#anyway! if you have the time to spare consider signing please!!!!!!

[minglana]

today is the last day to sign the petition to keep aragonese and catalan protected under aragonese law

so please if you have a minute, sign the petition

[audisive]

♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

        There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

  You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you. 

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

  Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no? 

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

        divider by @cafekitsune !

[eevees-hobbies]

ume devours pussy like he's been starved for days on end (he couldn't see you for a few days) and bonus points if you're actually a plaything for furin , so he'll do a pussy inspection first >-< - 💌 anon <3

Author’s Note: Hi, 💌 Anon! Welcome back 💕 I Just realized that I didn’t mention Sakura in this entire piece, and my heart hurts because of it, lol. Anyway, I’m snatching my bonus points thank you very much! I love the idea of being used by Bofurin; like sign me the fuck up! Trains go choo choo! Lastly, please don't clock me for the name of this little fic haha. I realized I don't have a banner with just Ume, and I was like, "might as well!"

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Hajime Umemiya. You’re Bofurin’s girlfriend to be shared and loved by all, mention of sexual activities with others, fem! receiving oral, mentions of eating ass, but I spared you THIS time, some dirty talk, pubic hair mention, sorry to the two Nirei fuckers out there, I’m sure he eats pussy like a champ—Tis smut. Minors Don’t Interact. 

Word Count: 1.9K

Divider by Saradika. Banner by me

One qualification for a good leader is being unselfish, and Umemiya embodies that virtue perfectly. 

When he took on the role of leader of Bofurin, he knew that it would involve quite a bit of sharing that had the potential to test anyone’s patience. But as though it’s his calling—and it most definitely is—Umemiya willingly shares wisdom with those ready to receive it and, most importantly, shares his most limited resource: his time. He’s never had a problem giving away so much of himself for so little in return. 

It wasn’t until Bofurin had gotten back from winning an intense match-up with a rival group across town, and you all were celebrating on the rooftop with food and beer, that the obvious occurred to him. 

As he watched over the joyous faces of his crew, he found himself studying you, like he always does, as you interacted with Hiragi, whose eyes looked over your form hungrily after you placed a piece of Gyoza against his lips and the tip of your finger touched his tongue.

He watched when you went to speak to Kiryu, who pulled you into his lap playfully and planted a kiss on your cheek, his hands resting under the curve of your breasts. 

And he watched as you crossed the space to turn up the pop-punk music crooning from the stereo. Suo reached out to you unprompted and tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for a beat too long to be considered innocent. 

It became abundantly clear to Ume that he would be doing a massive disservice to his team if he didn’t share you, too.

You thought he was suggesting an open relationship when he approached you with the idea. Your thoughts were in flux immediately. Was he unhappy? Was there someone else? Your heart sunk into your stomach at the idea and the hurtful implications of such an arrangement, but Umemiya simply shook his head.

“I have no intention of offering myself to anyone but you.” 

Admittedly, your new role as the official Bofurin Girlfriend had you just as busy as Umemiya. You weren’t only a sexual toy for them. You were Nirei’s first date, Suo’s confidant, Tsubakino’s shopping buddy, and Kaji’s and Hiragi’s third wheel at metal shows. You felt so lucky to be surrounded by so much love—and dick. But all those excursions—and dick—kept you insanely booked, to the point that you had to develop a shared calendar with your boy toys to not overlap on dates!

So it’s not to anyone's surprise that there are days when you and Umemiya don’t cross paths. You exchange texts frequently, asking how the other is doing and sharing inside jokes with cute gifs and memes, but the absence hurts and leaves you aching for him. And maybe it was also Umemiya’s intention to busy you with the boys because he knew he couldn’t give you as much time as you deserved, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

But fret not; on rare occasions, your schedules align.

You can feel him before you see him, an overwhelming presence that makes the air dense and clotted with an insurmountable pressure. You look up to the door, and just as your intuition hinted, he strides into the room where you all commonly loiter as a group—members strewn across the worn-out couch and others talking amongst each other immediately straighten and hush. 

Umemiya’s well-kept hair is slightly messy, with a few strands dangling in front of his face, and his eyes are smoldering as they scan across the faces in the room, searching until they land on you.

As soon as your eyes meet, the air feels as though it’s coursing with electricity—sexual tension threatening to boil over and scorch anyone who gets in your path. It doesn’t take long for everyone to get the hint to vacate quickly, knowing that you two are set on a collision course that they wouldn’t be able to stop even if they wanted to.

“Ume," you start but are unable to finish as he crosses the room. His heavy steps are the only thing that prepares you as his lips crash onto yours. As he kisses you, hands placed on either side of your cheeks, he breathes you in. His chest expands against yours, and you’re reminded at that moment how much you’ve missed him—missed this. You both wonder silently, but somehow aloud with your bodies, how you could go so long without the other.

