#after I get back from that hellhole. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyaruhana · 7 days ago

Note

pls write for thanos with hatefucking… like that man has that potential after seeing how he talks to the other contestants

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong - Hatefucking

Synopsis: You and Thanos hate each other and, no matter how many death threats he sends your way, you never listen. So he decides that, if threats don't work, maybe you need to be fucked instead.

A/N: wrote this in like two hours max so it may not be the best but I tried anyway !! I love Thanos so much and hatefuck with him has me thirstyy

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, blowjob, degradation, thanos is a little meanie and you're sassy

If there was one thing that could be said for sure about Thanos, it's that he was a total fucking dickhead.

From the very first game you played in this hellhole, he had been nothing but a problem. He skipped around like he owned the place and had no problem with sacrificing a few people. Not to mention, he was loud. So annoyingly loud.

Unfortunately for you, he seemed to really hate you too. Maybe it was the fact you kept glaring at him like he did something or the way you'd make some sort of sarcastic comment every time he spoke. Whatever the reason, the feeling was mutual. He hated you. You hated him. That was the end of it.

Well, it should've been.

As if some divine being took joy in your pain, Thanos walked up to you while you were alone with an angry look - clearly having something to say to you. You could guess he was going to try to threaten you into choosing to continue the games next vote since you had chosen not to.

“Yo. It'd be in your best interest to choose the blue button. It's really pissing me off when you keep pressing that red x button every time,” he spoke as he looked down at you from where you sat.

“Or what?” You say as you stand up and look at him with disdain. You weren't about to let this idiot try to scare you into doing what he wants. You weren't his slave. “Or I'll fucking kill you,” he says as he steps closer with a look that seemed like he meant it. Honestly, you didn't doubt that he was telling the truth. He's been killing people since the first game and it certainly won't be any different for you.

“Ooh, scary,” you say sarcastically before pushing past him. You didn't get far before he grabbed your wrist and turned you around, pulling you close to him. “You don't think I'll do it? Cause you'd be wrong,” he says as he looks at you dead in the eyes. You harshly pulled your wrist away from his grip and gave him a scoff.

“You're too much of a pussy to do shit. The only thing that gives you confidence are those dumb little pills you take,” you say as you look at him, challenging him to say something else.

It was quiet as you two just stared at each other, both silently praying for the other's death. He lets out an annoyed huff before finally breaking eye contact to look to the side. Without another word, he pushes past you and walks back to the other side of the room where the rest of the people who wanted to continue playing the game were. If that idiot really thought he could sway you, he'd soon learn you aren't swayed by death threats from high dumbasses.

When it came time to vote, you could feel Thanos staring you down. You turned your head to look back at him with an eyebrow raised and he turned his head away. You could see the annoyance all over his face.

One by one, each player went up and placed their vote. The numbers were quite even and it was hard to tell who'd end up victorious in this vote. When it was Thanos's turn to vote, he made a point of stopping right behind you before he walked down.

“Remember what I said earlier. I'll kill you,” he whispers before walking past and skipping down towards the buttons. He kissed the blue button before walking over to the corresponding side but he was looking straight at you.

You ignored his hard glare and walked down to the buttons. You raised your hand and, no surprise, pressed the red button. You turned to him and flipped him off with a small smirk before walking off to the other side.

For a moment, you actually thought you'd get away with that because it seemed that more people wanted to leave now. However, that was not the case as the result ended up being a tie.

Great. You were stuck here for longer. You definitely wouldn't be able to avoid Thanos if you were stuck here till tomorrow. He didn't seem to walk up to you immediately. It was like he was waiting for the right time to strike. All he did was stare at you from across the room as if he was formulating the most brutal way to tear you limb by limb. And, wow, he stared at you for a very long time.

It wasn't until there were 5 minutes before lights out did he come to you. You were all by yourself in a corner and no one seemed to be paying much attention. They were all so busy in their own whispered conversations.

“Hey, it seems you didn't understand me the first time,” he says as he grabs you by your shirt and pushes you against the wall behind you. “I said I'd kill you if you pressed the red button,” he continues as he looks at you with annoyance.

“Go ahead then. Kill me,” you say as you look at him with a small smirk. He might have already killed a few people but you didn't believe he'd have the guts to kill people outside of the games.

He was quiet. All he did was stare. It was as if he was calculating some thoughts. He looked toward the timer on the wall before looking back at you.

“You're fucking unbearable,” he speaks before he's suddenly slamming his lips against yours. You didn't expect this move. You expected him to stab you or choke you - not kiss you.

You push him away with a glare. You couldn't be kissing this idiot. You hated him and he was fucking stupid. But even with that hate, there was something about the way he kissed you that had you thinking twice.

Fuck, you were doing this.

You pulled him in by his collar and pressed your lips against his. There was nothing romantic about this kiss. It was pure hate. Just angry, rough kissing as if it would solve anything. His hands were all over your body before they finally decided to settle on your hips with a tight grip. He pulled away before starting to leave kisses along your neck. He wasn't gentle at all. He was biting you as if he wanted to draw blood.

“You're such a fucking bitch. Always acting so smug. I'm gonna shut you the fuck up,” he says as his hand goes to your hair before yanking it back roughly to give him better access to your neck.

“You're the fucking bitch. Always walking around like you own the place,” you say back and in response he bites your neck hard making you wince slightly at the pain. “watch your fucking mouth,” he spoke as he pulled away and wrapped a hand around your throat. As if on cue, the lights suddenly turned off leaving you two in the dark.

He let out a small laugh as it went dark before he removed the hand on your hip and instead started pulling your pants down.

“I'm gonna fuck you till you learn you're not in control, I am,” he says before pulling his own pants down. He wasn't going to play nice or take it easy. Not when you hadn't played nice with him.

“You think you can fuck me into submission? You're way too fucking cocky,” you say with a quiet laugh, finding it amusing how he thought you'd fold once he started fucking you. “We’ll see,” he says, his grip around your throat tightening to shut you up. He pulled his boxers down slightly, enough to let his dick out, before he pushed your panties to the side.

“I'm gonna show you not to fuck with me again,” he whispers into your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance. Without another word, he starts slowly thrusting himself in till he's all the way inside you.

“You're such a fucking whore,” he says as he starts to pull out before thrusting in again with one stroke. He kept a pace of being fast and hard as if trying to make you feel his hate on a spiritual level.

Well, God you could definitely feel it. He kept leaving aggressive bites all over your neck as he thrust into you. His hand around your neck kept its firm grip, enjoying the way you struggled to breathe.

He wasn't fucking you for pleasure, he was fucking you to make you learn a lesson. He wanted to make you cum. He wanted to choke you till your vision got blurry. He wanted it to be clear he hated you with every fiber of his being.

His free hand went down to your clit and he pinched it before rubbing it with a circular motion. He wasn't gentle so it brought a mix of both pain and pleasure. A feeling that brought you closer to the edge of a sweet, sweet release. He could feel you tighten around his cock and it made him let out a groan which turned into a small mocking laugh.

“Fuck, are you- going to cum? Already?” He says mockingly with a smirk. He took pleasure in knowing he could control you like this. Control someone who seemed to hate him. “C'mon, cum on my cock then, whore,” he said before pressing his lips to yours roughly. He forced his tongue into your mouth and he was clearly eager to get you to cum.

With a slight angle of his hips, he thrusted into just the right spot that had you tipping far over the edge. He let out a groan at the feeling of you coming undone on his cock before he quickly pulled out.

He released your throat and grabbed your hair instead before forcing you onto your knees. You looked up at him with a glare and he returned it with the corner of his mouth just barely quirked up. “suck my cock so I can come,” he said as he brought his cock closer to your mouth. He really didn't hesitate when you opened your mouth and immediately forced himself in with a groan at the feeling.

“God.. do you taste yourself on my dick?” He says as he looks down at you. He thrusts into your mouth making you gag and he just laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. “You're such a fucking bitch when you talk shit. I like you better like this,” he speaks as he mercilessly thrusts into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over again.

“I'm gonna cum in your mouth and you're gonna swallow, yeah?” He says before throwing his head back with a groan. It didn't take long before you felt his cum run down your throat. He thrusted a little more as he came down from his high before finally pulling out of your mouth. There was drool running down your chin as he pulled his boxers and pants up before kneeling in front of you.

“Swallow my cum,” he orders as he tilts his head at you and waits. You look up at him before turning your head and spitting onto the floor instead.

“I think I'll pass,” you say as you look up at him once again with a glare. Tension rose between you two again but this time, it was different. Sure, it was hate, but there was undeniably a different punishment waiting instead of an argument.

“Then I guess you haven't learnt your lesson,”

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #choi su bong #choi su bong smut #thanos squid game #x reader smut

2K notes · View notes

queenpiranhadon · 5 months ago

Note

Can I request bkg and reader getting in a fight so they still share the bed but sleep while facing away from each other. But then reader gets nightmare about him dying and clutches to him. How do you think he would react??

A/N: Sobbing because the manga has me in shambles TY ANON FOR THE REQUESTTT <33 Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Mild cursing, you and Katsuki get into a fight, he's a little hot headed but he means well, you both love each other so much, you both are dating, mentions of an anxiety attack, nightmares, angst to comfort, mentions of blood and death, slight spoilers, reader is called princess and baby, f!reader.

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

"Katsuki you can't keep doing this to yourself!"

"Jesus baby, ya know that this is my job, I don't have a choice! I can't just stop savin' people 'cause my girlfriend wants me to."

It went on like that for a while, back and forth, between "You can't just keep coming home like this, it's not healthy!" and "It's my fuckin' job - what the fuck do ya want me to do about it?!" as well as every single variation of the two.

It was exhausting.

You were understandably worried sick about your pro hero boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou, you always had been. You loved him to death, you always would, but your heart simply couldn't take the sight of him coming home bruised and bloodied and on the brink of death.

You believed in him, you really did, but the little voice in the back of your head never seemed to stop asking the one question you wish never had to be asked in the first place.

What if it finally became too much? What if one day, he didn't come home back to you?

The scenarios that voice would create were almost as bad as having to experience it in real life, and Katsuki's blatant disregard for your feelings only made it worse.

To him, you didn't believe in him. Your worries made him feel weak - your worries made it seem like his skills were incompetent, as if he wasn't enough. After all, when you see a hero like All Might on the screen, no one is simply worried for his wellbeing, because they know he'll win.

Why don't you think he can win?

The two of you don't speak to each other for the rest of the night, still sleeping in the same bed but turned away from each other.

And it was hard, trying to fall asleep without the other, so accustomed to falling asleep in each other's arms, but you finally managed to do so.

However, without Katsuki's presence to soothe you in the night, the voice in your head decided to take the reins on your dreams.

Except it was much more worse than that.

You were on a battle field, there was so much happening except there was nothing happening at the same time.

You can't see your hands, or the rest of your body, eerily making you a spectator to the chilling scene around you.

The ground was slate grey, and then it wasn't, crimson blood staining the ground until all you could see was red.

You try to scream, but you can't because you have no body, and consequently, no mouth.

Still you persist, opening an invisible mouth to let out soundless screams in the hope that someone, anyone, can get you out of this soulless empty hellhole.

And then you see him.

It's Katsuki.

He looks fine, unharmed except for the hollow look in his eyes.

Your heart aches and you reach out an invisible hand to do something, to apologize for losing your temper, anything to have him back.

But the moment you blink, Katsuki isn't fine, or unharmed anymore.

Now, there was a gaping hole in his chest, and half of his face was stained the same crimson that was splattered across the ground.

You could only watch in horror as Katsuki's life was sucked out of him, seeping out through the blood that dripped out of his body, staining the ground even further, pooling at his feet.

You scream even more, but nothing comes out. You can't do anything, and the love of your life is bleeding out and you're just standing there.

Shit!

You didn't realize you were crying until you feel two strong hands gently shaking you awake, finding yourself buried in Katsuki's chest, clutching onto his shirt like it was your lifeline. Or in this case, his.

"Princess? I'm here, baby I'm here...everything's okay..." he murmurs, his gruff voice soothing you as he strokes your hair, allowing you to soak his shirt with your tears, not minding it at all.

You look at him, and his heart breaks at the broken look in your eyes.

"Katsuki...?" you whisper, and he looks at your with those piercing vermillion eyes, ridden with guilt.

"Baby, m'so sorry I talked to ya like that.... I'm so stupid, damnit." he whispers angrily, not to you, but to himself.

How had he not realized how bad your anxiety was?

He sighs - he wasn't the focus right now, you were.

He brings a large and gentle hand around, cupping the back of your head and tenderly pressing it against his chest.

"Feel that princess? That my heart, beating for ya. And only for ya, ya hear me?"

You giggle softly, feeling your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep together like that, and the little voice in your head finally gives you a few words of assurance.

Katsuki's okay.

1K notes · View notes

impactrueno · 2 months ago

Note

Beetlejuice clearly wasn't interested in Lydia when they met, so when do you think he actually fell for her? Was he so impressed by Lydia defeating him that he developed a little crush?

i think this might be the biggest thing i've been turning around in my head since the sequel dropped. how did bro get to this point. i need to know. you weren't like this where we left off, what happened during that huge time gap????

this is where canon ends and conjecture begins, you just have to theorize and fill in the gaps yourself with whatever makes the most sense to you, which is what i've been trying to do this whole time. so please bear with me here.

i don't know how much i want share or save for my comics because i don't know how much he would actually reveal about this but whatever we ball

edit: ok so i scrolled back up to this after finishing writing this and as it turns out i have no self control and i ended up sharing everything that crossed my mind. craziest stream of consciousness i've ever written down. strap on and keep your limbs inside the ride at all times. whatever. we BALL.

let's review their first encounter from his point of view:

you're hired to scare the deetzes, right? so you do just that. excellently you might add. just when you're about to terrorize their teenage daughter, barbara banishes you and the party is over. what fucking losers right? you get the sense that adam and barbara care about this girl so you make some remark about her and it pisses them off. haha. also whoa where did this place come from? damn adam, who could've guessed he had it in him. you forget about everything else and dance your way to dante's inferno room.

after spending a respectably tasteful evening with those ladies, you're chill now. relaxing under your little sun lamp to work on your tan.

someone walks in looking for adam and barbara. don't they know they're dead?

"are you a ghost too?"

"i'm the ghost with the most, babe."

hold on a sec, who's even—

...well hey. it's the girl.

the girl who can see ghosts, and she's talking to you.

target acquired. this one's your ticket out of this hellhole.

"you look like somebody i can relate to," you tell her. relate how? doesn't matter. you're ensnaring her with your affable demeanor like you always do, make people feel like you're pals with them first and foremost. she seems like a nice girl, so this should be easy. you tell her upfront that you want to get out of there and you need her help to do so.

"i want to get in," she says.

whoa there.

what? she wants to get in? she says that in response to you saying that you wanted out. she really has no idea what it's like on the other side, huh. but shit, that kinda stops you in your tracks a bit. this girl wants to die. this young? that's not right. makes no sense.

"...why?"

she just looks at you and says nothing. jesus. ok maybe it's none of your business so let's back it up. you're losing control of the conversation and you're on a mission here. you figure if she helps you get out, you might as well talk her off that ledge or show her how shitty it is on the other side or somethin'. frankly, you can't afford to care right now. you're not entirely sure why she thinks things would be better on the side you're so desperate to get out of, but alright. doesn't matter, right now you gotta get her to summon you. so you begin your little game of charades.

after she correctly guesses your name and almost says it a third time, she recognizes you as the snake that terrorized her family. god fucking dammit. you're losing her. you're getting impatient. your affable act is over. "nah...i want to talk to barbara," she says and now she's REALLY getting on your nerves because fuck barbara, fuck adam, you're SO CLOSE to getting out and you're not gonna let this go now, go go GO GO SAY IIIIIIITTTTTTT

adam and barbara walk in because of course they do. womp womp

ok well that didn't work, but you're not gonna give up so easily. sooner or later another opportunity will come and soon you will be free.

wait why are they moving the model— where are they taking it—

ooohhhhh. business meeting. get a load of these yuppies, trying to turn winter river into a town-sized Ripley's Believe it or Not. a talking marcel marceau statue? and you thought you were a con man. no wonder the deetz girl wants to die, it's bleak as hell here too. but if you get out...you can fix that. hell, you can fix anything.

these bozos are here to see some ghosts, but the girl says they're not going to show up unless the fleshbags stop making a mockery out of the whole thing and that maybe they can all live happy together in the house. ain't that sweet.

of course no one's taking her seriously. she's a kid, what does she know, right? they'd rather listen to the most obnoxious guy in the room (besides yourself) who has no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but somehow, he's got his hands on the handbook.

the girl panics, then immediately says completely deadpan "wait, what am i even worried about, otho, you can't even change a tire" and you're surprised they didn't hear how hard you cackled at that.

despite all that, they seem to have started a séance with their old wedding clothes. bad news for the maitlands. they're about to be dead-dead. the girl cries for them to stop, and these guys are just sitting there scared shitless. you're hearing everything. you knew a new opportunity would arise, so you wait, because this is the part where people remember how good at your job you are. they always do.

she knows you can help. you're the only one who can help. so here she comes. those wedding clothes give you an idea. plan B is now in motion.

well well well.

look who came crawling back.

she asks for your help, and you're happy to oblige, under one condition of course. after all, you don't do anything for free, and she's the only one who can help you with your problem. how serendipitous.

once again, you lay it on her, straight up. you want out. and a way to do it (thanks adam and barbara for the reminder) is through marriage with a fleshbag. you need to get married. a green card marriage, if you will.

she's immediately disgusted by the idea. you don't take that personally, of course, because it doesn't matter. she's just a kid and it's not a real marriage. she just happens to be unlucky enough to be the only one around who can assist you with this, the poor girl. it's a marriage of convenience—or rather, inconvenience—and you're not planning on sticking around because you will get the hell out of there as soon as you can. so there shouldn't be a problem, right? besides, does she know how many women would kill to be in that position? she gets to brag about it to her friends, what's not to like? it's a totally even deal.

the clock is ticking and the maitlands aren't getting any younger. she agrees to the deal. you win, at last.

she already knows what to do, so you sit there patiently with a shit-eating grin on your face, awaiting the three little B words. gloating.

