#reservoir dogs smut

[reservoirreputation]

Soooo

my 'fun nonsense that Freddy has to bullshit his way through' turned into 'plot relevant parallels that I don't want to get rid of'.

And now I'm considering rewriting this scene so it takes the narrative from being 100% Larry to being from Freddy's POV for this scene and this scene only.

*sigh* remember when I just wanted to scratch the White/Orange/Blonde itch?

[s1mpforeveryone]

i'm just sayin mr. blonde puttin you in your place after you disobey him n act out n maybe flirt with someone else 😋 maybe you're not even dating but i feel like he's a no-sharing type of man (except maybe with eddie)

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

perm taglist: @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @littlegingerperson5 @seraphicsentences series taglist: @tearouthearts @planetloverr @elliesexual @isitadinosaur @eveshyper @3lli3l0v3r @yourmothersfavgirl @emst4rr @theloserqueen @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @whenlostinthedarkness @diddiqueen @deliriousrn

[ur-mousey]

Benzo-Addict ~

Yandere! Jeffery x F! Reader

Part One, Part Three *In progress, will contain smut*

summary Drugs have always been your friend. A source of courage and tonight's no different. Now it's time to fuck a nerd. Hope your BF understands. 1k warning mature, non-con, hostage situation, abusive relationship cycle ..............................

Oh... You came back. You aren't just a spinless quitter. Perhaps one should call you a psychopath. But fuck on, I guess. You're really about to get screwed.

>>>

Jeffery had a lot of nervous ticks. He was a time bomb of sorts. And he was imploding at the seams right before your eyes. You noticed it as lab partners when research came out dry or when the hypothesis was proven wrong. But, you kept them noted in the recesses of your mind. Never thinking that you would see today as you do.

He rambled to himself, undiscernible to you. Jeffery picked his teeth with the tip of his knife. Like you'd caught him with his cutesy anime pens not too long ago. He would shake all over doing minuscule tasks and you joked about it with him. You'd wondered, cheekily, how could organizing papers cause someone to tremble more than a leaf?

But, in this case, he was gagging your boyfriend. Seem pretty fucking reasonable now. And you couldn't stop it. You watched. Wrist cleaned of bondage while Cody whipped his head around. It being all he could do. "Fuck off me! And my girl!!" His voice was a visceral growl, hoarse from his prior screeching. "You micro dick ince~ Hmhph."

"Stay silent like a good dog for a sec." Jeffery patted Cody's shoulder. He turned to you with a soft desolate smile. He padded over to you in a mere flash. "Hey you~ I'd told you to sleep, didn't I? It'll help. When I get you home, it'll be like this nightmare never happened."

"W-wh... Why?" You stuttered through the fatigue. The drugs were in the deepest reservoir of your stomach, begging to be felt in a dream. Yet you wheezed at the idea of losing this moment. This might be the last thing you ever see. "Don't hurt him."

Jeffery sighed, "Don't be like that, darling." He nodded towards your boyfriend. "He had it coming. Look at him. He's lookin' back at you." Shakily you looked over Jeffery's frame to see Cody more clearly. He was right, his eyes were on you. "Disgusting, ain't he."

Snot and tears choked him further than the soiled sock could. You'd never seen Cody so helpless. And you'd thought yourself capable of fleeing, but he would remain for dead, and your feet stilled at its iron gates. You've wished him gone a handful of times, but never like this.

"I have a few ideas," Jeffery continued, he gripped your hair, tugging you closer to his chest. "He's a shitty jock and a lowlife dragging you down. You've seen Corpse Party? Maybe I'll cut his tongue up like... Woah oh, easy there."

Every curse came to mind, aimed and sharpened at the back of his skill. You would damn him to hell and father down the pipeline if you could. But, You opted to squirm and whine out of Jeffery's grasp.

His slight hand tremors felt jarring against your scalp. You had held them once. The thought petrified you more so than Cody's muffled mulls.

"Calm down, please. You'd promise yourself that today would be the last, right? I'm giving that to you now!" You flinched at Jeffery's tone. Your eyes are wide and watering. "Don't give me that look. I knew you wouldn't see this from my perspective, but I'm doing this for you!"