And when you’ve been apart for so long, you don’t have time for pleasantries. Ume is walking you backward until your ass is pushed against the back of the couch, which previously housed Bofurin members, the indentations of their bodies still fresh in the cushions.

He smiles at you—one that you recognize because it isn’t his usual giddy grin; instead, it’s a smile that conveys, “I can’t help what I’m about to do to you.” 

Ume gently grips your elbow and spins you around. As he bends you over, you’re now painfully aware of the feeling of a breeze as he hikes up your dress and his fingers pinch at the exposed flesh of your ass.

“No underwear?”

“Suo doesn’t like it when I wear panties. He says it’s a hassle.”

Umemiya hums to himself in response to this interesting tidbit. He kneels, placing two giant hands on your cheeks, and spreads you down the middle. If anyone else were in the room, they’d be able to see everything, from your juicy, wet cunt to your winking, puckered asshole, and the fact that Umemiya can see everything makes you gush.

“My pretty girl is already so wet,” Umemiya muses, eyeing your pretty hole as it drools for him. You blush, knowing he’s not referring to you but having a conversation with your pussy instead.  

“Have you been a good girl for the boys?” His mouth leaves hot kisses and gentle nips along the curve of your ass, tongue darting out and leaving a trail of saliva across the expanse of your smooth flesh. You stiffen, wondering if his tongue will dip into somewhere more lewd—and Ume considers it, but he’s on a mission with one goal in mind; he’ll devour your asshole another time. 

“Y-yeah, Ume. I’ve been a good girl for them.”

His finger traces your entrance, spreading your freely-flowing juices onto your cunt’s lips. His eyes take you in with pride as you clench around the air simply because his finger is so close to being inside of you. He smiles at the physical way you show how much you crave him.

“For who in particular?”

“My god, Ume! Always with the questions!” You squirm under his touch. You know he isn’t being an intentional tease, but the line of questioning still feels invasive. How do you tell your boyfriend that Hiragi’s cock was breaking you in by noon, and Kiryu had you sucking him off under the table while he tapped away at this phone screen only a couple of hours ago? 

“Why are you shy all of a sudden? Here, I can check.”

Your thighs quiver as he slides two fingers inside of you without warning. You attempt to adjust, but his probing fingers are sweeping so deeply inside of you that you have to dig your nails into the soft fabric of the couch to keep yourself from reaching back and grabbing his wrist. 

“Sugishita, huh? I can tell.”

Oh, yeah. Sugishita, too. 

You cringe as his fingers pass over your clit, making you hiss and recall that you woke up to a particular someone’s head buried between your legs.

“And Nirei, too? Did it feel good when he sucked on your clit? That’s his favorite thing, right? Sucking at your cute little clit until you cum down his throat.”

You huff and wiggle against his hand, growing restless from being exposed like this and against his eyes with no release. 

“Does his tongue feel better than mine?” There’s no jealousy in his tone—just curiosity and a hint of ego because he knows the answer before you can say it.

You give him a quick head shake and mouth the word “No,” earning a smirk. 

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

He’s teasing you, and not saying what he hears means the unfortunate consequence of not having his mouth on you. 

“Your tongue feels better than Nirei’s, Ume.”

“Good girl.” And without further comment, and to your delight, Ume places a kiss against the back of your mound, soft pubic hair tickling his lips.

You don’t like to compare sexual experiences; every Bofurin member brings their own “talents” to the bedroom, but Umemiya has to be your favorite. He touches you with such fondness and devotion that it sets you on fire. Your head falls forward, and your shoulders slump as his tongue makes gentle work of your clit, as if to apologize on behalf of Nirei for making you sore.

“Did you miss me, Ume?”

“More than you could ever imagine. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you—done this—that I was starting to get restless.”

Umemiya’s words ring true. He feasts upon you as though what you have between your thighs is the only meal that can satiate his immense hunger. The way he rubs his nose against your sex, chuckling as you whimper against him, “Needy girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Umemiya’s tongue splits you open, his tongue solid and firm as it explores your cunt, his hands are placed on either side of your ass, with his face flush against your skin to leave as little space between you as possible. 

The way his hot breath fills you up and the way he moans with every lick makes your head spin. Ume and pussy-eating are synonymous. Eating you out is like breathing in air for him, and the way he’s pushing you forward, your stomach digging into the back of the couch from the exertion, is a clear indicator that he’s just as into it as you are. 