Beetlejuice........Beetlejuice...........Beetlejuice.

it's showtime.

this is your favorite part. you love a dramatic entrance. you decide to show the deetzes and their greedy friends the circus they so wanted to turn this town into. horrible as you are, you're also pretty damn good at calling out other people's horribleness, and you do love an ironic karmic way of dealing with someone. for example tubby here thinks he can escape, but not before you change his sleek black suit into a tacky white leisure suit. the horror! this is why you're a professional at this.

you effortlessly end the exorcism and the maitlands are saved. a little pruney right now but they'll be fine. everything is taken care of, you have fulfilled your end of the deal like you promised. only one thing left to do.

"shall we?"

there's really no need to make a whole show out of this, but you're a showman first and foremost and as a 𝒥𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓊𝓂 you'll be damned if you're not gonna let yourself have a little fun with this. everyone looks terrified. this is why you're a professional at this.

witnesses and reverend in place, you can finally begin the ceremony. you're having fun, yes, but let's try to pick up the pace a bit, okay? the closer you get to your goal, the more impatient you get. the girl isn't finding any of this very funny at all and she protests. the maitlands butt in and are now kind of twisting your arm a bit, but you deal with them harmlessly, until they get on your last nerve so you send adam to the model and barbara to saturn. all of this after you honorably fulfilled your end of the bargain and saved the day. jesus christ, are you the only one with some integrity around here or what.

you forget the stupid ring. shit. you're pretty sure you have it on you somewhere, ever since you chopped up delores into pieces for poisoning you. you kept her ring finger as a trophy and as a reminder to never get married again, and yet here you are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. finally, you find the ring (still on her severed finger) and hastily tell your new bride-to-be that delores meant nothing to you. in case she even cares. she doesn't seem to. not even a chuckle? oh well.

almost done with the ceremony. almost there. you're holding the girl's hand with an iron grip to keep her in place as you're about to put that ring on her finger. "i now pronounce you, man and—"

a tiny car crashes against your foot and it catches on fire. you scream. a fucking sandworm crashes into the room through the ceiling. everyone screams. you scream LOUDER.

you're sent back to the afterlife waiting room.

not your first rodeo with a sandworm, but that doesn't make the experience any less shitty. the real annoying part is being in the waiting room again. this could take ages. you're number 9,998,383,750,000 and they're serving number 3 right now. you trick the guy next to you and steal his ticket (number 4) but he's not too pleased about that, so that didn't work.

a long time sitting here it is, then.

movie ends, credits roll.

for reference, that was 1988. winona ryder was 15 when they were filming in 1987 so while lydia doesn't have a confirmed age, i think we can safely assume that she was the same age as winona at the time.

36 years later, it's 2024. or 34 years later, it's 2022. we don't know the exact year because while bob's in memoriam credits scene says 2024 and all the interviews talk about how 36 years have passed in universe as well, there's this other one tiny detail.

jeremy's death passport says he died on march 11, 1999. jane butterfield says he died "23 years ago," putting the movie in 2022. they did film it in 2022 so the math is mathing correctly there. given that the in memoriam scene was more of a joke and jeremy's passport is a canon prop in the movie, i'd say 2022 is the canon year the movie is set in. (small sidenote; the passport also has the roman numerals DCLXVI which is 666. cute detail i loved it)

in the sequel, beetlejuice says lydia has been ignoring him for 30 years. i always thought that was curious because outside of this claim, they always specify how many years exactly have passed since. he doesn't say 34 or 36, he says 30. and for his degree of obsession (and the fact that he remembers exactly how many times he's watched The Exorcist) i think he would be counting even the days so i think he did really mean 30 years. so this would mean at least 4 years passed between getting sent back to the waiting room and the beginning of his stalking.

AND NOW that we established all that, we are finally getting to the answer to the question, "when and how did this all start?"

so okay, he spent a while in the waiting room. a lot of time to think. probably replaying the events at the deetzes' in his head over and over, how he got here, where he fucked up, what's he gonna do once he gets out. cursing the maitlands for ruining his plan when he was soooo fucking close. wondering what ever happened to lydia deetz.

lydia deetz, the young girl who told him she wanted to die.

...

is she alright?

i don't think he's capable of feeling guilt, but we can probably argue that he's not entirely heartless. what she said about how she wanted to "get in" must've stuck with him from the way he reacted when she dropped that bomb. she never showed up in the waiting room so he knows she didn't follow through with that. still, he used a vulnerable young girl for his own selfish gain. ironically enough, he knows exactly how that feels, because he also got tricked into marriage and got used for someone else's gain. the difference being that he dealt with that shit with an axe.

much much much to think about for mr. juice.

after years of ruminating in that waiting room, he's finally out and back to the regular day to day afterlife. definitely gets chewed out by juno, maybe forced to do community service or labor or what have you, he basically just needs to clean up his act now. this freelancing shit is becoming more trouble than it's worth anyway.

he's still wondering about lydia deetz. should he check in on her? maybe he should, he's too curious now.

at this point, lydia is now about 19-21 and in college. maybe he manages to sneak into the model one time she's back home for the holidays or something. and oh my god would you look at that, what a beautiful young woman she's grown into. she's radiant. she's happy. she's no longer that gloomy suicidal kid he met in the attic. seems like what she said about the deetzes and the maitlands sharing the house did come true after all.

that's nice. very sweet. good to know.

maybe he wonders if she remembers him and tries to get her attention somehow, give her a little scare for old times sake or whatever. for a brief moment it seems like she saw something and her expression changes, but she shrugs it off and continues on chatting with her two sets of parents. no such luck.

oh well. curiosity sated! and beetlejuice goes back home and doesn't return.

until the next time he returns.

and he keeps coming back to check in on her, telling himself he's just making sure that she hasn't killed herself or something. and he's not above admitting that with every year that passes, she keeps getting more beautiful. and to think they almost got married, huh.

he constantly tries to get her to notice him somehow, and sometimes she almost does, but ultimately he never really succeeds beyond making her do a double take. very rarely she does catch a glimpse of him. he's seen her mutter to herself that she's just seeing things and she seems a bit frightened every time this happens, but there's nothing to fear, honey, it's just good ol' beetlejuice. he won't lie, he gets a bit of a rush every time and it makes his dead heart beat faintly. he's gotten this far, he can't just stop now. in his mind, this has become their little private game of cat and mouse, where the mouse ignores the cat. but aren't they cute? he thinks they're cute. this is not creepy at all!

before he realizes, he's already learned everything about her. he knows about richard and even watched their wedding from afar like a loser. he knows she gave birth to a healthy baby girl named astrid. he knows they have a blast on halloween. halloween is lydia's favorite holiday, and his too. sometimes he can't help but see the three of them happy together and think it could've totally been him. even if he and richard are nothing alike (in fact could not be more opposite) and the circumstances of their unholy wedding were nothing short of grim and a farce. but in his mind, he's starting to convince himself otherwise.

maybe it's his jealousy speaking, but lydia doesn't seem to be that happy with richard despite everything. even though richard is like, the perfect guy. then one day his suspicions are proven correct: neither of them knows why it happened, but after having a long and emotional talk (that he watched with a bucket of popcorn) they decide to get a divorce. he pumps his fist, feeling victorious for some reason. sure he's a little sadistic at times, but why is this giving him so much glee?

the divorce is hard on lydia's kid, who was always more attached to her father, but they still spend a lot of time together. sometimes the three of them, since richard and lydia kept things amicable after the divorce. lydia tries to move on and see other people, but each relationship fails before it even starts. mostly because she keeps holding back and so fails to connect with anyone else, but also sometimes because, well, he can't help himself but to scare them away from her from time to time. it's fun. in his mind, he's just being protective of her, as a gentleman should for a lady.

then richard dies. fell into a piranha infested river from the looks of it (he saw him at immigration one day, don't ask what he was doing around there, force of habit after constantly making sure lydia hasn't killed herself yet.) it's devastating for both lydia and astrid, straining their relationship even more for the next few years as they both try to cope with the loss. the shock proves to be too much for lydia, so she goes to a survivors retreat to work through her trauma, both from richard's death and "unresolved feelings."

then lydia, at her most vulnerable, meets rory.

beetlejuice was able to clock him immediately. a textbook manipulative opportunist, he himself knows the tactics very well. swoop in to "help" someone in a vulnerable position, pull the wool over their eyes and begin taking control so you can get what you want out of that person.

he wouldn't admit it, but this really irks beetlejuice. you know when you see someone who reminds you of the worst parts of yourself, so you despise them? yeah. he's been there, and he's also been him.

but rory is somehow even worse than beetlejuice. see, rory is her manager, and boy does he manage to get on his nerves. he takes her phone. he controls what medication she takes. he blames and guilt trips her about every mishap that HE causes, making himself look like her benevolent savior and making her feel like she would be lost without him, confusing her with his psychobabble. on top of all that, he's forcing her to do this hacky show called Ghost House where she "hunts ghosts" or whatever. the houses he's been helping newly-deads with in his day job as a bio-exorcist (now with a fleet of employees,) she's "hunting" those ghosts now. it's so dumb. it never works. beetlejuice doesn't even know what the hell she's doing, she's phoning it in most of the time and she knows she's become a sellout. what happened to that "strange and unusual" girl who stood up for her ghost friends when those suits wanted to profit off of them back in winter river?

he needs to bring that back. he's the only one who can.

in his mind, beetlejuice has already rewritten the events that transpired. in his mind, lydia has been his wife this entire time, it's just, y'know, one of those open long distance relationships and she doesn't always remember him, but that's okay. in his mind, they share a psychic bond that allows her to sense his presence or see him in her dreams from time to time. he's got nothing to be jealous about, because other men can't compare. no one else can match what they have.

sure, part of him knows he's lying to himself a little bit. but he's already clung to this idea; these past 30 years wouldn't make sense otherwise. he's in love with lydia deetz. this isn't insane of him to say at all. and if it is, well, you know what they say, love makes you do batshit crazy things.

it's not that complicated, no matter what they say you'll never meet another me it's not that difficult to get my head around i'll never meet another you

the end

don't trick me into writing a fanfic again

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice beetlejuice #lydia deetz #beetleposting #beetlebabes #<- added for those who would prefer to not see this stuff but i didn't intend this to be a shippy post #spoilers: it's very one sided. but it IS all from his POV so you can kinda expect him to be...him #if you're a shipper who's just checking the tag then uhhh hi! i feel like i'm intruding lmao

514 notes · View notes

satoruxx · 5 months ago

Text

THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 5k words

✧ SUMMARY: wolfhybrid!toji, hybrid au, grumpy x sunshine, animalistic behavior, bickering, mentions of injuries, hints at past violence/abuse, societal inequality, arguments, medical equipment, toji is a little less of an asshole in this lmao !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: and here's part three !! i didn't expect it to be this long but here we are lmao. pls make sure to read the previous parts before this one to understand what's going on !! anyways i hope you enjoy :33

prev. | series masterlist.

toji has only been with you for two days, and you can already confidently say that stubbornness is a staple for him.

the first morning, he had stayed in his room until you had gotten up, only ambling outside when he heard the sound of you moving around in the kitchen. it was only then that it dawned upon you that you hadn't given him anything to eat after his shower the previous night, and he watched you practically trip over yourself trying to apologize.

when you asked why he didn't just ask for food, he only shrugged his shoulders with an adamant scowl, and that's when you knew you'd have to be the one to suggest things for him. because if you don't say it, toji will not ask for it.

the first day had passed by rather unceremoniously. after you fed him a heavy breakfast, which he had tore into with no hesitation, he just lumbered back into the room and fell asleep again. you didn't really know what to do—perhaps he was just exhausted from all the injuries and spending time outdoors.

so you didn't bother him. he spent the rest of the day repeating this cycle, coming out for food and then going back in. only later at night, you had finally bothered him, telling him that you'd replace the bandages you tied the previous night after he showered.

so that's what you did, and he nodded at you in a silent goodnight before heading back in. you must've saw him for maybe two hours in the whole day.

but today your approach is different.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't concerned about his injuries, because you know there is only so much you can do with your first aid kit at home. besides toji is as silent as he is stubborn—you have no clue what other injuries he's hiding from you. and that's what you're trying to reason out with him now.

it's not going well.

"toji please," you beg, trying to push yourself into his line of sight. "i promise they'll help you."

"no. no way," he hisses back, baring his teeth. "they'll just send me back to that hellhole."

"no they won't! they'd want to help you get better!" you're feeling more and more desperate as his stubbornness rises. you're not nearly smart enough to know how to treat even a quarter of his wounds. besides, toji had been on the streets for at least over a month—isn't it smart to want a doctor to check it out?

"maybe they'd wanna help," he grunts, crossing his arms. there's a hint of panic coursing through his veins, but he masks it well with rapidly rising irritation. "but they will send me back. don't you get it? i'm a wild animal. they aren't gonna send me out to go roam the streets. they'll send me back to the ring because they know i'll be kept under control there."

your shoulders slump, watching as he takes a seat on your couch—he keeps himself pressed to the very corner of it, and that just makes you feel more miserable. you take a seat on the other side, keeping your distance.

"okay, no big hospitals," you acquiesce. "but i definitely don't know how to fix those kinds of injuries."

toji half-heartedly shrugs, a wry smirk tugging at his scarred lips. "who cares? i'm tough, they'll heal."

you grimace. "definitely not. they'll probably get infected."

toji holds up his bandaged arm with a canine grin. "what d'ya mean? you did a pretty good job with this."

you pout at that, oddly embarrassed, but you remain steadfast in your argument. "all i did was disinfect it and wrap it up. but that doesn't mean that's all it needs. what if you need stitches or something?"

toji sighs heavily, fingers loosely curling around his wounded arm. he won't deny that you've been spectacularly caring for him over the past two days. and it's not like he really wants to upset you or anything.

but he has gone through too much to risk even a chance at being thrown back underground.

"i'll live," he sighs. he doesn't know much about being polite, but he does know that he doesn't enjoy the idea of being mean to you. for some reason he thinks that would just make him feel shitty. he's not sure why though—he's never been interested in what humans think anyway.

your eyes narrow, aggrieved. "if i find someplace that won't turn you in, then will you come?"

your relentless pursuit makes toji want to roll his eyes. he's not sure why you don't just take no for an answer. but he wants you to drop the conversation, so he just replies with a huffed, "sure."

there's no place you could take him that wasn't going to rat him out anyway. if you wanted to give him medical care, they would always ask for his details. and when they find out that he's not yours, and that he's come from off the streets, they will no doubt send out an alert.

and then it's only a matter of time before he's being thrown in the back of a van, drugs pumping through his veins.

he'd much rather stay in your cozy little space for as long as you'll let him, drunk off the comfort of good food and a roof over his head.

but toji did not realize that he had severely underestimated your sense of determination.

and that's how he finds himself sitting in an examination room, with you nervously tapping your foot against the floor. the muscles in his face hurt from how long he's been glaring at the wall, too angry to look at you. he knows you probably mean well, but he's almost sure that he'll never see you again after this appointment.

he's prepared to be dragged out of the building by a group of guards holding heavy tranquilizer guns—like so many of his kind before him.

"you're still mad." you say it like a statement, unamused, and toji huffs in return.

"you're underestimating how strong i am." he gives you a sidelong glance, and you bristle, crossing your arms and giving him a defiant stare.

"i think you're overestimating how strong you are." you shake your head, the defiance melting into earnest. "seriously though. i don't know much about treating wounds and i really don't want it to get worse."

he throws you an indifferent glance. "what's the point if they just send me back down there? at that point, little scrapes won't fucking matter."

you purse your lips. "i'm telling you, no one will snitch here."

"how are you so sure?" toji hisses back, ears pointing upward. you don't flinch, opening your mouth to answer.

"well—"

a knock interrupts you, and you both look to the door. toji's hackles rise almost immediatley, a low growl rumbling in his throat—something is off.

he can smell it.

the doctor walks in, blonde hair neatly pushed back and large frame covered in a white coat. his smile is friendly and mature, demeanor calm, and yet all toji can focus on is that this doctor is not human.

the short and rounded brown ears sitting atop his head is a clear indication.

toji almost hops off the bed. he has half a mind to take your arm and drag you out of there because why on earth is there a predator hybrid here at the doctor's office?

but before he can make a move, you're smiling wide at the blonde, voice coming out sweet and casual. "hi kento."

toji blanches, watching this "kento" guy exchange pleasantries with you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

do you just make it your business to go out and become friendly with dangerous predator hybrids? because toji cannot understand how a little human like you knows a fucking bear hybrid so well.