You stilled, blanched, and mortified, by Jeffery's words. How would he know? You promised yourself throughout yesterday, Wednesday, and the day before that. You wanted out of this life. Cody wasn't the best. He was a sleaze, as Nicole puts it. But he was your definition of normal.

"That means jack shit," You squealed. The past doesn't matter. That promise doesn't, not at this moment.

Mornings started with arguments. You stoic in the face of him calling you the nastiest of names imaginable. Your insecurity set ablaze with accuracy. He never laid a hand on you. You couldn't say the same for the drywall, littered with the impressions of violent spouts. And Cody would be your most vocal supporter when you're high.

He'd call you the prettiest slut around for miles, rubbing his thumb over the flush of your checks from mystery shots. Cody begged for your lips to be on him constantly. And he desired your hips rocking over his shaft, causing you to spasm. He liked you sensitive. Despite your lack of control, he'd ask you to squeeze your drugged-up pussy around his cock, urging you to squirt down his balls.

Then by morning, he'll start tearing you down again, and you'll realize Cody hardly touches you sober.

It was normal. And each day you promised yourself you'd leave, you played further into the game. You'll think to yourself: What a fucking asshole, keeping praises locked behind a firewall of Xannies and Oxy.

But, you'll stay despite each passing day. You had told Jeffery about it, briefly -during a massive hangover no less. That didn't mean you wanted your boyfriend murdered. Without Cody, you'd be abnormal.

"It doesn't matter, he..." Jeffery laughed, his nerves spilling past his braced teeth. He nuzzled his nose along your eyebrow. And you felt on the verge of pissing yourself. "He brainwashed you. It's fine to be confused. Sleep off the drugs. We'll be home when you wake."

"Why?"

"Why what? Becoming sober would do you great."

You winced, "No? Why're you doing this."

Jeffery paused. He scratched at his temple. "Is it not obvious? I want you... badly. Not just your body, even though it's immaculate. You... um, have curves where I like them the most. And it's not every day I meet a pretty girl who loves anime and who's nice to me. Hello, you watched Pretty Cure and Sailor Moon. You were my only true friend. You could keep up with me like my Discord homies. And, um."

He was rambling. Fuck. You didn't know liking childish anime would get you here. Eight-year-old you was a bitch fucking whore~

** Choice ** Skip past Jeffery's monologue a) end up in cosplay, or b) end up in a ditch dead #yourimagination * click *

..............................

I am not a fan of Jeffery from 09'. That being said, I was shocked by the amount of people who liked part one! I hope this is good for y'all.

Thank you for reading! Please leave ideas in the comments! I'll make a prt 3. Request rules are here!

>>> NEXT CLASS OF 09' POST: Toxic Lesbians - Jeckole

Not me randomly naming the boyfriend Cody, then the new manager at my job is a guy named Cody. It's like I manifested it. Work has cut into my writing. I've worked overtime these past few days. I'm exhausted and felt the need to get this out. I wanted to add smut, but that'll be for part three.

@opalineishere here's part twooo~

@sakurashana I tagged your ass because you had something to say the other day 😂

[cinehomophile]

Fanfic Writer Questions

no one tagged me in this but doing anyway bc i am fixating on fanfic rn lol

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 29

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 58,770

3. What fandoms do you write for? Everything but rn focused on The Deer Hunter and Mean Streets

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

words: Mean Streets hurt/comfort about internalized homophobia

yeah i want a scab today: Reservoir Dogs character study about BPD!Freddy

he wrung the dew out of the fleece, a bowlful of blood: Mean Streets dead dove about religious guilt

dreams of knowledge: Mean Streets hurt/comfort about religious guilt

Kolya: The Deer Hunter character study about immigrant identity

5. Do you respond to comments? for the most part, i think comments and replies are an important aspect of fic culture

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably in its right place.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? be sweet to me, baby is probably the happiest it gets lmao

8. Do you get hate on fics? No despite my efforts

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Generally no

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Have not in a long time but recall writing something that was RWBYxMinecraft in 2016

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No afaik

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No but I have translated a few fics

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have co-created a podfic with @fruitysalamander1398

14. What's your all time favorite ship? really hard to say. i think i was more insane about JotaKak than anything else but i dont have much interest in it now