“You taste like heaven, baby girl.” Soft, gentle praises float through the air as he laps at you. Between hungry slurps and moans, your legs begin to tremble. If you weren’t holding yourself up against the fortitude of the couch, you’d surely collapse against Umemiya’s face. 

“This isn’t too much for you, right, baby? I’m so hungry; let me have a little more of your pretty pussy.”

It doesn’t matter what you say; Umemiya is set on devouring you regardless of your ability to stand.

“Grind back on my face, sweet girl. I want you to fuck my tongue.” 

And as someone who isn’t in the business of disappointing her king, you use what little energy you have by pushing yourself off the couch and grinding your pussy on Ume’s outstretched tongue. 

He goads you on with each bounce, and in between the soft, wet, smacking sounds from the collision your ass makes with his face, you can barely make out what he’s chanting. 

As you look back at him, curving your midsection to get as best of a view as one can in a bent over, ass-up position, you’re met with the intense, unapologetic, “dare you to look away” gaze of Umemiya’s over the top of your cheeks. 

Direct eye contact during cunnilingus is an unsung hero, and Ume remains the champion. Your walls clench around his tongue, squeezing the muscle as your pussy juices cascade into his mouth and down his chin. 

And despite the way you quake around him, Ume lets you ride it out on his tongue before pulling away and unbuckling his pants.

“God, I’ve missed ya.”

[mncxbe]

Hello if possible maybe Akutagawa, Chuuya and Dazai when reader drags them out to a lingerie store with them and gives them free reign of what they can pick out for reader

oh my I absolutely love this prompt. I hope you like it♡♡

Victoria's secret

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff/ a little bit of dirty talk♡

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂

let's start off with our favourite mafioso

you're on a date in town and suddenly spot a newly opened Victoria's Secret store and you just have to take advantage of the situation

as soon as you enter the shop Akutagawa blushes so much and although he tries to hide it you notice

please don't tease him about it too much he'll straight up leave

he's a big fan of black or white laced lingerie and slip dresses, anything elegant and cute; but also has a thing for body harnesses and leather accessories (the port mafia influences)

he ends up buying you a few items that he carefully picked and you both like

One day you're walking around town after Akutagawa finished work. It was late afternoon and the city was bathed in a shimmer of gold and orange hues. Just as you were about to leave the crowded boulevard you were on, a glowing sign caught your eye; it was a newly open Victoria's secrets store.

Without a warning you seized your boyfriend's wrist and dragged him towards the shop.

"We have to go in there Ryu. Come on" you said in a chipper voice.

At first Akutagawa was confused by your sudden actions and words, but then his gaze fell upon the magenta glass that made up the exterior walls of the shop and the 'newly opened' banner that hanged below the store's name; his body grew stiff.

"There's no way I'm going in there" he said in an annoyed voice, causing you to turn and face him.

"Aww come on Ryu they just opened and-"

"No. I'm not stepping foot in that place for nothing. Please, let's keep walking"

"But we'll only stay for a minute" you pressed as you clinged to his arm, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "I'll let you choose something nice for me, ok? Whatever you want and I promise I'll wear it next time we-"

"Ok ok I got it" he interrupted, trying to conceal the blush that began to tint his face with the back of his hand. "Let's go then."

With that, Akutagawa walked towards the store with you following close behind. A sense of uneasiness creeped into your boyfriend's body as he entered the store; the place was packed with drawers upon drawers of lingerie, faceless mannequins wearing matching colourful sets and flimsy nightgowns and clothing racks bearing dresses.

You spared Akutagawa a quick glance. His face was contorted in a doubtful expression, nose scrunched in disgust.

"I really can't understand how anyone could enjoy... this?" he said, motioning towards the display. "Anyway, let's see what we can find for you."

There weren't many people in the store so you could easily move around maze of shelves and boxes. Akutagawa's demeanour slowly relaxed as he kept digging through the drawers packed with lingerie, carefully considering each piece; at some point you left to look around the store yourself.

Around twenty minutes later he returned to you carrying a baby pink bag.

"All done love. We can leave now." he said, handing you the bag.

You eagerly reached for it, attempting to remove the fluffy material that had been placed on top of the items but he brushed your hand away.

"Wait until we get home, ok? Be patient"

You let out a displeased groan but ultimately closed the handbag. Fingers gently intertwined, you made your way back to your apartment.

Once inside you seated yourself on your cushioned sofa and eagerly opened the bag. It contained two sets of laced lingerie: one of them was fully back and the other one was white, adorned with black and silvery rose patterns. The fabric was soft and lightweight, like a leaf.

"Wow Ryu they're beautiful. I love them so much" you beamed, pulling him into a tight hug. "You're amazing love"

"Wait, there's more." he said in a suggestive voice, reaching inside the pocket of his coat to procure a package. "I just couldn't help myself when I saw it."