"is this him?" the doctor asks, finally looking at toji perched on the examination bed. you nod mutely, eyes raking over his figure.

the blonde steps forward, reassurance rolling off of him in waves because he can probably smell toji's apprehension. you do your best to bridge the gap.

"um toji, this is kento nanami." you motion to the blonde, who is watching toji like he's a specimen under a microscope—it makes toji's skin prickle. "kento, this is toji…um…"

he realizes that you're missing information and he spits out his last name quickly. "fushiguro."

"pleasure to meet you," nanami nods courteously. "though i wish it was under better circumstances."

"you're a hybrid." toji blurts it out before he can think twice. you throw him a semi-disapproving glance, but he doesn't pay it any mind, gaze too focused on the doctor's clearly animalistic traits. he recieves a placating smile in return.

"i am," kento nods, looking down at the chart in his hands. "and it seems like you are too. wolf right?"

"yeah," toji nods absentmindedly, trying to brush past all of this. he's more curious about the bear so casually standing in front of him. a hybrid even being allowed into a position as highly respected as a doctor is already an amazing feat—that hybrid being a predator hybrid was even more shocking.

"like i said on the phone, he's got some cuts and scrapes on his stomach and arm. i didn't know how serious they were…" your voice trails off, and the blonde nods indulgently.

"it's good you brought him in. they might be infected or need further care."

he turns to toji, whose ears remain alert and upright, and picks up his stethoscope. when he approaches, toji bares his teeth, snarling.

he can see you grimace from his peripheral. "toji—"

"it's okay," nanami holds up a palm, before pinning toji with an unwavering stare. "you're worried about confidentiality right?"

"there's no way a fucking doctor can get around this," toji spits in return. his palms are sweating. all he wants to do is drag you out of there and go hide in your home, because there is no other place that is safe. "i don't trust you."

"you don't have to trust me. but…" the doctor subtly nods his head in your direction. "do you trust her?"

toji's eyes flicker over to yours, watching the tense worry swirl within them, and he grumbles incoherently. his stomach flips in on itself. nanami takes his reluctance as a go ahead, pressing the metal of the diaphragm against toji's chest.

the wolf remains silent, though he is still irritated.

"relax," nanami sighs. "i won't tell anyone. trust me, i know how hard it is to make it out of there."

toji watches with rapt attention as kento lifts his stethoscope off, and his green eyes zero in on the branded numbers burned just under the doctor's jaw—0703.

toji's skin tingles, just where his own numbers are burned. 1231.

bile rises in his throat, but he pushes it down.

"you got out," toji mumbles, not able to keep the surprise out of his tone. nanami nods, a soft smile on his face as he writes down toji's heartrate on his chart.

"about seven years ago." he nudges his glasses further up his nose. "i made a run for it and then laid low for a few months. after some time, they called off the search."

"huh," toji grunts, disbelieving. he's not quite sure how this guy has managed it, but clearly he's done something right to be standing in front of him.

"of course, i was lucky," kento laments, motioning for toji to hold out his wounded arm—he does so wordlessly. "i was not an extremely popular or sought out fighter, so they didn't put that much effort into trying to find me."

toji believes that. bears tend to be on the gentler side of the predator groups, and while he's sure nanami could easily handle himself in a fight, it is always the more aggressive hybrids that are the most popular.

he would know after all.

"after that, it was just about finding another place to build up my life again." toji barely registers that the doctor has begun numbing his arm, too focused on his anecdote. from the corner of his eye, he can see that you're listening in with rapt attention. "i decided i'd make use of my freedom and pursue my dream career."

you and toji spend the next half an hour listening to nanami talk about his experiences. all the while, the doctor skillfully stitches toji's wounds up, never once faltering in his movements. he talks about the escape plan, the relentless pursuit of soldiers, of remaining in hiding until freedom was finally found. toji feels an odd sense of camaraderie, knowing that he has gone through quite a similar process in the last few months.

nanami explains that laying low was the hardest part, always on edge while stepping into the light because you can never be sure who's hiding in the shadows.

toji will never say this out loud, but thank god he found you.

"since then i've made it my job to help others like me," kento finally finishes securing the bandages around toji's abdomen, before looking up with a half smile.

the wolf mutely stares back. he recognizes that his body has relaxed in the doctor's presence, and his gaze flickers up to meet yours. there's a look of satisfaction sitting in your eyes, probably relieved to see that his wounds have actually been taken care of.

when you notice him looking, you give him a soft smile—he expertly looks away.

"trust me. i won't tell anyone about you." nanami stands up straight, fixing his glasses, before giving you a warm smile. "besides, she's an old friend."

the doctor nods at you, and toji suddenly feels a strange streak of irritability, especially because you beam in return—so grateful and sweet. a stone sits heavy in the wolf's stomach.

"i really appreciate this, kento." you look at the blonde earnestly. "it took a lot of convincing to get him to come get checked out."

"it's good you did." nanami pins toji with a knowing stare. "conditions are rough back there. usually hybrids have more injuries than they know."

"really?" you look between the two of them meekly, and toji has half a mind to tell nanami to stop talking—worry is not a good expression on you.

"they don't usually treat their hybrids when they get injured in fights. so yes, a lot of them tend to have past injuries that don't quite heal." you nervously assess toji's body with your eyes, and the wolf can hear the soft chuckle nanami lets out. "don't worry. he's fine."

your shoulders relax, and toji watches you with rapt attention.

a few minutes later, nanami leads you both to the receptionist, who toji notices, is a dark haired mouse hybrid—ijichi kiyotaka is printed across his nametag. the doctor quietly explains something, and the mouse nods, before typing away into the computer. toji realizes that they are probably falsifying records, and he relaxes immediately. while you settle things at the counter, nanami addresses toji one last time.

"you'll need to come back in a week so i can see the wounds again. until then, just take care of it like i explained and you should heal nicely."

toji nods, ears twitching awkwardly. "right…"

"if anything else happens, don't hesitate to come in." the doctor adjusts his glasses with a friendly smile. "you're always welcome. be careful out there."

toji swallows. he is already unused to such blatant kindness, but now you've managed to surround him with it. maybe your stupidly sweet personality attracts similarly sweet people.

in that sense, maybe he shouldn't be allowed to stay around you, too dark and gloomy for someone so bright.

nanami takes the wolf's silence with a soft laugh, before he raises his hand to wave at you. you grin back, before heading for the door—toji immediately follows you out. the two of you walk in relative silence, quiet but not uncomfortable.

his body feels good now, probably because of the numbing agent and secure bandages, but regardless, he feels good. he has not felt this comfortable in a long time, but it's not completely unwelcome. as weird as it sounds, he thinks that he wouldn't mind being the silently hulking animal wandering the city at your side.

there is one thing he's itching to ask though.

"how do you know him?" toji asks casually, still staring straight ahead. he can feel your gaze land on him, but he does not reciprocate it.

"kento?" he bristles at the name, but nods. "oh well. a few years ago my friend had to leave for a two week long business trip. she has a puppy hybrid at home, and of course her hybrid knows how to take care of herself, but my friend told me to go visit her and just check if she was okay every few days."

there's a strange look of sympathy on your face as you speak, and toji reels at how easy it is for him to pick up.

"when i went over one day, i found her just passed out on the ground. i had no clue what to do. hybrids might look like us humans but their health and anatomy is a little different, and i didn't know a single thing about puppy hybrids. so i went online and looked up specific doctors and hospitals that were good for hybrids because i was too nervous to just take her to a regular hospital. that's how i found kento."

your lips quirk upward, half rueful and half fond. "i figured a doctor who was an actual hybrid would treat her better than a human doctor would."

toji listens quietly. he does not know many humans who would put this much consideration into hybrids, mostly because hybrids are kept as pets, not considered as equals. he cannot understand why you thought so deeply about a hybrid that wasn't even yours.

"anyways since then i've bothered kento with a lot of things." you chuckle to yourself. "like last year there was a stray cat in my alleyway with a broken paw, and i brought him to kento even though i could've just taken him to a vet or a shelter."

"why's that?" toji awaits your asnwer, ears twitching at the sound of your amused voice.

"kento's always been really sweet and gentle to his patients. i guess i just trust him." you turn to peer up at toji with a smile. "that's why i knew he wouldn't even think about ratting you out."

toji grunts in return, not wanting to admit that you're probably right. any other hospital or doctor would have to report that there was a wolf hybrid out there that was unaccounted for. since you are not his owner, they'd immediately throw him back where he came from—after all, predators like him are too dangerous to be left alone.

"if anything, you can visit kento for whatever. he'd keep your secret."

"you willing to bet on it?" toji asks you gruffly, and you smirk at him with a strange spark of challenge in your eyes.

"bet my life."

he grins—another feral display of animalistic behavior.

"that's a lot to bet," he comments, flashing his canines at you, and you nod back, pleased.

"i'm pretty confident in myself."

"hm." toji lips remain in their comfortably amused position. he briefly recognizes that his feet are automatically taking him back to your place, and he internally questions just how many times he has found his way back to you before.

"we have another stop to make." toji glances at you as you speak, raising a heavy brow.

"where's that?"

"clothing shopping."

he blinks, frowning. "why the fuck would we do that?"

"well since you're staying for at least a couple weeks until your wounds heal, you probably need clothes," you say matter-of-factly. "the pair of clothes i gave you are the only things i have. you need more."

he briefly wants to ask whose clothes those are, but he shuts his mouth, knowing it's none of his damn business. he can still smell them, the smell of some other man—his lip curls distastefully.

"i don't gotta stay with you for that," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. he can feel his claws scrape against the fabric. "i can just go back to your precious doctor myself when i need to."

"and who's gonna pay for the visit?" you ask dryly. toji bristles, heat prickling at the back of his neck. you sigh heavily.

"look, i'm telling you i don't mind." your voice is earnest, and he can feel your unrelenting stare on the side of his face. "i would feel really uneasy if you left and i didn't know what happened to you."

"why do you care so much anyway?" toji doesn't mean to sound so accusatory. he's now realized that you are just one of those stupidly rare good people, but even then he wonders why you don't just kick him to the curb and move on with your life.

but instead you frown at him, semi offended, and then roll your eyes.

"well…" you shrug nonchalantly. "we're friends. so i care."

friends.

toji almost scoffs in disbelief.

unsurprisingly, you are utterly ridiculous. he knows that you both have shared conversation for many weeks while he waited for food in your alleyway. and he realizes that he has stupidly memorized your schedule, so much so that he found himself waiting in the rain when you didn't get home on time. and sure, you had so tenderly and idiotically invited him into your space and treated his dirtied body with the utmost care.

but friends?

you really needed better survival instincts. and to stop being so trusting. it's stupid, and dangerous, and probably not good for you in the long run.

(but the word ignites a pleasant flame deep in toji's belly—unwavering and strong. he finds himself unable to extinguish it.)

an hour later, toji finds himself awkwardly rummaging through racks and shelves of clothing. the bright lights and intense air conditioning makes his hair stand on end, body feeling oddly exposed. but then his jade eyes scan the store and find your figure, curiously peering at items without a care in the world, and he relaxes a bit.

after a while of picking out a few dark and albeit plain pieces of clothing, he finds that shopping is somewhat enjoyable. the different textured fabrics are soft under his claws, and his ears twitch pleasantly at the sounds of music playing low through the speakers.

occasionally he'll look up from the shelves and see you in the distance—a few times you look back, and give him a sweet smile and a small wave that has his throat feeling strangely dry.

(it would be easy to devour something so openly waiting there.)

he immediately looks away.

toji briefly wonders what kind of clothes you tend to prefer, mind wandering. he bites back a huff of amusement when he thinks about the fluffy pajamas you were wearing when you came outside holding that stupid umbrella.

so damn silly.

"do they seriously just let animals roam around unsupervised?"

his moment of peace is shattered by a grating voice, shrill with age and obnoxiousness. toji turns to look over his shoulder, expression sour. though he towers over her, the old lady standing about five feet away from him looks anything but scared.

"you talkin' to me?" he raises a brow, hair standing on end.

"yes you," she sniffs in his direction, eyeing him from head to toe like he's nothing more than dirt on the bottom of her ugly boots. "animals aren't allowed indoors."

toji bristles, sharp eyes narrowing. despite being used to these comments, they still make his skin flare with heat. he briefly considers reacting how he normally does when he faces this kind of attitude—baring his teeth and spitting out growls and insults until the person is scared shitless.

but then he realizes that it's not like he can just snap at her and run away. his actions will so easily be traced back to you and your pristine smiles. he finds the idea of putting you in trouble to be nauseating.

so he bites his tongue, ears tense and flicking irritably—he's making decisions on your behalf now, too.

"i don't know how on earth they let you in here." she glares at him snootily, physically unable to shut up. "letting animals wander around without any—"

"actually he's mine."

toji turns to look at you as you take your place at his side, your voice clear and steady. warm fingers curl around his bicep comfortably, but there is ice in your expression that he has never seen before. you glare at the lady, who suddenly looks bashful.

"oh? that's so impressive. you managed to tame a beast this dangerous?"

he suppresses an eye roll, ready to walk you away from the ordeal, but your expression gets colder, anger radiating off of you in waves—toji does not know why it makes him so pleased.

"actually i didn't tame him at all," you hiss back, spitting the word like it's venom. "and if you make him mad i won't stop him from attacking you."

her face pales, but indignation comes off stronger. "excuse me? you don't know how to control your own pet?!"

"he's not my pet. he's his own person," you snap irritably, gaze cold—though toji can feel your heated aggression rising. "didn't you ever learn basic respect? for all your preaching, even hybrids know that better than you do."

she gapes at you, appalled, but before she can get another word in, you're tightening your grip on toji's arm and turning him away. "fuck off, bitch."

toji's ears twitch at the sounds of her angry sputtering in the distance, but his gaze remains zeroed in on you. your brows are pinched deep, and there's a frustrated scowl sitting on your lips as you drag him over to another section. "here, let's look at some of these clothes."

toji recognizes you are trying to change the subject, but he does not deny how your anger on his behalf feels so intoxicatingly addicting. he cannot help but push further.

"thought i would attack her, did ya?" he grins cheekily, canines glinting, and you huff. suddenly, you look rather embarrassed, peering up at him bitterly.

"i was just trying to get her to shut up. if you attacked anyone we'd be in big trouble."

"didn't realize you had that in you," toji ponders. for some reason, he cannot stop analyzing your microexpressions, finding some sick joy in looking at you. "not bad for a cushy little human."

you roll your eyes—toji's stomach flips in tandem. he can feel his tail lazily moving back and forth.

"wow, a compliment from the big bad wolf," you throw him a scathing smile, but he can tell you're joking. "what an honor."

"pretty sure you're scarier than i am." toji watches you rustle through the clothes on the shelves, a wry smile now comfortably resting on his face. "think you took a few years off her life."

"i hope she trips," you mutter, and toji barks out a laugh, clear and unfiltered. your lips twitch upward at the sound.

"hurry up and pick stuff so we can home," you whine with another huff, shoving at his arm. "i'm starving here."

the word home rolls over toji's body—it's warm and velvety and comfortable in a way that scares him.

he spends the next fifteen minutes rustling through the racks. you amble away to peer at other items while he does so, trying to give him his privacy. toji both appreciates it and resents it—something about you being farther away from him makes his body tense.

after a while he calls you back, shoving a modest pile of clothing into your hands. "here, i'm done."

he's hoping you just nod and take him to the counter, but yet again, he's underestimated you. you look through each item, peering at the price tags critically, before finally sighing.

"are you trying to pick cheap stuff on purpose?" you look at him with a raised brow and he groans—caught.

"i don't wanna put you out."

"ugh toji," you say his name with so much stressed exasperation he has to fight back a grin. "don't worry about that. i barely spend money to begin with. i promise you i can afford decent clothes."

he glances to the side, stubborn. he still does not particularly enjoy the idea of being indebted to you—not that he would ever say that out loud.

"if you don't pick honestly, i'm gonna find that lady and get her to annoy you again."

he blinks, looking at you and your haughtily raised brows and crossed arms.

"oh fuck please don't," toji groans, rolling his eyes. "she was—"

"a bitch?" you finish, shaking your head with a smile. "yeah she was. so please pick things out properly and don't make me go find her."