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? atp i avoid starting things i can't finish. if i have a WIP i just pretend thats where i wanted it to end it my life is very easy. fic where i ship two abstract entities that i will never post and exists entirely on notebook pages and post-its

16. What are your writing strengths? Character studies, characters with complex trauma

17. What are your writing weaknesses? rich sensory descriptions bc my brain does not work like that

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? do it myself a lot but implementing is clunky and a pain in the ass

19. First fandom you wrote for? First fic I remember writing was for Little House on the Prarie when I was 9 lmao

20. Favorite fic you've written? hell is finding someone to love is definitely up there it's a very fun read. Angst and Pinging was pretty tight and cohesive i like that one a lot as well

tagging @fruitysalamander1398 @televisionamongthebees @fredoesque @meme-streets

[imaginesbymk]

PERSONALIZED SELF-INSERT FANFIC COMMISSIONS!

[FORM SUBMISSION LINK]

As an aspiring writer, I am offering self-insert fanfics with a character in your dream fandom! Just remember you can always request reader insert imagines/headcanons/prefs on my blog for free, but this is just for anyone who is interested in having theirs personalized and self-inserted! Please only request a commission through the Google forms linked above - NOT in my inbox. I won’t accept them!

FANDOMS I CAN TAKE COMMISSIONS FOR:

Arcane

Euphoria (not Nate Jacobs)

Squid Game

Quentin Tarantino films (Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs and Kill Bill only) 

The Maze Runner

The Hunger Games

The Pacific

Peaky Blinders

Shadowhunters

Stranger Things [S1-4] (I will only write familial/platonic for Eleven, Will, Lucas, Mike, Dustin and Max and I will not write for Billy romantically)

The Walking Dead

Professor Andrew Marston (ZSakuVA ASMR boyfriend audio)

WHAT I WRITE

Romantic, familial and platonic fics!

LGBTQ+ (even tho I identify as bi, please allow me to take more time to write them accurately)

Fluff and angst

Implied NSFW but no smut

AU

Love triangles with other characters/OCs in the same fandom - just no cheating!

WHAT I DON'T WRITE

Multiple chapters

I don't write for all the characters in the fandoms listed if the character(s) is abusive/racist/homophobic or a minor (especially for the Stranger Things kids. I understand the cast is much older now, but their characters aren't - also because I'm a 21 year old writer)

Smut

Pregnant!Reader or a Parent!Reader

Switching canon LGBTQ+ characters and writing them as cis/straight for the reader

If the reader or character is a victim of homo/trans/bi/Islamophobia, racism, any form of abuse, etc

The reader receiving/giving/forgiving any form of abuse

The reader having a specific mental illness or physical disability. Depression/Anxiety is an exception, but I will not write other things as I do not want to inaccurately write anything that would potentially be harmful and misinforming

Polyamorous relationships

Su*cide/s*lf h*rm

Crossovers – they're too complicated to write for me!

Real people/Celebrities

Character x Character

Reader x OCs

Cheating

PRICING

Under 1K words ($5 CAD)

1K words ($10 CAD)

2K words ($15 CAD)

3K words ($20 CAD)

4K+ words ($40 CAD)

EXTRA PRICING

Additional pairing ($2 CAD)

Based off a song of your choice ($2 CAD)

Personalized headcanons of your choice ($4 CAD)

TERMS OF SERVICE

Payment is through Paypal only!

Your fanfic will be written and submitted to you as a Google doc/Word doc (I promise to make the layouts pretty)

For personal use only! If you do decide to repost them, then it must be credited to me properly with my name and my Tumblr blog username. I will take legal action if this is not done.

You will be receiving drafts of your commission asking for modifications 0-10 days after payment

You agree that I will add these commissions to my writing portfolio and possibly on my Tumblr to promote my commissions.

No estimated wait due to college + work, but I will not forget any commissions and refunds are guaranteed, if ever.

