

Uli seemed fairly resigned to the sight that greeted her at the doorway – she likely had seen the signs as well over the last twenty-four hours. She smiled and sighed. “I put blankets and pillows on the couch for him.”

Link immediately shriveled as Rusl gently laid him on the sofa. “S-sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” Uli soothed, slicking back sweaty hair from his forehead. “I’m making some soup for you. Rusl will help you get into something more comfortable.”

Rusl nodded with a smile, letting Uli run the house. She was far better of a caretaker when it came to illnesses to be honest, and he was happy to have her call the shots. He was still shaking jitters from the spring, anyway.

Spirits above. He thought he’d gotten passed that. But he supposed he’d just… not addressed it. Not with himself, at least.

Grabbing a spare nightshirt, Rusl wandered back into the den to find Link shivering under the blanket Uli had supplied. Sweat drenched his tunic, and he actively avoided eye contact when Rusl approached him.

“Link,” Rusl said as he crouched down, ignoring the mild strain in his knees. “Don’t feel guilty, son. It’s okay.”

“It’s stupid,” Link sniffled, wiping sweat off his brow with a shaky hand. “I c-can—can take care of—I’m s-sorry—”

Rusl interrupted him when he took a cloth and wiped Link’s face, stopping the boy’s fretting movements. “Link. You do so much for everyone. For the village, for the Resistance, for Hyrule. You saved the world. I think it’s fair for you to let others take care of you sometimes.”

His boy watched him a moment, eyes glassy and conflicted, and he sighed tiredly. “But you and Ma have Hana and Colin and that’s a lot, and you’re in the Resistance too. I…”

“It’s always our pleasure to take care of our boy,” Rusl whispered gently with a smile. “Always.”

Link bit his lip, eyes closing for a moment as he suddenly fought desperately for composure. Rusl let the boy have his privacy on the matter, instead shifting focus to helping him sit up and get into the nightshirt he’d brought.

Once Link was settled and tucked back in, Rusl wiped his face of both sweat and tears and pulled the chair over as Uli arrived with a steaming bowl of soup. Colin was next, stumbling in with half lidded eyes as he’d just gone to bed but had heard the commotion. Once he saw that Link was ill he couldn’t be convinced to go back to bed quite yet, and Hana awakening for some milk further roused him.

It was well into the night when Rusl was gently rocking Hana back and forth, patting her back after her mother had provided her with nourishment. Colin was sitting on the floor by the sofa while Link relaxed, having eaten the soup provided to him, and Uli sat in the chair, regaling her boys with yet another story. Link, despite being quite ill, kept his eyes half open to listen, enjoying listening to his mother’s words, and Colin’s head was slowly tipping to the side and bobbing as he tried to follow along as well. The fire had died down a fair amount, still filling the home with warmth while barely making a sound save for the occasional pop.

“Each little raindrop sparkles like jewels in the light of sacred springs,” Uli continued. She was currently telling one of Colin’s favorites, that being the origins of fairies. “When enough collect on the leaves of the spring, the colors shimmer and swirl, creating a rainbow. The spirits collect the rainbow water together. You can practically taste the magic in the air, like the cool sweet crispness of snow cream in your mouth, and it makes your heart flutter and makes you feel alive. The spirits hold the water in their hands, closed to the world, and when they open them, there lies a fairy. They take a piece of light with them wherever they go, guiding and healing anyone who crosses their path.”

“How many fairies are there?” Colin asked sleepily.

“More than I could ever count,” Uli answered. “But they hide. Their magic is special. Only good children can see them. A while ago, they made a special trip.”

“That’s how Hana is here!” Colin surmised. “Sera says fairies bring babies.”

Uli giggled. “Well. Your Pa certainly helped. You’ll learn more about that when you’re a little older.”

Rusl bit back a snort of laughter.

“But,” she carried on. “They did bring someone years ago. A little one of the forest, with twigs in his hair and little bits of bramble stuck to his clothes. They guided him to Ordon Village and blessed us more than any fairy could ever bless anyone.”

Link’s gentle breaths filled the air as he finally fell asleep, and both parents watched him a moment, their hearts full. Uli spoke of fairies and magic for a while longer, but it didn’t take long for Colin to follow his older brother’s lead. Rusl handed Hana to his wife and then gently carried Colin back to his bed, tucking him in and giving him a kiss good night. When he returned to the den, Uli was doing similar to Link. The couple headed to their room together, settling Hana in her crib.

“We truly are blessed, aren’t we?” Uli sighed happily as the pair settled into bed.

Rusl took her hand, kissing it, and smiled back at her. “Yes, we are.”

#writing #secrets of the shadows #twilight princess #twilight princess link #tp link #rusl #uli #colin #legend of zelda #me: Link needs a change of clothes - what does Rusl wear for nightwear #me: what do medieval europeans wear for nightwear #internet: medieval europeans slept naked #me: OK WELL MAYBE NOT. MORE MODERN. MORE MODERN PLS #anyway I love them your honor #I love making Uli do storytelling #it helps me practice descriptive writing too #and it's cute #sicktember #sicktember 2023

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monsterfloofs · 5 months

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🍓 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! ^^ )

#floofyrambles #floofyocs #floofyasks #poor sassy birb man #one day I do really want to bring Uly and Charlie back and write for them #I have wips started but nothing concrete yet

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slicznymartwy · 9 months

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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 !!!!!

#billy lenz x reader #black christmas (1974)#billy lenz #slasher x reader #slashers #₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes

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