"fine," he relents, reaching out to pick up the first semi-expensive looking thing he can find. he holds it up to his body and throws you a mocking grin. "happy now?"

and yet when he looks at you, you're giving him the most genuine smile, satisfaction glimmering in your eyes. "yeah, really happy."

his mouth goes dry, and toji spends the remainder of the trip saying yes to everything you pull off the shelves for him.

taglist: @h4wkz @babyblue0t7 @en-happiness @ourfinalisation @lymsfm @jazzy00001 @mahoubitch @deedeeznoots @ghost-buddies @teddybeartoji @onimira @polarbvnny @starmapz @thikcems @nonamebbsblog @echodead @totallygyomeiswife @venussdovess @emi311 @meow-satoru @your-mum3000 @haydensjw @abadbitchblogs @marajafarli @twinky-wink @t4ters @17362939 @shadowlover321 @koko-1025 @daniella666girl @d1cklethep1ckle @an-ever-angry-bi @excedr @hibiscy @emmenic726 @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @ewwitsbella @thisisew @crystaldreamland @namjooningera @call-memissbrightside @scyia @chugao @szired @keiva1000 @yoongies-bby @giamee @hypnoctiis @nappingmoon @tananaxx @twinklingbeautifulstars @tadabzzzbee @friedchicken-tendou

if your name is here but you didn’t get tagged, it’s either bc your blog is new/blank/empty or you need to check your privacy settings !!

932 notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 3 months ago

Note

rewatching desperate house wives right now and would love to see a little something inspired by gabrielle and carlos?? maybe season 2 when he's in jail and she wants a conjugal visit. just thought it would be fun, love your work!!!

I'M THE GIRL YOU DIE FOR- r.c

pairing: canon!rafe x queenb!kook!reader

of course, you had to be here.

no one else was going to fight for rafe—certainly not that tired, old man, with his cheap suit and receding hairline.

god, you hated this place. the lighting was terrible, the walls a sad, dull beige that screamed "i give up," and the leather chairs were probably fake.

honestly, couldn’t these people at least pretend to have some standards? guess that’s what happens when you’re not the one cutting the checks.

now, instead of champagne and designer brunches, you were spending your afternoons in a hellhole like this. you stood near the chain-link fence, your sunglasses shielding you from the glaring sun.

in the distance, the inmates were out in the yard, working out, talking in groups, smoking—whatever it was they did to kill time.

who thought it was a good idea to have meetings out here? the yard was full of dirt, sweat, and who-knows-what, and the chain-link fence looked like something out of a low-budget crime show. you flicked a piece of lint off your skirt, more for effect than necessity.

maxwell finally showed up, his face blank, like he wasn’t impressed by the outfit you’d spent an hour putting together. whatever. you were here for rafe, not him.

“we need to talk,” you said, tightening the hold on your birkin like it weighed a thousand pounds. it was designer. it probably cost more than his car.

maxwell didn’t even flinch. “about?”

cheap suit, cheap attitude. honestly, if you weren’t so desperate, you’d be done with this idiot by now.

“about my fiancé.” you tilted your head, giving him your best ‘don’t play dumb with me’ look. “we need a conjugal visit. and i need you to make it happen.”

“a conjugal visit?” he said it slow, like you were asking for a miracle.

“yes.” you smiled tightly. “you know, those things where people in prison get to have a little privacy? i want you to get us one.” you rolled your eyes. god, this guy was infuriating. “isn’t that part of your job? to get what we need?”

maxwell raised an eyebrow. “a conjugal visit isn’t part of the deal. rafe’s charges are serious. i’m trying to get your fiancé out of jail, you want me to stop everything just so you can have a booty call?”

he was acting like you were asking for something outrageous.

as if it wasn’t completely reasonable for you to want to see rafe. really see him. after months. this was rafe cameron you were talking about. he had power. you had power. how could this crusty lawyer not understand that?

“i’m not asking, maxwell. i’m telling you. make it happen.”

“i said no.”

you scowled at him, “all we need is an hour. you can’t tell me no! you work for me, you will make it happen.”

he gave a fake sigh, the kind people did when they thought you were being dramatic.

“listen,” he sneered, leaning in slightly. “i’m not your servant. you don’t get to snap your fingers and expect things to just happen. newsflash—your boyfriend is in prison. not some hotel.”

oh, this smug asshole. you were about to really let him have it when a low voice interrupted from behind the fence.

“you got a problem, lady?”

you turned, eyes narrowing as you saw two inmates standing near the fence, both of them massive. tattoos snaked up their arms, and they looked rough. you’d seen them with rafe before.

maxwell glanced back at them, trying to act tough, “excuse me, but this is a private conversation.”

“private? you’re out here talking loud enough for the whole yard to hear. we heard what you said.” he tilted his head toward you, eyes narrowing on maxwell. “sounds like you’re disrespecting cameron’s girl.”

maxwell stammered, suddenly not so confident. “i—i’m just trying to explain that a conjugal visit is complicated. there are rules—”

“we don’t care.”

the second maxwell started running his mouth, you could already tell he had no idea who he was dealing with. he was still trying to act like he had the upper hand, like he was some big-shot lawyer who could push people around. you almost pitied him. almost. but honestly, he deserved what was coming.

“you’re not gonna get away with this,” he snapped, all bravado, puffing out his chest like that was going to make him any less pathetic. “you think you can intimidate me? i’ll have you all locked up for life if you so much as lay a finger on me.”

you rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses. what an idiot.

the bigger inmate—tank, you’d heard people call him—reached through the fence with a broomstick.

you hadn’t even noticed it before, but he must’ve grabbed it from somewhere nearby. he jabbed it into maxwell’s shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt him, but enough to make his point. maxwell jumped back like he’d been electrocuted.

“hey! what the—” he shouted, trying to step out of range, but tank just laughed and poked him again, this time aiming lower, jabbing him in the ribs.

“you don’t make the rules here, old man,” tank sneered, poking him once more, this time a little harder. “you’re gonna learn that the hard way if you don’t shut your mouth. apologize!”

maxwell’s face was turning red now, panic setting in as he tried to dodge the broomstick, but the other guy grabbed the handle, keeping it steady while tank prodded him over and over, relentless.

“i swear to god,” maxwell was screaming now, voice cracking. “i’ll have the guards throw you in solitary! you’ll never see daylight again, i’ll make sure you rot in here!”

the inmates just laughed, like his threats were some kind of joke. and honestly, they were. you watched, arms crossed, completely unbothered, as maxwell flailed, trying to keep his balance while other inmates jabbed other broomsticks at him, from every side, like he was nothing more than a punching bag.

“you hear that, boys?” tank said, grinning as he poked maxwell one more time. “he’s gonna get us locked up for life! like we’re not already in here.” the other inmate burst out laughing. a few more guys started drifting closer to the fence, watching with interest. “apologize!”

maxwell’s face was pure panic now. “stop it!” he screamed, backing up so far he was almost falling over. “i’m serious, i’ll call the warden, i’ll—this is all her fault, if she wasn’t such a goddamn horny b—”

you gasped, insulted, ready to read him to filth but the inmates beat you to it.

“do it,” the second guy sneered, his voice low and threatening. “see if we care. you think we don’t know how to make things happen? you’d be gone before you even got your phone call.”

a few of them started yelling, and jeering, like they were ready to jump in, too. maxwell’s eyes darted around, realizing that this was spiraling out of control.

“you idiots!” he screeched, his voice high-pitched and panicky. “you’ll start a riot! they’ll lock all of you down—no more yard, no more visits, nothing! you’re gonna screw yourselves over!”

but they didn’t care. the guys on the yard were getting riled up now, shouts echoing across the open space. some of them were banging on the fence, rattling it hard enough to make it shake.

“apologize to the lady!”

one of the other inmates reached through the fence, grabbing at his sleeve, yanking him forward. maxwell screamed, struggling to pull away, but the guy held on tight, his grip ironclad.

“come on, boys!” someone yelled from the yard, and suddenly it was like the floodgates had opened. more and more inmates rushed toward the fence, shouting, banging on the metal, some of them reaching through, trying to get a piece of the action, “apologize!”

you adjusted your sunglasses and turned to leave, your heels clicking against the pavement. you hope they kill him for you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚

you were dressed to the nines, as usual, in a designer dress that probably cost more than what the guards made in a month. even in this drab setting, you looked like you belonged on a yacht, not here, in some depressing room meant for criminals and their girlfriends.

you strutted toward him, your lips glossed to perfection, knowing full well that the bratty smile curling your mouth would drive him insane.

it always did.

rafe was already sitting there, arms crossed, looking as exasperated as you’d ever seen him.

his jaw was clenched, and the muscles there twitched. he was not happy.

you smirked. of course, you weren’t expecting a warm welcome, but at least you got to see him.

“hi, baby,” you purred, batting your lashes as if you weren’t here to make his day harder. “missed me?”

he just stared at you for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to find some ounce of patience. then he let out this long, heavy sigh, rubbing his hand down his face before finally looking at you again.

“you—” he started, then stopped, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek in frustration. “you started a riot because you wanted a conjugal visit?”

you tilted your head innocently, like you didn’t understand why he was so worked up.

“almost,” you corrected, as if that made it any better. “it wasn’t like they actually did anything.” you waved your hand dismissively, the gloss on your lips catching the light as you smiled.

“you—” he stopped, biting the inside of his cheek again, trying to rein it in. he was always like this—prone to temper, to obsession. the need to control everything. especially you. “do you know how close it came to getting out of control? the guards were ready to lock the whole place down. for days. you think that would’ve been good for me, huh?”

you shrugged, not really fazed.

“he was being a dick to me, baby. what was i supposed to do? that lawyer was useless. i wasn’t just going to stand there and let him talk to me like that.”

his eyes dropped to your mouth, unable to resist.

“he was the best lawyer in the fucking county.”

“they clearly need new ones then.”

rafe groaned, trying to keep from losing it completely.

“he almost called me a bitch!”

“were you acting like one?”

“and so what if i was?” you leaned back, crossing your arms, the movement accentuating your designer dress. “he was the one acting like an asshole. he’s lucky i didn’t throw my drink at him. if i’d had one.”

he looked like he was about two seconds away from unleashing his deranged side, rubbing his hand over his face again, like that was going to somehow make all of this disappear.

“you don’t get it, do you? you can’t pull this shit in here, baby. it’s not the fucking outer banks. people don’t just let you get away with whatever you want because you look good and throw money around.”

you rolled your eyes, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

“yeah, well, maybe they should. you don’t see me lowering my standards just because you’re stuck in this dump, do you?” you gestured around the room, your nose wrinkling at the depressing, beige walls. “god, i mean, who chooses these colors? it’s like they want people to lose their minds in here.”

he scoffed, “that’s what you’re worried about? the color of the walls?”

you pouted, “what else was I supposed to do? sit and wait for him to do nothing? ’m not stupid.”

"you're lucky you're even allowed in here after that stunt.”

you gave him a sweet, almost patronizing smile, teeth digging into your lower lip. "aww, baby, are you worried about me?”

"stop," he snapped, "this shit isn’t funny. you think i want to spend the next month in solitary because you couldn't keep your mouth shut?"

you didn’t flinch. in fact, you smiled even wider, enjoying how worked up he was getting.

“don’t be so dramatic. it wasn’t like anything actually happened.”

"you're out there playing power games with people who don't care about you,” he tapped two fingers against his temple, brows slightly raised,“they won’t bow down because you’ve got money or a pretty face."

"maybe not, but they’ll listen if i push hard enough," you said coolly. "and guess what? they did."

he clenched his jaw again, running his hands through his growing hair in frustration. he looked like he was fighting every instinct not to explode.

"you really think you're helping me, don’t you?"

you crossed your legs slowly, adjusting your dress so the fabric draped perfectly. “would you rather have me fuck someone else? y’know… a free man?”

that got a reaction. his eyes flickered with something dangerous, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in close.

“you wouldn’t.” he whispered, the words laced with venom and amusement at the same time.

your smile turned wicked. “wouldn’t i?”

his fingers twitched on the table, the way they always did when he was seconds away from grabbing you.

“you’re really testing me right now,” he said slowly, his fingers drumming on the metal table between you. "you think ’m stuck in here, so you can play your little games? make me jealous?”

you held his gaze, unbothered, your lips curling into a defiant smile. "’m just reminding you that i have options. ones that aren’t sitting in a prison cell.”

he chuckled darkly, though there was nothing funny about the look in his eyes.

"options, huh?" his voice was edging on borderline strained. "and what makes you think i wouldn't kill any man who even looked at you?"

"you’d have to catch him first, wouldn’t you? and we both know you’re a little… tied up at the moment."

his hand shot out, gripping your lower cheecks with a force that sent you spiriling, remembering how he used to manhandle you anytime he got his hands on you, your faces were almost touching.

his eyes were wild. possession. obsession. the kind of dark love that made you both feel alive.

“you’re mine. no matter where i am, no matter who else you think you can have. you’re mine.”

“then get the stupid conjugal visit,” you hissed through your teeth, “’m horny.”

“’m not asking you. ’m telling you. you don’t have options sweetheart. you never did.”

you felt your pulse quicken.

god, he was insane, but that’s what made it so intoxicating.

he was right. no matter what you said or did, no matter how much you tried to push his buttons, it always came back to one thing: you belonged to him.

“i’ll get you your damn visit,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “but ’m not doing it because you demanded it. ’m doing it because you need to be reminded of something.” he leaned back, letting go of your face, his fingers printed into your cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours, “you’re mine. and i’ll make sure you remember that.”

you rubbed where his grip had been, the throbbing sensation making it clear that he hadn’t lost his touch—he never did.

you grinned as you leaned forward, closing the space between you two again, “i’ll be waiting, baby.”

rafe’s smirk widened, his eyes burning with that possessive glint you knew all too well. there was no escaping him, not that you really wanted to.

“enjoy your time behind bars,” you added, standing up slowly, your movements deliberate, making sure he had a full view of your ass as you walked toward the exit. “maybe i’ll find a way to keep myself busy until you get out.”

he didn’t answer, but you could feel his eyes burning into your back as you left the room.

you knew you were pushing him, playing with fire, but that’s how you both liked it. this was the game you played. you couldn’t wait for him to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

814 notes · View notes

circeyoru · 10 months ago

Text

Unwanted Soul = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 (here) — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 (END)

You weren’t a powerful Overlord nor were you the weaker ones to have their souls owned by other demons to survive in this hellhole. You’re merely capable enough to get by your everyday life. Like always, you’d stay clear from any of ongoing battles or powerful demons that were out and about. Your keen 6th sense to pinpoint potential dangers was always your go-to during your outings

You kind of treated Hell as your paradise to shut-in in your room and read all the comics you want plus watch all the TV shows you want. You were one of the rare demons that get connection to the Earth realm where you can enjoy the guilty pleasures you spend your days doing. Of course, your death was a suicide as you saw no life ahead of you

But you really really should have stayed in that day. It started out as any other day in Hell and you were on your way to the usual supermarkets for the junk food and drink you love. Normally, it was uneventful, until you caught sight of a dying demon, no, ‘wounded’ would be the right word since demons would only demon by angelic blades, even you knew that. Still, the demon was heavily wounded

It must have been a good few minutes since you caught weaker demons attempting to take advantage of the weakened demon as easy prey. You immediately took out your notebook, scribbing a phase before tearing it out and blow on it lightly. The page turned to white sparkles before taking shape of a row of angelic spears around you, it launched at the weak demons before they could do anything to the wounded one

You took went to the wounded demon quickly as your spears faded to nothing after doing its damage. You held his limb hand and closed your eyes, visualizing your cozy apartment and the ground swallowed the two of you up. In the blink of an eye, you were back home, sighing in relief

Not even a moment, you were knocked to the ground and pinned down by your shoulders and thigh. You struggled a bit before you realized it was the wounded demon that was pinning you down with radio dials for eyes

Without thinking, you reached into your coat pocket and took out a piece of paper, slamming it onto his face and blew at it. The paper faded to nothing but sparks then the demon stilled before closing his eyes and slumping forward onto you. Unconscious. But you invited someone you shouldn’t have into your home

This had to be Alastor, the Radio Demon

You grimaced, eying Alastor on top of you sleeping like a harmless deer. You thought of throwing him back out into the streets, but you didn’t exactly have the heart to. You came to the conclusion of healing him as fast as you could then sending him on his merry way! Yes!

Noooo!!! Why is he still here!?!?!?!?!?!?!??????!!!!!

“My dear, you really should be taking more care of your diet. This is hardly filling or healthy for you.” Alastor eyed the cup noodle you were about to open up like you were holding trash “But it’s fast and gets my hunger sated.” You eyed back, “It’s not like I’m feeding you this. I cook for your meals anyways…” You continued roaming around the kitchen, rubbing a fork, and setting a timer for your food. Ignoring the closeness of Alastor. “As long as it doesn’t concern you, it’ll be fine. I’ll treat you better since you just healed up. These are my own indulgence.” “And I appreciate your hospitality, dear, truly, I do. The matter at hand is your consumption!” Alastor grabbed your precious cup noodle lunch away, “I shall take over your meals from now on.”