With all that said, please be patient and kind <3

- MK

[lydiduh]

shout out to past lydian for leaving reservoir dogs smut lost media in a random documents folder for future lydian

[goofgoofdildo]

get to know me!

tagged by @the-evil-stick

favorite color

brown or burgundy

currently reading

Entangled life by Merlin Sheldrake

last song

Vanishing act by Enabling Behaviour

last movie

a Reservoir dogs rewatch

last series

literally do not know I barely watch anything these days. Oh I think I watched Too many spirits recently if that counts?

sweet, savoury, spicy

I'm gonna go with spicy bc it's not a flavour but a sensation and therefore both sweet and savoury things can be spicy and I like spicy things c: even tho I am a weakass with spice lol

craving

craving adventure right now. Really wanna go somewhere and explore, try new restaurants, climb a tree, see a jazz gig.

tea or coffee

hm. Maybe tea bc while i drink way more coffee than tea, tea doesn't make me wanna die. Although recently I've been having almond coffee that tastes like hot choccy and I've been digging it.

currently working on

a smut scene for a fic that isn't mine, a comic strip thingy about rorveth in which iorveth bleeds in a church and roche is married inspired by a quote, and a clay statue of iorveth. (I might not finish either of these things oops)

tagging: @justalittletomfoolery and anyone who wants to do this pls and thank you

[killingitreservoirdogsstyle]

I was just curious…Would you ever be interested in writing either a fluff or NSFW alphabet for each of the dogs?

Hello anon, no worries at all! I love all of your guys’ questions, it’s such a nice break from school and the garbage of life. I am so sorry for my lack of updates and being offline lately. I promise I’ll try to get some stuff out soon!

Anon, it’s defo on my bucket list! I think my horny side would be thrilled to do NSFW alphabets for the ResDogs, especially Pink and Eddie! You guys can totally go ahead and request those, they are on the table as headcanons! Fluff alphabets I’m not sure about, but I’d love to try! Can you recommend me any tips at all on how to write them? What should I do?

Thanks for your awesome question anon, and sorry for my god awful reply. Have a great rest of your week everyone, and stay tuned!

[littlemissvincentvega]

can i request an hc about uuuh having a one night stand with mr blonde and hooking up with him at a motel? xx

THATS SO HOT YES

you probably meet at a bar lets face it

like he’s standing there watching you from across the bar w/ that smug look on his face

like he’s so blatant about checking you out it’s laughable

at some point he’ll approach you because this man is Confident™ and asks to buy you a drink

i feel like he’s the sorta guy to like. not insist on it if you say no to him tbh

mostly because he’s used to everybody saying yes because why wouldnt you

you guys have a few drinks together (not too many like yall dont get drunk), get talking, get to know each other a little bit. but it’s pretty clear where this is headed and you’re both fully aware of it

"you wanna go back to my, uh, room, sweetheart?"

he hands you the key and tells you he's just finishing his whiskey but he'll see you there in a few minutes

you oblige and make yourself comfortable on the bed, clothes in a neat pile on the floor, toying with yourself in your lacy underwear (you're already dripping for him i think we all are tbh)

his jaw drops slightly, cigarette hanging lazily between his lips, when he opens the door and sees you

"oh, baby, look at you. look at that beautiful body'a yours," he purrs, taking a drag of his cigarette

takes a few slow steps towards you, admiring the sight

"that what daddy does to ya, hm?"

already has a Rager Boner™

stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray provided, clicks his fingers and gestures for you to get on your hands & knees

SUCH a tease, like he drops his pants and rubs his cock between your folds, smirking at your begging for him to just fuck you already

it's rough let's just say that :-)

"you like that, dirty bitch? you like bein' daddy's slut, huh?"

despite being really rough he still has his hands all over your body, stroking your skin and gently running his fingers through your hair

asking where you'd prefer him to finish and respects your wishes

lets you sleep the night with him if you'd like to

smoking in bed/on the edge of the bed

very hesitant to let you have his number if you want it, but gives it you if you insist-- "maybe we'll cross paths again, sweetheart. call me any time"

[s1mpforeveryone]

thinking about pissed off nice guy eddie cabot. i feel like normally he's laid back, he likes for you to ride him because he's kinda lazy but. pissed off eddie shoving you against a wall, calling you names because how pathetic are you? imagine riling him up just to make him rough

[headoverhiddles]

Busted - Freddy Newandyke/Mr. Orange x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Freddy tells the guys an amusing story.

Notes: Not reeeally smut, but it's smutty.

"Okay, okay," Brown waves his hands around, "Craziest thing that's ever happened to you." 