Yes, you have fully healed Alastor and he’s back to full health. No, you didn’t tell him to stay. In fact, the moment his wounds were all healed, you showed him the open door, waiting for him to leave. He didn’t exactly let you make him leave. He said he was staying to repay your kindness, but all he was doing was inserting him into your afterlife and really making it Hell

At first, he praised your unique power to summon anything you write with a gentle blow, especially the part where you put him to sleep the first time. Then he urged you to make a name for yourself, but you really just want to shut yourself in your room and indulge in your time-wasting hobby. You told him off and shut yourself in your room, but he would just appear through the shadows and apologise, saying he’d leave the matter

When that whole business was done, Alastor got worse. You’re positive some other demons would love to be treated this way, but you’re just weirded out. It started out small, Alastor making meals like he said, shifting your schedule to a healthier one. Then taking care of your needs whenever you are about to do something. Even as simple as getting a glass of water

Then it escalated to touches. A handholding here, maybe he’s lean into you while reading. Or he’ll lay next to you in your own bed. Shift closer to you while on the couch. Stare at you while you were busy reading manga or watching animes and shows. Plus you could feel him staring at you while you sleep from the shadows even though you told him not to

But the most unnerving thing was when you would go restock on your food and other supplies. Alastor being the gentleman would carry and pay for your stuff. That you’re used to and didn’t care since either way, you had your methods. It was what happens during the two of you walking

“Alastor…” You hugged your coat tighter as your lips pressed together tightly from the scene, your eyebrows furrowed from the tense situation you were in. You had just left the shop to get new books and volumes, only to be met with such a sight. “What…” “My darling, your timing is perfect.” Alastor threw away the torn body of what used to be a demon. The street was covered with a layer of thick red and black blood. Hellborns and sinners alike were all brutally ripped away by the fearsome Radio Demon. “These pest dares to look at you wrongly, surely they deserve a good, limb pulling.” He walked over to you with his ever-present smile, offering his clean hand. “Shall we head home, My Doe?” You feel yourself tense as you firmly told him, “Just because they stare at me a little long and spat out rude remarks, it’s not an excuse or reason to torture them like this. I’m… I don’t exactly mind unless they attack.” Alastor grabbed your hand and kissed it, “Dearie, why give them the chance to harm you when I can prevent it? You can name and point fingers, I’ll be your killer.”

Trapped was what you felt at home and anywhere, as long as Alastor was there, you didn’t like it. Those sweet romantic gestures and attention from him that you would only see in your books and shows left a bad taste in your mouth.

At the 4th year, however, something changed. Alastor sold his soul to you as the ‘last’ act of pure devotion and loyalty to you. Since the contract was all by your rules, you made use of it

Limit Alastor’s powers because it scares you how much he could do and the destruction he could cause. Forbid him from devouring or owning souls because he does it so easily when he thinks you were wronged in any way. And most importantly, forbid him from disobeying your words, whatever they may be, that way, you can finally have peace

How Alastor was still able to be this unnerving, you didn’t know and you didn’t want to know. Somehow, the contract was something like a declaration that the two of you were romantically involved with ecah other? If it made sense. It didn’t, really

Alastor still stayed with you because he had told you a long time ago that his home was destroyed in a brutal battle, hence why you found him that battered. So you offered yours. You did manage to set some firmer ground rules with the contract’s help. Like no entering your room or throwing away your junk food

Though Alastor still plays a big part in your life just because. You had wanted a lover before, but Alastor had proven how bad a relationship could go, and you two didn’t even established anything! You love fiction, fiction is life or afterlife. You can just drown yourself in the world of fiction and never leave

That’s the basis of your power. It’s like summoning through writing and the faint blow from your lips. You have to be aware of the components though, the hardest to summon was definitely the angel spears. It was the day after extermination and a spear was stuck into a demon, you were curious and took it back with you. You studied it and tested it out, knowing its strength and limitations before actually attempting to summon it. Works well enough, since it was easy to study

In the blink of an eye, 7 years had already passed. While Alastor was out on buying new ingredients for your celebration dinner of surviving another extermination, you caught the Princess of Hell and her promotion on the ‘Happy Hotel’. A place that welcomes anyone, a place that gives anyone a chance. It sounds lovely, but you didn’t have the mentality and energy to help out

A foolproof plan came to mind. You could, no, should send Alastor there. He loves entertainment! He wouldn’t be bored there! The hotel is much bigger and there’s more people there for him to hang out with. Plus he would definitely get a room there since he’s going to be staying. Even when he disagrees, because you just know he would rather stay by your side, you can use the contract as a last resort

“My dear!” Alastor greeted the moment he came back from his little shopping. He gave you a peak on the crown of your head when he walked past you, then headed to the table to place the bags of items down. “Did you hear about that ridiculous plan the Princess told in the picture box? Hahaha! It’s sure to fail! No way in any universe would just a silly and childish thing happen! No, sir!” “I want to help her with it, it sounds like a good plan. It’s better than annual exterminations.” You spoke while coming over to check the things Alastor brought. “But you know I’m more of a home person and not the go-out and help-others type.” “Exactly, dearie, we need not care for such fantasy.” Alastor nodded along. “That’s why you’re going in my place.” You stated firmly without blinking or shifting in your spot, at the growing static, you looked up to see Alastor’s eyes turned to radio dial. Very rarely are those directed at you since he swore he’d never do you harm or wish you harm. “You’ll go and help the Princess to make it a success.” Alastor’s eyes shifted back to normal, narrowing as he asked, “Till how long, my dear?” You had to control yourself to hide a smile as you spoke, “For as long as it takes of course. You can’t rush redemption, right? And it’s the first of its kind too.” The static grew again, you knew Alastor was getting annoyed with such a wish (order) from you. “But this would take a long while. I’d be returning to check on you, yes?” “Oh, no. Can’t interrupt your work.” You said, carrying your pile of snacks to your little comfort corner and dropping it with huff, there was a skip in your step as you returned back to the table. “You can’t come back here nor see me when in the service of the Princess. Well, you can see me when I’m the one to approach you or call for you, that’s the only exception.” Alastor would have a frown on by now if it weren’t for his insistence on the power of smiles, “Who would take care of you? Who would watch over you? Who would tend to you? Who would protect you while I’m gone, sweetheart?” You laughed, “Don’t be so dramatic. I can handle myself. It’s just like before I met you,” You didn’t miss the radio crackling like it broke connection, “But this time, I have you as a backup should I need.”

Making Alastor leave you wouldn’t have been possible without the contract and the fact that his soul was yours to control. Very pushy but you had to do what you had to, it was all to regain that quiet and isolated shut-in life you love. Never have you missed the silence in your home and the void of a watchful gaze all around you

You squealed and smiled brightly, “Time to chill and laze around!”

Oh how the Radio Demon was fuming as he made his way to that ratchaed hotel. He shouldn’t have let you know of such a news. If that inferno picture box was broken, then you wouldn’t know. No, you have your phone, so that makes no difference. Maybe it was the fact that that cannibal chef was gone that Charlie had time to promote that idea of hers?

This would be his first appearance since 7 years ago. He kept his presence gone from the public eye just to hide his connection and fancy towards you. If demons knew you had his soul, who knows what danger you’d be in? He can’t let that happen to you. No, you were the kind soul that saved him and gave him a place to belong. Truly belong

Never had he felt such a sense of comfort around someone so lazy and chill. The fact that you were average but powerful in your right that you humble yourself to blend in with others. To live your afterlife as you please and like without a care in the world. So long as your interest was sated

He just couldn’t help but want to be yours. You deserve it, after all

But now. Now he had to provide his attention and care to some princess’ dream! What joke is this?!

Were you sending him away because he wasn’t strong enough? You limited his powers to see if he could still be as strong as before. Was that the reason? What other demon held your attention? As far as he knew. You have no interest in forming connections. He was the first one you actually cared for and hosted your home for! You don’t even own other souls and you’re strong!

He was your only one. Only!

In front of the hotel, he knocked rhythmically, waiting patiently for the door to be opened and for him to introduce himself. He’ll show you. “Hel—” The door closed shut in his face before it opened again, “-lo!”

His ears twitched as he heard the ruckus inside. These souls don’t deserve your time and attention spent on them, he’ll deal with the problem like always and return to your side. He’ll show you just how powerful and cruel he is and can be

The door opened again and he introduced himself with his plan in mind. “Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, princess. Quite a pleasure!”

Note: I really really didn't mean to do this so long... I could have put it into 2 parts, but I was too lazy to. There was actually some more I wanna add, but then it will be a literal essay. Anyways~ How you like this one?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

986 notes · View notes

joeloverture · 9 days ago

Text

flesh currency | j.m. x disabled!f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine

pairing: qz!joel miller x disabled!f!reader summary: you have an arrangement with joel. pleasure as currency for your painkillers. but what happens when he tires of the same old song and dance? warnings: (18+ mdni) reader has chronic pain/uses a cane*, sexual favors for painkillers, dubcon but reader is fully comfortable even with the headspace she's in, drugs (reader takes illegal painkillers, the kind is not described), elements of both game and show joel, ableism (cr*pple), mean!joel, slight intox (reader takes 1 pill before the act but is in her right mind during), smut, degradation, underwear sniffing/musk kink, ass eating/rimming (m!receiving), instructions, humiliation, slight praise, thigh riding/leg humping, tit & ass grabbing, cumplay [no use of y/n] word count: 6.2k author's note: stimky joel. yeah. this is my grossest fic to date but it's also kind of my favorite. there's regressive language packed in here (junkie, etc) but that doesn't align with my perspective on the use of opiods when it comes to patients in pain. hell, im one of them. i hope this speaks to you as much as this is hot for you. thank u @lovesickonmybed for being my rock as always. pics in moodboard arent mine. *don't let this put you off, please. being disabled in the apocalypse is not as far fetched as fungal zombies. it's always useful to read experiences that aren't yours.

“You need to go home, lady.”

The FEDRA fuck glowering down at you is bulky and glistening with sweat. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, chapped lips twisted into a snarl. The hustle and bustle of the mess hall is persistent, a thrum of chatter and scraping utensils that batters your skull. A rag hangs limp from your hands — saturated with dirty water and diluted cleaner.

You lean heavier against your cane and wince as the handle digs deeper into the calloused heel of your palm. “Why?” you ask, tilting your head up.

“Can’t have any fucking cripples slowing us down. You knocked over that spray bottle five separate times. Been counting.” Cripple. The word hurts almost as much as the burning, burning, burning in your legs and arms. Almost.

He gestures vaguely towards the busted spray bottle of cleaner. You hadn’t noticed it fall down on the bench as you were tying yourself into knots just trying to wipe it down.

“But I need rati-”

“Don’t care what you need. You’re slowing people down. Got more suitable workers lined up outside the door. Get going, or I’ll have you removed.”

The spray bottle is capsized much like you, tilted and leaking onto the bench. A needling sensation pedals itself into the back of your knee and you can’t stop yourself from wincing.

You squeeze the rag in your hands and chuck it onto the table before you limp out of there.

Pain isn’t something that happens to you anymore.

It’s inextricable from yourself. Sewn into your muscles, bone marrow, and tissue. Stabbed into the pincushions of your fleshy joints. You’ve become the pain scale, the same one that hang in the FEDRA-installed medical tents.

Usually, your pain is a bearable backdrop to the show that is trying to survive in the QZ. Lately, though, it’s become the centerpiece. Just as inescapable as this hellhole you’re stuck in.

You weren’t always like this. There are flickers in your memory of sob stories on the news. Kids in wheelchairs or dragging themselves along with arm crutches before they even got their braces. Something happened to you after the world ended. Something that derailed you, sent you scattered into a thousand pieces and left you in the shrapnel spray of your own making.

You try not to think about it.

It’s hard not to on days like this, though. There’s books in the semi-refurbished libraries and abandoned bookstores that talk about how people like you used to live. They’d have benefits programs (laden with flaws, of course) that kept them afloat. Caretakers, sometimes. Elevators used to work without generator power. You envy them.

There are endless more in this QZ just like you. Limping, shambling, flailing. Drowning in the black sea of FEDRA suits.

Right now, you’re crawling.

Up the stairs of a derelict apartment building. Trash lines the sides of the stairs, crumpled and mashed into the ground by heavy-footed boots. You tangle your hand in a cobweb and wipe it on your jacket, cane thunking against the stairs as you haul yourself up. When your knee bashes against the edge of a stair, your hands grapple against the air as you fight an invisible entity. A frustrated, exhausted noise crumbles in the back of your throat.

Floorboards creak behind you, and you cringe.

“Fuck are you doin’?”

You roll over and muster a rueful smile. “Hi, Joel.”

The first time you went to Joel, he was your last resort.

“I need something for pain. Anything.”

He’d looked at you like he saw right through you. Now, knowing what you do about him, you’re sure that he did. Like a pane of stained glass that he’d held up to the sun.

He’d rifled through his mattress for a couple minutes. “Got you for sixty.”

You couldn’t do sixty.

When you told him that, he’d only shrugged at you. “Ain’t my problem, kid. Either scrounge it up or quit wastin’ my time.”

“I– I–”

You were never very seductive. Not even before your body turned into… this. This cataclysmic, living horror that disorients you in every waking moment.

You settled for unzipping your jacket. Tugging down your tank top. Showing your tits.

A wordless ordeal, one where your cheeks flamed hot and you felt like he’d taken a scalpel to your skin. But you always felt like that, at least.

“Ah, now we’re talking.” The chair scraped against the floor as he stood, meeting you in two strides. He’d looked at you with heat in his dark eyes, so dark that you could see yourself leaving your dignity in a pile at his feet. He’d reached across the empty space between the two of you and grabbed a handful of your tit, thumbing at your peaking nipple. “A junkie and a whore. You’re cute, I’ll give you that.”

You hadn’t been scared to spread your legs. To let him into the warmth festering in your core. It hurt, all of it did, it always does. But for a brief, blistering moment, when he was balls deep inside of you, the pleasure swelling in your stomach had been enough to dim the lights of the pain.

Since then, you just kept going back. A leech he just couldn’t shake.

“Jesus, girl. C’mon, up on your feet.” He patted you on the shoulder, grabbing your cane for you. He holds his hand out. You swallow your pride and accept the help, letting him drag you up. You wrap your arm around his shoulders and your free hand around the banister, letting him pull most of the legwork. “Stumblin’ around like a goddamn stalker.”

You grumble under your breath, a jumble of words too incoherent to mean anything sufficient. At the top of the stairs, he thrusts your cane back into your hand and heads down the hall without you. You glare at his shoulders before limping after him. One dragging step after another. The tread of your boot dips into a greasy looking puddle.

Joel fumbles for the key into his apartment, and you lean against the wall while he sorts himself out. At least he’s not covered in blood today. There’ve been times where you’ve shown up when he’s fresh off of a supply run, smoking gun sticking out of his waistband.

You use your cane to knock the door shut behind you.

“You’re lookin’...” He surveys you. “worse for wear.”

“Fuck you, too,” you say. A pause, punctuated by casual crossfire outside. “I need more.”

Joel huffs a laugh. “‘Course you do.”

He’s never given you that sort of attitude before. You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Please, I–”

“I ain’t a one man Salvation Army. Everyone’s got needs.”

“I’ll… I can…”

“What? Suck me off? You got a pretty mouth, baby, but I got about twelve girls who can do the same thing.”

“FEDRA won’t let me work,” you blurt out. Sympathy with Joel isn’t even a one way street. It’s a path that hasn’t been foot trodden. “They… they kicked me out when I tried, I’m trying, Joel, I swear I a–”

“Deep breaths,” he says. He folds his arms over his chest and jerks his head toward the slouching couch in the room. “Sit down. Can’t talk to ya if you’re fuckin’ hyperventilating.”

You prop your cane up against the armrest and drop yourself into the cushions. You dig your palms into your eye sockets and suppress a scream.

“I’m working at a deficit with you.”

“I know,” you grit out.

“I put up with a lot, but you’re drainin’ me dry here.”

“You’re right,” you relent. “I’ll find someone else. Sorry… for the trouble.” You reach for your cane again, but then he’s tugging it out of your reach.

“You’re waddling around like a fuckin’ fool flingin’ your legs open for any guy whose got what you need, gonna get yourself killed out there. Lotsa guys have less of a tolerance for girls like you than I do. I’m not runnin’ you out the door.”

“Then what are you doing, Joel?” you ask, hand still hanging in the open, wrapped around the empty air where your cane should be.

He sets the cane in your hand, and you deposit it at your side again. “Givin’ you a wake up call,” he says. “What’re you willing to do for your fix?”

“I…” Just three short months ago, before you’d sought out the much-feared Joel Miller, you would’ve said nothing. Just three months ago, your pain was bearable, livable, mere tinnitus. Now it is a bonfire. Roaring in the kindling of your ribcage. “Anything.” You swallow, worrying your tongue against your teeth. “I just want to feel normal.”

“Tough shit,” he says.

You have nothing to say to that. You only sit there, biting into the inside of your cheek. Knives sink into your skin with each breath. It hurts to be alive, it is anguish to be alive, and you just want to swallow a pill down dry. Enough to dull the edge, enough to make things tolerable. You stare at your feet as the room swirls.

“Alright,” Joel says after a moment. “You look beat, and I’d be a worse man than I already am if I ‘took payment’ now. I’ll give you one.”

Your eyes light up.

“You’re gonna take a quick nap in my room while I pull some strings, yeah? Let it kick in. Then we’ll see about what you can do to earn the rest if you’re up for it.”

Maybe sympathy can be a two way street. You’ve heard everything about him. Seen the occasional wanted poster floating through the street before FEDRA moved on to the Firefly of the week. Likely heard gunshots fired from the barrel of his gun.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he plucks one from a baggie. He drops it in your hand and you can’t help but wrap it in your fist. The inherent value of what he has given you.

He sees you eyeing it, sees you thinking, and says, “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll wake you in an hour.”

And you do wake in an hour, scar-serrated, gun-hardened hand on your cheek. It’s instinctive to roll away, or at least it should be with someone who’s as bloodstained as Joel. Instead, you find yourself nuzzling into his palm before you’re even fully awake, when the walls of his apartment are only a border of the shapeless dream you’d been having.

“Rise ‘n shine, sleepyhead,” Joel says. He taps you on the apple of your cheek, and you find yourself blinking the crust from your eyes. Your fists go to rub at them. “Feeling any better?”

It’s not entirely gone — it never entirely is. It’s always the sand dollar nestled in the sand. The grain of sand lodged inside of the crevices. The clutch of your high is less of a clutch than it is a hangnail caught on a thread. It’s only a fracturing lightheadedness instead of a backslide into euphoria. You feel perfectly grounded, body taken off of the perpetual razor blade edge it rests on and airlifted onto a sturdy mattress.

“Yeah,” you croak, clearing your throat of any trace of grogginess. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says. “I got twelve slow release tablets for you. Should be enough to get you strong enough to work the ration lines for a couple days.”

“I promise I’ll make this worth your while– agh.” You say, whimpering as you try to sit up.

Joel keeps you down with a hand on your shoulder. “Oh yeah? And what exactly are you offerin’ me this time, huh? More of those pretty tits? A taste of that leaky little cunt?”

“Anything you want,” you blurt out. A hefty statement with even heftier implications. But just one pill has shredded your pain from glass sticking out of your skin into little pinpricks. A miracle confined to a little circular pill.

Joel cocks his head at you. “Anything, huh? You’d sell your soul for a hit, wouldn’t you? Let me do whatever the fuck I wanted to that pretty ‘lil body of yours?”

A better person, the upstanding salt of the earth, would’ve walked away long ago. But you can scarcely walk on a good day, so all you can do is bob your head at him.

A smirk slices across his face. Joel reaches out to you to grip your chin, thumb pressing into bone. It’s satisfying in a twisted sort of way. Your eyes go all glassy and your lips form a picturesque pout. “Well ain’t that just precious,” he croons at you. “You think you’re the first desperate junkie to offer me the world for a cheap high?”

“No,” you mumble. “But that’s not… that’s not what this is. I have a good reason —”

Joel snorts at you. “Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that. Might not be the first one to come crawlin’ — literally — to me, but you might be the most pathetic. Tits and ass, that’s all you got to trade. Tell me sweetheart, how long ‘fore those goods wear thin?”

“According to you, they already have,” you fire back.

“Oh, they definitely have,” he says, voice so stony that it’s on the verge of being a leer. “But that don’t mean I can’t squeeze a little more outta you. You see, kid, I got a special request today. Something that requires a… different kinda payment.”

You worry your lip, teeth scraping over skin. You’re already in this deep. There’s so little you have to lose, pride included. Eventually, you take a deep breath and steel yourself. “Please, Joel. Just… just tell me what I can do.”

He leans in close, breath hot against your ear as he hangs onto your chin. “You’re gonna eat my ass, baby. And you’re gonna do it with a smile on your face, you understand?”

You stare, blinking once and then twice. He– you– what? “Excuse me?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“You heard me right, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty little mouth wrapped around my asshole, suckin’ and slurpin’.” He squeezes your chin. “That make enough sense to get through your drug-addled head?”

You squirm under his scrutiny, face heating up as if you’ve been held over an open flame. He’s looking at you as if he’s got you all figured out. Knowing him, he does. After you’re certain his handprint has started to stain your jaw, you say, “...Why?”

He shrugs. “Why not? ‘Cause I can pull any crackhead off the street and shove ‘er down on my cock until snot’s runnin’ out of her nose and her belly’s full of my cum. Can’t just find any girl who’s willing to knock on my backdoor. Takes a real nasty degenerate bitch to do that. And you’re a desperate little druggie willin’ to do anythin’ for a fix. You said it yourself.” He chuckles under his breath. “Seems like a match made in heaven to me.”

You swallow. Work the saliva in your mouth. “I… I’ve never, um–”

Joel’s head goes back with a grating, harsh laugh. “Never ate any ass before? Oh, you’re a dainty ‘lil thing, ain’t ya? Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to… want that sort of treatment.” Joel’s rough in bed, yes. Probably less rough with you than the other girls he sees, considering your predicament. You just hadn’t marked him as the type to want anyone near his ass.

Joel laughs. “I sure as hell ain’t. But here’s the thing, sweetheart. I don’t just want your tongue proddin’ around between my legs. I want to see your slutty little face smushed between my cheeks while you debase yourself for your hit.”

And that… makes more sense. This isn’t about his pleasure. It sure as hell isn’t about yours. It’s about him getting off on making you suffer, making you do something uncomfortable, something many would dub unpleasant.

Maybe you are a nasty fucked up degenerate bitch, because slick leaks into the gusset of your panties.

“Think you wanna do that for me?” he asks, dragging his hand from your chin, down your side, to where he gives your hip a light squeeze. “For you?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little breathless and plenty dizzy. Then, when you gather your wits, you nod firmly and speak louder. “Yeah.”

“Attagirl. Knew you were an obedient little pill chaser.” He gives your hip a tiny little smack. “C’mon, strip for me. Show me what we’re workin’ with.”

This part, you’ve done.

You fiddle with the hem of your tank top and lure it over your head before dropping it on the floor. You wriggle out of your bra, letting your tits fall loose. Joel nods his approval as you kick off your boots. You move on to your jeans, flicking the button. Dragging them down your thighs, savoring the hitch of denim on blemished skin. You have no problem showing off for him in this way, heels knocking your waistband down and leaving the pants in a lump on the floor. You’re left in your panties, the wet spot with the evidence of your slick shining through.

“Oh, baby,” Joel laughs. You shiver. “Ain’t even done anything to you… fuck, maybe you were meant to be a little ass eating slut. Filthy thing.”

You avert your eyes, face flaming, body boiling from the inside out. He’s standing hip-level with you, his semi visible in the stretch of his jeans. “Hey,” he says, hand gliding up your side. He taps your cheek with a bent knuckle. “No reason t’ be scared. First time for everything, yeah? Not gonna bite ya.”

You’re not scared. Just demeaned and humbled — exactly where he wants you to be.

He undoes his jeans, zipper snarling as it loosens, and knocks them and his boots off in a pile next to yours. He makes no move to take off his briefs or shirt, just taps your thigh. “Scoot,” he says. You shuffle over. “Gonna lay on my back. Figure that’ll be comfiest for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Um, thanks.”

Despite his reputation, despite how he treats you like a fucking cum rag, and despite this being a business transaction, he never neglects your own comfort. He never blocks the door. He never traps you in this situation.

Joel climbs onto the bed, sprawls out among the flattened pillow below. You go back on your haunches before adjusting yourself onto your stomach. You look at him and his rising bulge as he gets comfortable.

“I, uh, what do I–” You’re bumbling, and you know it. Seduction, even after a few transactions with Joel, still isn’t your domain.

“Alright, you little ass kisser in training. Gonna ease you into this. First thing you gotta do is get comfortable with the smell,” he says.

You give him a look.

“Like I said, you’re drainin’ me dry. Soap’s not the cheapest find, baby. Gotta make due. Besides, who needs bar soap when I’ve got your eager little tongue ready to wash me up?”

“Jooooel,” you whine, nose crunching.

“Nuh uh. No complainin’. I’m doin’ you a solid here, unless you’d rather me shove you face-first between my cheeks?” You shake your head, and he raises his brows at you. “Thought so.”

Joel slowly peels off his briefs, and your mouth can’t help but water at the sight of his mostly-hard cock. You remember the heft of it inside of you, the way he’d made room for himself inside of your body. And then your eyes trail lower to how his bulky thighs branch into the meat of his ass.

He hands you his briefs and gives you an expectant look. “Go ‘head. Sniff ‘em.”

“I– really?” you ask. They’re heavy in your hand and the exact sort of thing you’d expected him to wear. An off-white color, discolored by years of sitting around in a post apocalyptic world. A little bit stretched out with a hole in the waistband.

“Really. C’mon, kid, I don’t have endless patience.”

You change you grip on them and tentatively bring them to your nose, inhaling the musk that he’s embedded into the fabric from days of wear. It’s sharp and pungent, but underlined with a faint trace of sweetness. His musk is almost sugary, with the way it cloys inside of your lungs. Your hesitant sniffs turn into fuller, deeper breaths.

A cocky grin crosses his face. “And that’s just the appetizer, baby. Wait until you get a real mouthful of me.”

You whimper into the fabric, snuffling against it. Feeling yourself drift into that floaty, cotton-candy state of mind that you nosedive into whenever you’re with him. You watch, enraptured, as he spreads himself apart. His pucker is nestled in a thatch of hair and skin, tanner and darker than the rest of him. “See that?” he asks “That’s where you’re tongue’s headin’ baby.”

You let out a tiny little whimper. Joel laughs at you and a fresh wave of slick saturates your panties.

“This is the real deal, sweetheart. Go ahead. Give it a whiff.” You dip your head lower than it already is, nerves winding around your chest. You take a tiny, halfhearted breath. “How’re you gonna kiss it if you can’t even breathe it in, baby? Just get your nose in there, first. Think of it as an initiation.” He reaches back and gently grabs the back of your neck, tugging you closer. Before you know it, your nostrils are mashed against his hole, and every breath you take is muddied by him. You whine, a keening noise that traps itself in your throat.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Deep breaths, now. Let me defile that pretty nose.” You listen to him, controlling your breaths and drawing them in deep. “You’re gonna learn to love this. Nasty fuckin’ girls always do.”

You pull back when he loosens your grip on his neck, panting and dizzy off of him. You feel cross-eyed, almost. Swooning over the sensation of being buried between his legs.

“Look at you,” he coos. “Really are just a pathetic ‘lil fucktoy. All worked up and drooling over my ass.”

“I,” you start, but your voice tapers off when you realize you can’t argue that. You are pathetic, damn near slobbering over him just for a chance at pain relief.

“Say it before your mouth gets busy,” he says. “You know what you are, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I’m your pathetic little fuck toy,” you whisper. You can’t disobey him, not if you want your drugs. But he isn’t wrong. How could he be, when you’re so far underneath him right now?

“And?” he nudges.

“And — I want to eat your ass.” The words come out all stumbling and embarrassed, muffled by your own shame. But they only make you wetter.

He smiles down at you. “Attagirl. Now why don’t you kiss the outside for me. Get used to usin’ that cute little mouth.”

You’re a squeamish person. It’s in your nature; unfortunately a nature that’s contradictory to the nature of the world that you live in. Still, you swallow whatever scraps remain of your dwindling pride and kiss up his sun kissed thighs. You plant your lips above the crook of his knee and poke your tongue out, laying a trail of saliva and heat up to the crease of his thigh. Joel sighs as you draw a spiral with your tongue. You glance up at him through lidded eyes and are almost startled by the unadulterated want that glaze his own eyes.

“Gettin’ closer, baby,” Joel says. His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles into your neck. “Knew I chose right with you. Got a curious mouth on ya.”

You nuzzle up to his ass cheek, pressing a timid kiss against the swell of it. You bite gently at your lower lip when you separate from him. Your breaths have quickened, now, and he gives the back of your neck a reassuring little squeeze.

“Spread ‘em,” Joel coaxes, so you do. You press your thumbs into supple, fuzzy skin and spread him open for your scrutiny. You can’t help but lick your lips and come to regret it the second he chuckles. “Hungry, aintcha?” And maybe you are. But still, you hesitate when you lean in, taking a deep breath that is entirely steeped in his musk.

“Like a deer in headlights,” Joel mumbles. “Gonna make my hole blink at you or what, baby?”

“You’re crass,” you say, teeth digging into your lower lip.

“What’s crass is how your sloppy cunt is leakin’ waterfalls all over my bedspread.” He smirks at you when you pull a face. “Now go on, baby, I know you wanna eat it right on up.”

You try to ignore the distinct kickdrum of your throbbing clit where it’s buried between your thighs. Your head dips, and you kiss up his cleft. Occasionally, your tongue flicks out. He tastes how he smells. Like the same sweat and musk that everyone has from living in the QZ with an undercurrent of almost honeyed warmth. You lick up the inside of one of his cheeks, pride rushing through your gut when your tongue at the edge of his asshole makes him moan.

“Quit avoidin’ it, sweetheart. I got places to be. Jus’ pretend it’s a peach ring.” You’re dizzy, head swimming off of the sensation of being this close to him in this way. “Give it a ‘lil kiss. Just a smooch.”

You lean in and press your lips against his pucker, a tiny whine lodging in your throat. Joel grunts above you. It’s humiliating, being this low beneath him, this debased. There’s not much further you can go, so you flatten your tongue against his tight hole and spin it around his skin. You’re drooling all over him, tongue sweeping across wrinkled flesh. “Fuck, attagirl, just like that.”

He tastes good. Savory almost. You lap against him, tongue laving across the furrows of his ass. It’s just as satisfactory as the time he’d shoved his cock down your throat and held you down until you were choking and teary eyed. If not more. Because he was right earlier — fewer girls would do this for a fix. And you’re one of them, on hands and knees while your tongue probes his most private place, licks all the sweat and grime from between his cheeks. You can’t help but moan.

“Told you you’d love it,” he says. “Told ya you fuckin’ would. God, you’re a needy little bitch. For your fix… for me.”

You whine in protest, but it comes out much more pathetic than that with your tongue slipping up and down his crack. Your hand goes up instinctively to play with his balls, squeezing and fondling with each pass of your tongue. Joel groans, hips jumping against you. “Yeah, that’s it. Eager slut… feelin’ me up…”

You whimper into him, muffled with how your face is buried between his cheeks. Your tongue lashes out again, whirling around his entrance. Your eyes flutter in time with your cunt. You want more, you’re just as hooked on him as you are on the sensation of being painless. You flick your tongue, lips peppering him with open-mouthed kisses as you work.

Joel hisses as you lightly test his entrance. “God.” His hips jerk again, sporadic. “Fuck — shit,” he groans. “Natural ass licker, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. Oughta tie you to my backside, have you doin’ this all the time.”

You mewl at the thought, thighs clamping together. Your free hand wriggles down to rub at your bare clit. You get two rubs in before Joel kicks your hand away. “Nuh uh. This ain’t about you.” Joel smirks. “All that bitchin’ about it, but you’re pretty fuckin’ horny for your tongue up my ass.” He hikes his legs under your arms. Confusion spreads across your face until he locks his ankles around your back and tugs you face first into his ass.

“Mmph!”

“Don’t suffocate. Be out of a pocket pussy if you do.”

Fuck. You clench, leaking all over his sheets. Your eyes can’t help but roll back.

“Look at you… bet you could get high off ‘a doin’ this if you tried hard eno– ungh.” Joel fully convulses when you wrap your lips around his asshole and suck. “Goddamn. Nasty whore really earnin’ them pills,” he grits out. You giggle into him when you see his cock twitch, precum oozing down the side of it. It leaks between his legs and onto your tongue, and you slurp him up eagerly.

You’re so aroused that it hurts, slick spilling in droves down the insides of your legs while you tongue him eagerly. Your hips rock subtly against the bed, and Joel’s head is too thrown back to notice your violation. He rocks his hips up into your mouth as you wriggle your tongue inside of his hole, probing the tightness of him as thoroughly as you can while he twists underneath you. “There you go, fuck me with your slutty tongue, baby. Get it in deep.” He groans as you drag your tongue along his insides. “Bet you’re gonna be sucklin’ on a pillow later. Thinking ‘bout my ass with your hands between your legs, rubbin’ that cock starved cunt.”

“Bet you’re wishing I’d pound that pussy now, huh? Wishing I’d shoot a load up that messy little slit?” You nod, tongue swiping up and down. You fuck your tongue in and out of him, moaning as you get the smallest friction from the sheets bunched up between your legs. His ankles tighten around your shoulders, holding you down with no escape.

You manage to wriggle in his grasp enough to spat a lob of spit into your hand. You reach up around his waist and wrap your fist around his cock, jerking him. Joel jumps, his hole rubbing against your tongue as he lets out a wrecked moan. Your thumb traces his head. Sounding strangled, he curses, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Goddammit, you were made to eat ass. Wish I could have your tongue up there 24/7…. Show you off, baby. Bet some other smugglers would love to take your tongue for a ride, but no. Your pretty little mouth only opens wide for me, huh? Whenever I say jump, you ask me how high, dontcha?”

You moan in assent, tightening your grip on his cock as you stroke him. Your tongue works even harder, messy as you draw circles of spit around his rim. You suck with your lips locked around him, watch his abdomen twitch as you do, watch precum ooze from the head of his cock. You collect it on your thumb and use it to work him faster. Your tongue runs laps around him, his eyes fully on you. “God, baby, fuck, I’m comin’, I’m, co–”

With your tongue deep in his ass and your hand wrapped around his cock, Joel comes. Spurts of it leak out, some of it landing on your tits. You whimper and work him through it, through each groan and hitch of his hips, through each spasm and aftershock that coils through his body and snaps at him. His chest heaves as he looks at you, damn near starstruck.