"Got pulled over by a cop for having phone sex with my girlfriend," Freddy chimes in proudly. "Had my dick out and everything." The Dogs all burst into juvenile laughter, passing the syrup around the table.

“You and cops, man, you’ve got some bad fucking luck,” Brown shakes his head. 

"And, uh... what was (y/n)'s reaction to this incident?" Larry smiles, "I expect it was something to witness." Freddy cringes.

"She doesn't exactly know yet."

"You better hope your ass doesn't get found out," Eddie shakes his head with a chuckle, "I know women, and you get put in the doghouse for that type of shit."

"Well it was her I was having phone sex with!" He shrugs, and goes back to mopping up syrup with his pancakes.

"C'mon, you can't just drop that shit on us and leave us without a story," Blue insists, and Freddy puts his hands up.

"Alright, alright. So I was talking to her on the way home one night..."

-0-0-0-

"That rookie cop, forget his fucking name again--"

You twirl the phone line, blowing on your painted nails. "Nash?"

"Yeah, him. How the hell do you remember that?"

"It's called having a working memory, you really need to start remembering your co-worker's fucking names, Freds."

"Yeah yeah, anyway Nash was being a real whiny piece of shit today, I felt like shooting him myself."

"The dogs are a bad influence on you," you smirk, and Freddy laughs.

"Probably. Anyway, I had a real fuckin bad day, but it got better, cause Larry invited me out with the guys."

"Yeah? Hey, you should invite Larry over again. Last time was fun, with the..."

"Yeah yeah, with the three of us? It was, wasn't it? Maybe next month, when we've got a little time."

"Yeah. So, what?"

"Well I kinda wanted to go, but I was tired, my feet hurt, I just wanna relax in with my girl tonight, y'know?" 

"Aw. I love you Orangie."

"Love you too."

"When'll you be home?"

"Eh, bout an hour away in the city."

"Okay. I've got dinner waiting, and I'm gonna go take a shower."

"...you know what I wish you were doing right now?" he asks. You pause.

"Do tell." 

"Sucking my cock," he replies simply in the most casual, Freddy-esque way possible, and you bite your lip, grinning and sitting up on the counter.

"I am. I'm sitting next to you right now, giving you that look. I'm biting my lip, and I turn to see if anyone's watching..."

"No one is," Freddy murmurs, "It's a deserted road."

"Good," you all but moan, "I'm reaching over... I'm unzipping you, and I pull your cock out, stroking you until you're hard. Then I lean down, and my hot, wet mouth slides over it. Mmmm.... fuck, you like that baby? You like my throat?"

"Yeah."

"You like fucking my mouth?"

"Mhmm, take it."

"I'm taking it... I'm taking it, it's sooo big though," you moan, "You taste so good, baby. God, I'm so wet. My panties are fucking dripping, you can tell from my eyes how fucking wet I am from you."

"Babe--" he lets out a groan.

"Want you to fuck me so hard. Mmmm..."

"Yeah... yeah, gonna fuck you--"

"Fuck me, baby, ohgod--" You smirk wickedly, and cluck your tongue. "Alrighty. See you in an hour, babe. Don't jerk off and crash, okay? You can’t get laid if you’re dead." You make kissy noises, and as Freddy protests, you hang up. Letting out an evil giggle, you toss off your top, and go run the shower. 

In his car, Freddy swears, and palms himself, until he realizes he can't not do this. One hand precariously guiding the steering wheel, he tries to stay steady as he unzips his pants, takes himself out, and starts pumping.

"Fuck... fuck," he grimaces, "Yeah, (y/n), love that pussy... best fucking pussy in the world, and it's all mine..."

Just then, he sees someone pull up next to him. Frozen, he can't move, and turns to see. The man in the other car is a cop, like Freddy. The other cop is Holdaway. Holdaway looks down at Freddy's lap. Freddy waves.

-0-0-0-

"And that is how I, um... kinda got busted for a night." He thought back to the speech he had received from the man. 

"But did you fuck?" Brown asks as if it were the most serious question in the world.

"What? Did I fuck the cop?!" Freddy asks.

"No jerk, your girlfriend!"

"Of course! I would've had blue balls all night, otherwise."

The entire table of guys erupts into laughter, and Freddy shakes his head. Life was never dull with you around.