“Grand prize ass eater right here. Nasty bitch, salivatin’ on my dirty hol—”

“Joel, please,” you cut him off, starry eyed all on your own.

“What? Already givin’ you your pills, ain’t no need to beg me for ‘em.”

“I–” you say. “I’m really wet.” You’re teary-eyed, maybe from the action of humiliating yourself, but much more likely from arousal, wound tighter than a coiled snake in your stomach.

Joel groans, and you swear his softening cock gives a mild twitch. “C’mon.” He swings his legs off of your shoulders and jerks his thigh, tapping it with a thick palm. “Get on up here.”

You an hour ago might’ve stood up for yourself, insisting that you at least deserve his fingers, but you right now was just tongue deep in Joel’s ripe asshole. So you scramble to mount his thigh, letting out a choked moan the second your swollen clit makes contact with his sweaty skin. You immediately start grinding yourself on him, feeling your slick squelch between your skin and his.

“Pathetic whore. Bet your tongue still tastes like my asshole, but you like that, don’t you? You like being my disgusting little junkie bitch.” You nod, bunching your hands into the fabric of his cum spattered t-shirt, tugging at it, tugging at him. “God, listen to you,” he says. Your broken-up moans, the sound of your wet pussy leaking and leeching against his leg. Your breaths are charred with the heat of pure, debauched need. It’s lewd, and you can see the shadow of yourself rocking your hips into him.

“Joel, oh God, Joel,” you moan, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you roll your hips. Your clit catches on his skin and he groans.

“Gonna shove your face in the fuckin’ puddle you’re making,” he says. You clench hard enough that your eyes squeeze shut. His hands, once still at his side, move along to anchor at yours. He yanks you against him, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass cheeks. You’re wobbly and woozy, shaking as you hump him. “C’mon, c’mon. You need it, don’t you? About to cream all over your dealer.”

And you are. You’re so, so close, with pleasure strung so tight through your body that it could snap at any second. It’s coarse and ragged, a sort of friction that stings and catches on your insides. Your tongue’s hanging out, you’re leaking all over him, and you’re pumping your hips even faster. He smacks your ass hard enough that your ears ring.

Your head hangs low and you make a noise akin to a kicked puppy. One of his hands moves to your cumstained chest, rubs his cum into your aching, hardened nipple. “Give it to me, you depraved fuckin’ slut. Little pervert, rubbin’ that cute little clit on me.” He tenses his leg, and you’re done for.

“Joel!” you whine as you topple over that edge, flailing, kicking, screaming.

Joel grunts. “Attagirl. Soak me.” He keeps rutting you against him through the aftershocks, even after you go limp and slump against his front. You’re both sweat-slick, and you’re still shaking. A giddiness swipes through your body as you clench and clench. You’re out of your own body. This is a pleasure beyond the pleasures you have known.

Your mouth still tastes like him on the comedown.

You heave for air, winded as you look at him through darkened eyes. Joel pats you on the ass and pushes you off of him. “Oomph.” He grabs you by the back of the neck again, and, true to his promise, pushes you face-first against his thigh.

“Look at this,” he snarls. His thigh is glistening with your arousal and release, viscous and slippery. You whimper as you smell yourself on his skin. “Lick it up.”

That makes you clench again. You stick out your lolling tongue and lave over his leg, scooping up your cum with your own tongue. You whimper and pout at him, and find yourself dizzy with need when he laughs at you.

Then, you hit the mattress and the ceiling seems to spin over your head.

Joel gets up and groans. You think you hear his knees pop. A few footsteps later, and you’re all alone in his bedroom, cocooned in sweat-wet sheets. There’s an emptiness inside of you, one that sticks everywhere. The silence crackles along your eardrums.

“Here,” he says, and then you’re back inside of yourself. Your eyes flicker open and you’re watching him from upside down. He props your cane up on his nightstand and chucks a box of tissues at you. You grab a fistful of them and wipe down your chest, then your inner thighs.

He tosses you your clothes, next. You shiver and tug your shirt over your head with only some difficulty. When it comes to your legs, just lifting one makes it crash back down at your side. You bleat, squeezing your eyes shut through the pain. Maybe riding him had been… overzealous. But the painkillers had made you indomitable — or at least feel indomitable.

“Hey,” Joel says. “Let me help.” It’s a foreign tone from him. Softer than what you’re used to. He redresses you, even laces up your boots for you. When all’s said and done, he pats you on the ass. The silence is a blanket, a warmth of sorts.

“Thank you,” you mumble. “I… I’m sorry I don’t have any more to offer you.”

“Kid,” he says. “I agreed to this. I ain’t mad at you. And, hell, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that. I’d say it was worth it, even if you’re robbin’ me blind over here.”

He pulls out the baggie of pills and folds them in your hand. “Try to stay safe out there.” You nod at him and lean yourself on your cane as you stand. You swing it in time with your steps.

“I will,” you say. It feels like more of a hollow promise, if anything.

As your hand lands on the doorknob, he says, “My door’s open. Come back when you need more.”

Whether he means more pills or more of him, you’re not sure. Maybe he’s not sure, either. But you’re hooked on something, you think. And you pretty sure it’s not the drugs.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #flesh currency : fic

327 notes · View notes

persevereforahappyending · 7 months ago

Text

A Legacies Secret |1|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Stabbing, Break in

Word Count: 3.3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Hey babe, what’s up?” you asked.

Tara smiled, even while at work you still managed to answer her calls. She could hear you moving around, the clanging of glasses and the sound of patrons on the other end of the phone. “I miss you,” Tara said. She hadn’t seen you all day and she was home alone and bored.

You chuckled. Tara couldn’t make out the words, you sounded far away but she could tell you were talking to a customer. “Sorry,” you said, coming back to the phone. “We saw each other yesterday.” Tara didn’t say anything, pouting as she grabbed a pot to make dinner. “But,” you sighed, but Tara knew you were smiling. “I missed you too.”

“You didn’t spend the night last night,” Tara pouted, even though you couldn’t see her she wanted to make you feel guilty. “I’m home all alone.”

“You’re always home alone.” Tara’s pout turned into a frown, she glared at you through the phone. “Besides I have an apartment, we could literally be alone together whenever you want.”

“Your apartment is tiny.”

Tara couldn’t help but smile, imagining the eye roll you’d surely give her. “Is that your way of saying when we get out of this hellhole, you’re not going to live with me?” Tara rolled her eyes; you always made everything so dramatic. “It’s fine. You’ll be going to college, living on campus, and I’ll be living in a shoebox all alone wherever you decide to go.”

“I’d love to live in a shoebox with you,” Tara giggled. “Sounds cozy.”

“Yeah?” you teased. “I thought my apartment was too small.”

“It is.” Your apartment truly was tiny. There was a living room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was tiny but it was all you. Tara knew it was the best you could do and still save money and since you were on your own it was actually incredible how well you were doing. She still loved giving you shit about your tiny apartment though. “But I like the idea of being in close quarters with you.”

It seemed you had taken the phone away from your ear again. Tara heard you mumbling and someone else, they had a deeper voice, she assumed it was your boss. “I have to go,” you sighed. “I’ve been informed this has counted as my break.”

Tara rolled her eyes; your boss could be an ass at times. “Tell them you’re dealing with an emergency. Your girlfriend is needy and wants your attention.”

You chuckled again. Tara bit her lip, she didn’t need to see you, just hearing your laugh was everything. “I’m not really sure he cares about that.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“I’ll come over after I get off.”

“I’ll wait up.”

“It’ll be late.”

“I’ll wait up,” Tara said again. She always tried to wait up for you. You worked at a bar and usually didn’t get off till well after midnight, almost early morning the next day at times. There were days you’d get off and come over and you’d be in bed for maybe an hour at most before Tara was getting up for school, those days you were always still in bed by the time she got home.

“Off the phone!” an angry voice came. They were clearly a good distance away, but Tara could hear them clear as day.

“Two seconds!” you screamed back. “I really have to go,” your voice went back to being soft, like it always was when you spoke to Tara. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Tara smiled as she hung up. You’d been dating for almost two years and had said ‘I love you’ a long time ago but it never failed to make Tara blush.

Tara smiled to herself, swaying back and forth in the kitchen. You and her always casually talked about the future together. It wasn’t anything crazy, it wasn’t talks about marriage and getting a house together. It was simple, it was talking about moving in together once Tara graduated. It might seem rushed to most people, moving in together right after high school, especially since you were a few years older, but Tara was eighteen and she knew what she wanted.

Some of the people who thought she was crazy were her best friends, they didn’t have a problem saying it either. Tara didn’t listen to them though, you and her had a plan. Tara would graduate and once she heard back from the schools she applied to, she’d choose, hopefully she’d get into her number one choice, then the two of you would find a little place by campus and you’d work, she’d go to school, and she’d get to come home to you and wake up next to you every day.

Since she couldn’t talk to you, she decided to text Amber. She was bored and though she only needed to entertain herself for a few hours she didn’t want to do it alone. She would just have to make sure Amber didn’t spend the night. You and Amber didn’t get along to put it lightly. You basically hated each other but tolerated each other’s presence, to an extent, for Tara’s sake. Tara honestly wasn’t sure why you didn’t like each other. It was more Amber than you, you kind of just reciprocated her hatred. Amber was never fond of you though. Tara has tried to ask a few times what the deal was, and Amber only ever said she just didn’t think you were good enough.

Tara: Wanna come over? We can binge watch movies

Amber: Where’s the girlfriend?

Tara rolled her eyes. Amber always started off hostile when it came to you. Ever since Tara introduced you, even before the two of you started dating. Amber has always had attitude. Tara tried to avoid talking about you but in times like this it was hard when Amber was the one bringing you up for no reason.

Tara: Work

Amber: Glad to know I’m the second choice

Tara: Stop

Tara: Do you want to hangout or not?

Tara: I’ll make the popcorn

Amber: You can do better than that

The phone on the counter started to ring. Tara looked up from her phone, scrunching her eyebrows at the ringing. No one ever called the landline, if someone wanted to talk to her or her mom, they had their cell. Hell, Tara wasn’t even sure she knew the home phone number. She shook her head and went back to texting Amber.

Tara: You get first pick of the movie?

Amber: I got some homework to finish up

Tara rolled her eyes, of course Amber was going to be difficult. The landline continued to ring. Tara was doing her best to ignore it, whoever was calling seemed persistent though.

Tara: Open liquor cabinet

Amber: Sold!

Tara: Fucking landline won’t stop ringing

“Hello?” Tara answered the landline with an eyeroll, not being able to stand the ringing any longer and hoping to get rid of whoever was on the other end quickly.

“Hello, is Christina there?” A man asked.

Tara rolled her eyes again, of course it was someone asking for her mom. “No, she’s not available. May I take a message?”

“Oh, uhh, yeah, sorry,” he stumbled over his words. Tara didn’t pay him much mind as she got the footrest and made her way over to get the key to the liquor cabinet. “I’m a friend of hers from group. Shit,” he whispered, clearly not meaning to say that.

“From her shit?” Tara smiled to herself, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

“Just tell her I’m from group, I’m Charlie, she’s got my number.”

“Oh, she goes to group?” Tara asked, not believing for a second her mom was going to any sort of group.

“I shouldn’t have-look can you just tell her Charlie called?”

“And I’ll do exactly that Charlie, once you tell me what kind of group we’re talking about. Is it AA? NA?”

“Well, you sound exactly like she described you.”

“She talks about me in group?” Tara couldn’t believe that either, that definitely didn’t sound like her mom.

“Look, I don’t think I can really talk about that.”

Tara sighed, pulling out her phone again. She needed to tell Amber about this. Amber knew exactly what her mom was like and there was no way she wouldn’t enjoy this.

Tara: Dude I think it’s my mom’s new BF

Amber: Seriously???

“What did she say about me?” there was an edge of hostility in her tone, she wanted to hear all about what her mother possibly said about her in this group.

“Well, she loves you very much.”

“Oh, what does she love about me?” Tara asked, her sarcasm coming back.

“She loves that you’re creative, you love art and TV and movies.”

“Okay, lots of people love movies,” she shook her head, dismissing him.

“But she said you love scary movies and that you guys have that in common. She’s proud at making a fan out of you.”

“She is?” Tara slowed her movements, she used to watch scary movies with her mom all the time, but she’d never heard her mom say she was proud of her for anything before.

“Yeah, she told me the other day she wonders, what’s your favorite scary movie?” Tara ignored the way the man’s voice changed, still focusing on the fact that her mom was apparently proud of her.

“Uhh, The Babadook, it’s an amazing meditation on motherhood and grief.”

“Isn’t that a little fancy pants?” the man asked with a chuckle.

“Well, it’s elevated horror.”

“What does that mean, elevated horror?”

“You know, it’s like scary but with complex emotional and thematic underpinning, it’s not just some schlocky cheeseball nonsense with wall-to-wall jump scares.”

The man hummed, not seeming very interested in her answer. “That seems kind of boring to me. Have you ever seen Stab?” his tone changed again when he asked her the question, but once again Tara didn’t think much of it.

“Once, I think, at a sleepover, when I was like twelve.”

The man laughed at that. “You live in Woodsboro, and you don’t know Stab? Well, your mother loves that movie, she talks about it all the time in group. How well do you remember the original?”

“I don’t know, and it was like super 90s, it was really over lit, and everyone had weird hair.”

“Do you remember the beginning?”

“Not really, I mean it started with a kill scene, right? They always started with a kill scene.”

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s right,” he tone shifted again. “It’s a girl at home alone, she answers the wrong number and starts talking with the killer who makes her play a game.” Tara slowed her movements again, thinking the conversation was treading into weird territory. “Would you like to play a game, Tara?” he whispered her name. A chill went down her spine and she quickly hung up, not bothering to answer him.

Tara tossed the phone on the counter, watching it as if it would ring again. Her eyes darted around the house, looking for anything that shouldn’t be there. She pulled out her phone and locked all the doors, arming the alarm. She knew it was Woodsboro and someone always liked to make prank calls, especially around this time of year but she wasn’t taking her chances. Tara looked out the window, not seeing anyone creeping around her yard as she closed the curtains.

Tara checked the time on her phone. Only several minutes had passed since she had talked to you. She still had a few hours before you’d get off and get to the house. Her thumb hovered over your contact, wanting nothing more than to hear your voice. Tara knew she was just being paranoid, but she just wanted your comfort, you’d calm her down within seconds. She didn’t want to bother you though, she knew you were at work, you were busy, and you’d already been yelled at for just talking to her.

She left your contact and went to text Amber. She just needed to be talking to someone. It was clearly a stupid prank, but she just wanted someone to help keep her sane otherwise her imagination would drive her crazy.

Tara: It was some psycho. I’m locking the doors.

Amber: WTF??? You okay?

Tara started to type out she was fine and just a little jumpy. She knew it was probably a prank but that didn’t mean it wasn’t freaking her out. Before she could finish typing her text though the phone started ringing again, making her jump.

Amber: You should answer it.

Tara scrunched her eyebrows looking at Ambers text, she slowly lifted her eyes to look at the ringing phone again, then back down at her cell. Her thumb hesitated over the letters as she typed out her message.

Tara: How did you know my landline was ringing?

Tara: Amber?

Amber: This isn’t Amber

Amber: ANSWER THE PHONE BITCH

Tara moved to call the police; she had nine dialed, tears slowly began to fill her eyes, when another message appeared.

Amber: ANSWER THE PHONE OR AMBER DIES

Tara ran back to the counter, picking up the phone. “This isn’t fucking funny Amber,” she said but couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.

“I told you, this isn’t Amber,” the same voice as before said, this time sounding much more sinister. Just then a video was sent to Tara, when she opened it, she saw footage of Amber, sitting in her room and brushing her hair. “Amber’s looking particularly fetching tonight. She really shouldn’t leave her phone lying around for anyone to clone.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you, I want to play a game,” he talked to her as if she was a child. “Stab movie trivia, three rounds, you call the cops, she dies, you get a question wrong, she dies, her parents aren’t home, I can be in that room in fifteen seconds. You want a warm-up question?”

“I told you, I don’t know these movies,” came out in a whine, tears already getting ready to fall. “I don’t! Ask me about something I do know,” she tried to bargain. “Ask me about It Follows, ask me about Hereditary, ask me about The Witch.”

“In the first Stab movie,” he continued, completely ignoring Tara’s pleas. “What Woodsboro native was introduced as the franchise’s main character?”

“It’s Sidney Prescott! It’s Sidney Prescott and she lived on Elm.”

“Correct. You see, you’re gonna do great at this. Okay, question one.”

“Nonono, I got that one right, it should count.”

“Anyone could have gotten that one right, Sidney’s in every movie but the last one. Question one, who wrote the original book the Stab movies are based on?”

“The chick from TV,” Tara struggled to remember her name. She had never read any of the books and she certainly didn’t watch the morning show the lady did.

“The chick from TV is not going to cut it Tara,” they let out a disappointed sigh.

“Oh! Gale Weathers! It’s Gale Weathers you motherfucker.”

“Correct. Amber might live to see the sunrise. Question two, who played the dumb bitch at the beginning of Stab one who answers the phone and gets carved up by the killer?”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that the answer you’re going with?” Tara quickly typed on her phone, going to IMDB and looking at the cast for Stab. “A non-answer counts as a wrong answer Tara. Time’s running out.” He continuously repeated the words tick tock, getting faster and faster as the seconds passed, making Tara more anxious and scroll faster.

“Maybe I made a mistake,” he continued, causing Tara to halt her scrolling for a second. “Maybe Amber isn’t enough motivation.” Tara let out a shaky breath, preparing herself for his next words. “Maybe I should have gone after your little girlfriend,” he spit out, not able to hide is clear hatred. “It’d be much easier, I mean it’s late, there’s no one around. No one would even hear her scream.”

“She has nothing to do with this!” Tara screamed, sobbing into the phone. She couldn’t get the image out of her head of you leaving the bar and getting jumped by Ghostface, getting stabbed and left to bleed out in the street with no one to help.

“She has everything to do with this,” the voice snapped. Tara didn’t even have time to process the clearly emotional outburst. “Tick tock Tara,” they snapped again. “Or should I just kill both? I’m sure I can gut Amber and then make it to-”

“Heather Graham!” Tara screamed finally finding the name, cutting the killer off before he could threaten you again.

“Correct,” he said, going right back to his calmer demeanor. “You pulled that one out, now for the final question, who was the killer in Stab one?”

“Oh, I know this one you fuck,” Tara gasped, realizing she knew the answer. “It’s Billy Loomis! It’s Billy Loomis and he was Sidney’s boyfriend, and he was played by Luke Wilson, and I got you asshole,” Tara couldn’t help but chuckle, relieved at getting the answer right. “I got it! I got it right!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Tara,” he almost sounded sympathetic. “But that’s just not correct.”

“What?” Tara whispered, confused, and not believing what she was hearing. “No no no no it is, that is right.”

"The correct answer is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, there are two killers in the original Stab. I’m afraid someone’s gotta die now.”

“Nono, Amber I’m coming!” she shouts as she sets down the phone and grabs a kitchen knife, running for her front door.

When Tara threw open her door, she was met with the sight of Ghostface who quickly slashed their knife across her left side. Tara punched them in the face and slammed the door. She fought against Ghostface as he tried to shove his way in but eventually, she got the door shut, quickly locking it.

Tara pulled out her phone again, arming the system again and hitting the button to alert the authorities. She picked up her knife, slowly backing up down the hallway as she heard Ghostface relentlessly banging on the door trying to get in when suddenly the banging stopped. Tara’s heart dropped when she heard the alarm system say it was disarmed, Ghostface had access to her system somehow. Tara quickly armed it again, but Ghostface was ready, disarming it once again. They went back and forth arming and disarming the alarm system until it finally landed on armed.

Tara stood at the end of the hallway gasping for breath as she continued to sob. The landline rang again, startling her and making her swing the knife. She held the wall, sobbing as she made her way back to the landline.

“Hello?” Tara said, her words shaky as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, keeping the hand holding the knife raised.

“Bonus question Tara,” Ghostface whispered.

“Please stop,” she begged.

“Do you think I made it inside your house before you could re-arm?”

Just as Tara’s eyes widened with the realization, Ghostface came out from behind her, stabbing her in the stomach. Tara let out a scream of pain. When Ghostface pushed her into the kitchen island she turned around, smacking him across the head before he could stab her again.

Ghostface grabbed her by the head and shoved her to the floor. Tara rolled over, kicking Ghostface in the stomach. Ghostface brought down their boot, snapping Tara’s leg. Tara rolled over, sobbing from the pain.

Ghostface brought down his knife towards her face, but she reached up, causing the knife to go through her left hand. Tara screamed, holding Ghostface’s arm up as he continued to try and push the knife towards her face despite it still being in her hand. He finally pulled the knife out and Tara kicked him, making him lose his balance and crash to the floor.

Unable to walk, Tara crawled her way to the front door, screaming for help. Just as Tara reached the door and she could hear the police sirens, Ghostface yanked her back, stabbing her in the side several more times.

“Nononononono,” Tara screamed as Ghostface brought his knife down onto her again.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 5 #scream v #a legacies secret

557 notes · View notes

1920sladydectective · 2 months ago

Note

Hey i saw requests and had to ask, ambessa x reader for a wounded reader. I mean like a well executed plan goes to shit and Reade gets hurt much to ambessa's suprise. Passed and frustrated, ambessa traces readers old scars and stews on the new ones.

Hello my lovely! Thank you for your request! Very awesome and fun idea, I hope you like what I’ve done with it 🫶🫶🫶

I’m always happy to take them, especially with Ambessa if anyone is wondering! I shall try to get to them all.

This may not be quite what you wanted, I wrote it at half three in the morning and it’s a tad sillier than I’d intended. I’ll probably rewrite/add to it, but here it is for now!

Some mentions of blood etc - reader is hurt after all ❤️

Hurt Reader x Ambessa Drabble -

It was a shock, the warm slice sinking through your abdomen as a tall knight appeared.

This plan had been ridiculously simple and after ten years working under and loving Ambessa Medarda, you were notoriously difficult to surprise.

That being said, you were currently bleeding out as you stumbled away with the stupid bastard’s blood covering your front. You couldn’t let him live, but you did hope you didn’t die in the process.

Nearing the Noxian camp, you allowed yourself to cry out, spluttering slightly as everything blended into one.

Ambessa was discussing land division with Rictus, eagerly awaiting your return so you could retire to bed and then finally leave this back water hellhole.

Cries and clamouring had her dashing from her tent. You were there, unconscious, dragged along by shaking rookies.

The physician was already running to you, a loyal and efficient member of Ambessa’s staff, had it been anyone else her worries would have ended there.

She could tell all the blood was not yours, but it did nothing to dissuade the bile in her throat. This was impossible. This couldn’t be right. Part of her, foolish and soon to be carved out, had mistaken you for invincible. Despite the war wounds you wore as proudly as she wore her own, you were faster than her, always less risky. You were her sly fox, and the stab of fear she felt at you being caught made her snarl.

Hours seemed to drain into nothingness, her large hand stroking your serene face, muttering your favourite pet names and telling you stories. You had always hated the silence of rest, a feeling that only dissuaded with Ambessa. Her feelings were a muddle of thick, pulsing anger and desperation. Her fingers traced against the most faded of your marks, a melancholy filling her. Your story was mapped here, your journey with her visible in each gash and cut. It had seemed beautiful to her before. It still was, but as the cuts grew newer and fewer an uncharacteristic reservation filled her.

You were too precious to lose, and this had been your worst brush with death. The reason was inexcusably stupid, as Rictus had found out. A knight leaving his rotation slightly late because he was chatting up some maid, meant you’d been caught mere seconds before you would have fled. Ambessa felt hypocritical wanting to suddenly bundle you in furs and lock you in your chambers, but as she traced the crimson bandage on your midriff the plan seemed more and more plausible.

It took two days for you to wake and she never left your side. Murmuring all the while, her voice growing hoarse, Ambessa brushed your hair and ensured you stayed warm. The physician had said you would be fine and that she could benefit from some rest herself. Ambessa had nearly killed her, for some reason.

That, it seems, was what woke you.

“Do stop being stupid,” Your drug addled lips slurred, glassy eyes looking between the physician and your imposing wife, “She’s right, you look like shit,”

“Hello, Dear,” She muttered, dropping her blade and kneeling at your side.

“That was a tricky one, eh? What happened was-”

She let out a relieved sigh, kissing you tenderly on the lips, “We are not debriefing right now you fucking idiot,”

It took five months, eight hours of continual sex and a trip from Mel, but Ambessa finally seemed to mellow at the idea of you returning to her side in combat.

In the end you think it was your constant gasping and fawning at her own scars that did it.

Overreacting to your lover’s aged scars as if they were fresh was irritating apparently…

It was nice to know you were loved

#arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #reader insert #ambessa x reader

316 notes · View notes

sidekick-hero · 7 months ago

Text

On top of the world

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, prompt 'graduation' | 616 words | tags: fix it, Steve is a sweetheart and takes care of Eddie, first kiss

Before March 21st, Eddie would have said not graduating again was the worst thing that could happen to him. Now, Eddie knows better.

Nothing like almost dying to put things into perspective, right?

He misses the days when his biggest worry was convincing old witch O'Donnell to give him a "D" and let him leave Hawkins High. Now that he knows what a real hellhole looks like, he thinks he could survive another year under Higgins' thumb.

Still, he doesn't exactly mind when Nancy comes over to his and Wayne's new house—part of the government deal the kids cut for him while he was in a coma—to tell him that he's going to graduate with his class.

He doesn't question it either, just whoops enthusiastically enough to almost pull his stitches, which hurts but has the added bonus of Steve putting his big hands all over him to check his numerous healing wounds.

A week on the run and fighting interdimensional monsters with the guy has changed Eddie's perspective on what’s the best thing that could happen to him as well.

On graduation day, he walks across the stage with a cane for support, something he hadn’t thought possible. It was Steve who had made that happen, even if he refused to accept Eddie's praise. The moment Eddie had muttered under his breath after Nancy had left, ‘But how am I supposed to walk the fucking stage if I can't even go to the bathroom without taking a break?' Steve was a man on a mission.

They practiced every day, before or after Steve's work helping out at the hospital. They needed every helping hand they could get after the damage Vecna and the Upside Down monsters had caused. Eddie could attest to how wonderful Steve's hands were at helping. In fact, he could write songs about it once his hands stopped shaking whenever he held a pencil (or anything, really) for too long.

Eddie wondered if every one of Steve's patients was as in love with him as he was.

As Eddie snags his diploma from Higgins, who looks like he bit into a particularly bitter lemon, Eddie marvels that flipping him the bird isn’t as exhilarating as expected.

Maybe that’s because of last night and the way Steve’s lips felt on his. Every moment since then simply pales in comparison.

Steve had come over after another shift at the hospital, probably sore and exhausted, but giving Eddie one of his dazzling smiles that always made him weak in the knees. Which was kind of counterproductive, considering what they were trying to accomplish here.

They were both trying so hard but Eddie’s legs just wouldn’t cooperate. No matter what Steve tried, they buckled after a few steps, forcing Eddie to sit down or fall down. He had made progress, the muscles in his legs slowly coming back, but three weeks had been too short.

Or so he thought.

Eddie doesn’t know how or why, but this time, Steve had simply positioned himself as far away from Eddie as possible and spread his arms as wide as his smile. “I got you, Eds. I’ll never let you fall. If you can’t trust in yourself just yet, trust in me.”

He had, believing that those strong arms would wrap around him if he stumbled.

He didn’t stumble, didn’t fall, but wrap around him they did anyway. Steve had picked him up and twirled him around, and then he’d kissed him, grinning mouth to grinning mouth.

Eddie might not have graduated top of his class, but he sure feels like he’s on top of the world when he catches Steve’s eye among the cheering group of his friends.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing

413 notes · View notes

nothomegal · 1 year ago

Text

"Safe and sound"

(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: after being caught and claimed by the executioner, Silent Hill became a rather tranquil for you. However, a one particular entity, or rather entities, of this town kept bugging you anyways... Pun no intended.

Warning: mention of bugs and/or insects crawl on (Y/N)(?)

World count: 1.2k (kinda short ik hshalsdha)

(sorry if this is freaky, but I literaly dreamed about something similar and I just had to write it down hahdajkdha)

Waking up in this place is a bittersweet experience, on one hand, it's nice to wake up with some extra energy to tolerate the surrounding nonsense, but on the other one, it hurts and sucks to realize that one is still trapped in this hellhole. And today, (Y/N) woke up with the negative thought, but the sight of the broad muscular chest of their lover made their 'morning' a bit better, and also more flustering.

The shift from sleepy and grumpy to shy and akward seemed to amuse the beast, as he let out an low rumble, which resembled a purr.

—"Y-Yeah yeah... Good morning to you too."— you say a bit shy, looking away and gripping his clothes.

Though they don't look away for too long, because soon a large hand grabs their jaw and moves their head just enough for Pyra to see their face. Oh how much he adored that flustered and innocent expression of theirs, a great contrast from the faces of pain and horror he've seen on his daily basis before meeting (and then pursuing) (Y/N).

The mentioned person simply stares back at his massive metal helmet, slowly and involuntarily melting into his warm touch.

—"Do you really like to stare at my face so much?"—

As an answer, Pyra gives them a little squeeze on their cheeks and let out another low amused purr when (Y/N) tries to pull away.

—"He-Hey! Nyo, shtop!"—

Pyra messes with them for a bit longer, clearly enjoying to see them getting upset as they speak funny. This little playfight ends up with the beast wrapping his arms around his little human and pulling them back against his torso, letting them know that he's not ready to let them go, not just yet.

(Y/N) simply sighs and accepts their fate, this is still better than having their face licked and end up with saliva all over it. They start to get comfortable but...

—"Ah...- Aah-!"— you yelp suddenly as your body shivers violently.

Pyra instantly let go of them, allowing (Y/N) to sit up and put their hand underneath their shirt to then pull it out, holding...

A creeper.

That goddamn stupid roach-

—"AGH! For fuck's sake!"— you exclaim as you throw the insect against a wall.

Call this animal cruelty or whatever, but when these little shits keep crawling under your clothes and shirt every damn time you lay down and doze off for a moment, one kinda becomes annoyed with it. And feel their insect limbs and scaly body cling and brush against your soft skin or make the low hissing noises whenever you try to pull them away is straight up disgusting! Ew!

(Y/N) then lift their shirt, to make sure they spot any sneaky ones, and of course there is another one because life sucks. Yet this one resulted to be more stubborn.

—"Ugh, just get off! Is there really no other creature whose warmth you could leach on?!"— you grumble angrily as you try to shake the insect away, yet it kept clinging to your sleeve tightly.

Thankfully their struggles didn't last long, a single growl from the massive beast was enough to set the little roach-like thing into flee, quickly crawling away from them and disappearing into a random crack on the wall.

After a second check and coming out clean, (Y/N) let out a relieved sigh as they fix their clothes a bit.

—"Thanks... Sorry for the yelling, but I'm just tired of waking up with these little shits on me."— you admit tiredly. —"I mean, I'm no snowflake and definetely can handle them crawling on me, but when they go under my shirt..."— you instinctively shiver after mentioning that.

Pyra does nothing at first, not even a movement or a sound. (Y/N) knows that sometimes he goes into this stiff position, and it never fails to kinda freak them out because it's impossible to tell if he's thinking or holding back his anger.

He eventually moves, which caused them to flinch a bit because it was way too sudden. Pyra then began to slowly uncover his torso by opening the upper part of his vest while (Y/N) simply stares at him with a confused and kinda concerned expression, oh god don't tell his possesion over them made him feel lustful again-.

Luckly, Pyra seems not interested in any heated activities (for now). He remains completely still again with his vest opened, revealing his torso all the way down to his toned and scarred abdomen as he 'stares' back at (Y/N), like expecting them to do something.

They remain quiet and hesitant, eyes flickering between his torso and his helmet until it finally clicks.

—"Hold up... You want me to get in there?"— you raise your brow.

A metallic clank resonated from Pyra as he tilts his helmet slightly, movement resembling a nod. (Y/N) blinks a couple of times before doing as told, they're not sure what Pyra's plan is but they won't question it, and if he wanted to take them he'd ripped off their clothes a while ago-.

They slowly slide inside of his vest, their body getting a little spine chill at the sudden warmth of the beast's bare skin, it feels even warmer when exposed. They settle down, their head resting on his chest and their body slightly curled in a ball. The monster then closes his vest, wrapping the clothes around (Y/N) and keeping it closed with his arms wrapped around their smaller form.

Do you know how an owner sometimes let their cat hand out inside of their shirt? Well this is basically the same, but instead of the owner and a cat, it's a giant piramid headed beast and his little lovely human (Y/N).

Despite how weird of an idea it may seem, this is incredibly comfortable and cozy, (Y/N) just can't help but to nuzzle into Pyra's chest as they let out a content hum.

—"Not gonna lie, that's a very clever idea."— you momentarily stop nuzzling, then give a small kiss on one of his pecs before comfortably settling in place again. —"Thank you, really."—

A pleased rumble resonated from Pyra's helmet, making his chest and (Y/N) vibrate a bit. They slowly start to doze off again, and the little gentle nuzzling from the beast against their back isn't making their task to stay awake any easier. The sound of his breathing also resulted incredibly soothing, the way his chest raise and fall with each large breath he takes only lulls them further into sleep.

They feel one large hand slide up and rest in the back of their head, pressing them further against him in a protective manner. They involuntarely smile, childishly grin at the though of them being the only living thing to ever witness and experience this side of the fearsome executioner, who will do anything to keep other creatures away from them, him being the one and only allowed to be this close to (Y/N).

A sane mind would tell that such obsession and posessiveness is absolutely awful, but who said (Y/N) is sane? They lost it the moment they accepted to be taken away by the monster, or maybe they never even had any sanity in the first place! Who knows? Who cares? They surely not, not when they can enjoy being in the beast's arms, bathing in his warmth, listening his heartbeat...

Being kept truly safe and sound.

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

1K notes · View notes