[fandom-of-pulp-dogs]

hi!! can you please make a hc where the reader and mr pink are ordered to work together as crime partners? and perhaps constant debates and sarcastic remarks progressing into constant😏debates😏and😏sarcastic😏remarks😏 you know?:)))

I love this SO MUCH!! I hope I did this idea justice! :) ALSO I'm so sorry this came out so late but I put a lot of effort into this so I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: ummm cussing and smut (public sex, and insinuated crime and violence lmao ummm and unprotected sex,, I think that's it, I'm sorry if it's not!)

Parings: Mr. Pink X Fem! Reader (I'm sorry if you didn't want a fem reader! I intend on making more GN and male smuts with all the dogs)

Word Count: 2,007

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QUICK A/N: I GAVE MR. PINK A NAME: STERLING HIS NAME IS STERLING FIGHT ME also ik the ask said HC but I'm trying to branch out and get better at my writing so lmk how I did!!

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Working with Mr. Pink was,,, Interesting to say the least

You usually only worked with him on bigger jobs with the other dogs, but Eddie had informed you that Pink and yourself were gonna go on a smaller job together.

As much as you loved all the dogs and loved working with all of them, you were kinda excited to be alone with pink

I mean come on who wouldn’t be excited??

Pink

Mr. Pink is not excited,,, or is he? He is, He is, But he acts likes he not (we all know a tsundere when we see one)

You and pink got along well, you were both sarcastic, witty, professional, and you always compensated for when he didn’t tip

And all the dogs knew there was something between you two, whether you were both crushing or full-on fucking the dogs didn’t, know, but they knew there was something

That’s why this mission was made in the first place, so the dogs could finally get you two alone together, and let’s be honest, though neither knew, you and pink were both grateful ;)

“Hey honey, whatcha need?”

“Hiya babes, I got a job for you and Mr. Pink”

“,,,Just me and Mr. pink?” You put your nail file down and your brows furrowed. “Yep,” Eddie popped the p and waited for your response.

“Works for me, can you give me some details?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, you ready to pretend to be some rich assholes kid?”

“I was born ready honey.” You popped the gum you were chewing.

“Wow, You’re almost a damn professional.” Mr. Pink chuckled sarcastically.

“Oh my god, you’re such a dick.” You replied giggling.

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“HahahaHA Jesus fuckin’ Christ that was GOOD!” Mr. Pink hollered as he got into the car and slammed the door. You giggled along with his remark and got in as well. Lucky no alarms were set off and no one was alerted. Except for the guy you knocked out and locked in the cleaning room, but you don’t think he saw your faces so you guys are good,,,, hopefully.

“That was smooth! Oh my god, that was the best damn run I’ve done EVER!” You exclaimed while looking at the bag of jewels and diamonds you just stole “That’s cuz you’re with me sweetheart, Cuz I’m a-” “Fucking professional ya ya I know.” You rolled your eyes playfully as he did the same. “You ready to head back to meet Eddie?” You looked over at him and he seemed to be in deep thought, looking you up and down.

“How about we grab something to eat?” He looked up at you,,, genuinely. “I thought this was strictly professional?” You used his words against him, smiling as you did so. He huffed, “Not l-like that like we usually do with the- the guys yeah with the guys!” He began to stutter and ramble, causing you to bark a laugh. “I’m just teasing! Common pink I’m kidding okay, I’m sorry okay?” continuing to giggle pink paused his fit and straightened his suit jacket. “Ya ya okay anyways-” “Let’s go eat ya?” He looked at you in disbelief, “Sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Deadass! I almost got arrested for that stunt!”

“Goddamn you are wild”

“I know I am.” You winked at causing him to flush bright pink, how ironic.

“Look You don’t have to tell me your name, but I want to tell you mine. My name is Sterling.”

You stared at him, almost awed that the professional just let you know his name. “I,,, I’m honored that you told me your name. Thank you for your trust. M-my names (Y/N).” Giving him a meek but sincere smile, his face lit up. “I-i um” he cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “I-It’s nice to meet you (Y/N)” He gave a charming smile as he leaned back, seeming to gain some confidence and composure. You leaned forward on your elbows and smiled up at him, “So what should we do know?” He looked to the side, “I have an idea, but I don’t know if you’re up for it.”

Let’s just say you were more than up for it.

Sterling pinned you against the wall of the diner’s bathroom. Soft whines escaped your lips as he practically manhandled you. Sliding his knee between your legs, his lips met yours, causing you to smile and grind against him. “Good God. you’re are so fucking hot” Sterling breathed down your neck as your hands made their way to his trousers, unzipping them.

In due time you both had unbuttoned, unzipped, or has completely taken off all necessary clothes to get what you both wanted. Looking at his cock you licked your lips and practically begged, “Can I please suck you off?” And as much as Sterling would love to have his cock down your throat, He needed to be inside of you immediately.

“I love how much you wanna suck my cock I need to be balls deep in your pussy now” He practically growled. Your underwear was already thrown about (Which is very unsanitary in this most likely unclean public bathroom but don’t think about too hard) and so had been your bottoms. Pink lifted you onto the tiny counter, careful to not just set you in the sink. You spread your legs for him and pulled on his now, slightly unbuttoned shirt, to bring him closer. Both lips met and both set of hands began to move at a synced pace. His hands met your hips and he began to massage his way down to your pussy.

Your hands split up, one rubbing his bicep while the other went to tug on his hair. Groans and moans escaped you both as the makeout got hotter and you got wetter. His fingers quickly slid into your tight pussy. As he began fingering you, “uh fuck! Please just fuck me already!” You whined as your hips involuntarily bucked as his fingers slid in and out of you. “Shh keep it down kitten, were still in public, technically.” His mouth met yours to quiet you, and the rough and sloppy kisses were enough to shut you up for now, but that didn’t stop you from grinding on his hand as he continued on fucking you with his fingers. He began to rub slow, continuous circles around your clit causing your breath to hitch. “Hunh- fuck!” Your eyes rolled as sterling smirked, “shh come on doll cum for me I know your close.” He hummed as he focused on trying to hit that one spot over and over again. At this point, he was most definitely jerking himself off while you whined on his fingers.

Your constant whines are interrupted by your own gasp as he hits that one spot. “Fuck! Oh my god please ah~” Sterling’s face of concentration brighten as soon as your breath quickened. “Come on doll cum for me!” With those words of encouragement, you were gone. As he worked you through your orgasm his other hand left his cock and he rubbed your thighs to soothe you.

Your lips met once again as you rested for a minute. After the moment passed he rubbed both your thighs and got himself comfy, standing between your thighs. “You ready sugar?” “Yes, yes please!” Your hands rested on his cheeks as you both look each other in the eyes. You both smiled and giggled at your possibly embarrassing begging. “Just be patient, I want to take my time with you” He lined himself up and slid through your folds, lubing himself with your glistening arousal.

He finally pushed into your snug cunt and groaned, after your initial gasp you said ‘shh remember we’re still in public” smirking as you used his words against him. “For fucks sake I’m just trying to fuck my girl without getting caught and thrown out!” He huffed and you paused, “Your girl?” He also paused. “I-i mean that is if you want I didn’t mean-” You cut him off with an abrupt kiss, saving him from his own word stumbling. “I’d love to be yours” You wholeheartedly smiled up at him and he quickly kissed you again, “Then you, my love, are now mine~” He snapped his hips into yours causing you to moan and whine as he fucks into you.

Sterling tried to keep his groaning to a minimum but that was kinda hard considering your tight wet cunt was greedily sucking in his cock while you moaned and whined, while your tits bounced. “God you’re so fucking tight baby!” he groaned and his grip on your waist got tighter as he fucked into you harder.

“Nuhhhah!” An incomprehensible moan left your throat as you could feel yourself get tighter around his dick. Hands were in a flurry and you gripped his hair (Which he loves) and clawed at his back. “God come on Princess!” Sterling groaned and pushed you over your climax. “Oh my fucking god!” You whined and arched your back, pressing your chest into him. He felt you grow tighter as he fucked you through your orgasm which in turn caused his. As his hips stuttered he whined and fucked into you with what little strength he had left.

“Oohhh fuck!” He slammed into you one last time, letting ropes of his cum flowed into you. You pulsed around him and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, letting your arms draped around his torso. He let his head fall back and took a few breaths, gain composure and strength.

“That was incredible- you are incredible.” He huffed and lifted your chin up to meet his eyes. “You aren’t half bad either.” You smiled. “Goddamnit I’m trying to give you a compliment, I’m trying to be nice and- and here you are acting like a brat!” He teased as you laughed and relaxed in his arms. You both untangled yourselves from each other, causing soft moans and groans to leaves both lover’s lips. Sterling helped clean you up and dress you, causing you to smile at the love he was showing.

“What are you smiling at? Are you still laughing at your little joke earlier?” “No no, I was just thinking about how much I genuinely like you.” You smiled up at him and his face softened. A sincere smile spread across his face and he kissed you softly. Filled with love and passion. That’s when you both knew you were partners in crime. In a diner bathroom right after you both had sex, and Ya know what? That was the perfect way to find love. At least in your eyes, it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

“Why the hell are you guys back so late?” Eddie questioned. You and Mr. Pink frantically looked at each other. “We hide for a bit, just in case we were gonna run into cops or be followed.” You quickly, yet hopefully in a prevaricating manner, responded. “Alright well did you get the jewels?” He asked. “Of course we got ‘em.” Mr. Pink tossed the bag of stolen goods onto a nearby table and began to light a cigarette You smiled at the ground and the other dogs look your way then at each other.

They were in a meeting for an upcoming heist when you and pink made your appearance. As they were talking business they had also been talking about you and Sterling. Making comments on how you were both most definitely fucking while on the job. But they were only joking,,, until you both came in late and were obviously lying about coming in late. They were screaming in their heads but didn’t say a word out loud.

After a few minutes of talking with joe you and sterling left. Snickers filled the room. Then cackles. The knee slaps soon followed. They couldn’t fucking believe it took how many months for you two to get together, but they were happy nonetheless. The next week you guys met up you and sterling undoubtedly left with red hot faces.

[fictionalmenmistress]

Pretty sad that I went through all Tim Roth and Lie to me content in the span of one day and night. Like... what happened to more?

[purplehazejxsworld]

Value the time,don't waste.

[himbofreddynewandyke]

ok i headcannon that freddy discovers ((thanks to larry)) that he loves getting fingered, and larry loves fingering him, trying to see all the different noises and facial expressions he can coax out of his boy with the different twists of two digits inside of him

imagine freddy and larry making out in the shower, both half hard, and their skin going pink from the hot water running over them, larry’s gonna get a big motel utilities bill at the end of his stay but he really doesnt give a fuck, and their necking session started slow and lazy but it’s starting to get a bit more serious, mouths going along jaws and sucking on necks ((they had an agreement not to leave marks above the collar, but hey, neither of them got where they are by following the rules)), freddys arms are wrapped around larry and larry's hands are on freddy's arsecheeks, and then larry, not breaking the kiss, reaches over and grabs some lube ((whats it doing in the shower, does his motel shower have a shelf, who knows, a wizard did it)), quickly splurts some all over his fingers, uses one hand to pull on freddy's arsecheek to part them and slides his lubed hand between them, and first he's just rubbing gently on freddy's hole to let him know what he's gonna do, larry’s far too much of a gentlemen to just shove em in, and freddys moaning against larry’s jaw and clearly giving the affirmative, and larry slips in one finger, giving freddy some time to adjust, then another, slowly and experimentally twisting and curling them, and freddys loving it, makin high pitched whiny noises ((basically like he makes when larry’s carrying him into the warehouse :( )), gasping when larry switches from slightly scissoring the two fingers inside of him to deep thrusts, and then slow rubbing around his rim again, and he's going weak at the knees but luckily larry's strong and can hold him up and finger him at the same time, the other arm tightly around freddy’s lower back making sure he doesnt slip, and the waters still running over them both, and freddys lightly thrusting his hips, they're kinda frotting but it’s too erratic and he’s mostly just rubbing against larry’s hip, more concerned about pressing his arse against larry’s fingers, and larry’s thinking his boy looking debauched and desperate (because of him!) is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and freddy comes, and he’s still being held by larry for a minute since he’s in a post-orgasm daze then he wiggles a bit so larry loosens his hold and freddy slides down to his knees and wraps himself around larry’s legs, both to steady himself and to start sucking larry off

FIN