You raised an eyebrow at him as you began to unwrap the light pink paper; it opened like a cherry blosson, revealing a strappy bodysuit. The thing lines of leather were bound together by shining circles of metal A blush rose to your cheeks.

"I- uh. It's really pretty love. I didn't know you liked this stuff tho"

"I love it, darling" he said in a honeyed voice, a hint of desire flashing in his eyes. "Now go ahead and try it on dear. The night is still young."

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

he's such a tease

he doesn't have that much money so he'll only buy you one or two sets but they're picked so carefully

but if he has more cash one week he'll surely get one of those silly animal print panties from the sales section

I feel like Dazai likes beige lingerie the most or those white see-through pieces with butterfly patters♡

trying on the clothes once you get back home is a must; like you're putting on a fashion show for him

It was a wonderful Sunday afternoon and your lovely boyfriend decided to skip work again to join you for a cup of coffee in town.

"Ah my bella if you keep tempting me with all these hangouts I'll surely lose my job" he said in an overly dramatic voice.

"You know the Agency needs you, so don't stress it. Plus, I hardly ever get a free day from work myself. Let's just enjoy it ok?"

Your remark caused a smirk to rise to Dazai's lips. The two of you quietly sipped your coffee before resolving to take a walk around town. As you strolled around the busy city, you suddenly spotted a lingerie store and an idea popped into your mind.

"Say, Osamu" you began in a tender voice "Don't you think you deserve a reward for skipping work today?"

"Oh really? And what exactly do you have in mind, bella?" he replied with a miscievous smile on his face.

You pointed at the lingerie store. "I'll let you buy anything you want me to wear."

Your sweet boyfriend could barely contain his excitement as he took your hand in his and began walking towards the store. "Well then let's hurry bella. I only have an hour until I have to get back to the office."

You've been in a Victoria's Secret shop before, but none of them was as large as this one; hundreads of drawers and clothing racks decorated the sides of the store while the middle was occupied by beautifully dressed mannequins and islands of boxes. People flocked around the cash register, carrying handfuls of garments.

Dazai whisteled in surprise. "There's surely many things I can choose from. If you want to you can go look around too."

You gave him a reassuring nod and with that, your boyfriend left. Around half an hour later, he returned with a couple of garments.

"I found these but I wanted to check with you if you like them." he said in a sweet voice. However, the glimmer of amusement in his eyes didn't go unnoticed. He held a see-through white bra adorned with drawings of vines and pink and red flowers in front of you.

"Look how pretty this is. You know what a perfect view I'll have when I use your tits to-"

"Osamu!" you exclaimed, covering his mouth with your hand. "You can't say that. We're in public"

Your boyfriend only chuckled at your reaction, gently removing your hand from his face.

"Ok ok I'll stop. But you got the point. You'd look amazing in this."

Then he cast aside the set and showed you a beautiful cream coloured silky dress; its cleavage was laced and it had two thin straps for your shoulders.

"I remembered you were looking for one of these a few weeks ago. Do you like it?"

A wide smile rose to your lips as you ardently nodded. It was indeed a lovely dress, which reminded you of a pearl; the material was soft and elegant and the colour perfectly complemented your chestnut hair and brown eyes.

"I love it honey. Let's get them"

"As you wish my darling" he beamed, walking towards the register.

That evening Dazai made sure you put on a show; he made you wear the things he got you, matching them with accessories you already had.

"Wow you look ravishing, dear. Do a twirl"

You obeyed and quickly spun around once, earning a smile from your partner.

"Now I also got you something else. I slipped it to the cashier when you weren't looking. Promise not to laugh, ok?"

"Um.. ok?" you said with a sceptical look on your face.

Dazai took out a pair of tiger print panties with 'Bite me!' on the front. You burst into laughter upon seeing them.

"I just couldn't resist they look so silly. Plus, they were on sale."

"But Osamu how will they even fit me? They look like they're from the kid's section" you said between ragged breathes, wiping a tear of joy from the corner of your eye.

"Well, there's only one way to find out if they'll fit. Go change bella♡"

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂

this man when I tell you~ he's the definition of lemme spoil you babygirl

he's more than happy to oblige you

walks so proudly in the store and immediately starts picking up things from you

unlike Dazai, he doesn't care about the price; if he likes a £200 matching he'll get it so he probably ends up buying half of the store

while he picks up the pieces the likes he keeps telling you how beautiful you'll look in them and how he cannot wait to get home to try out some of the things he got you

Chuya likes black or burgundy lingerie the best, but also anything with straps

"Chuu" you cried out, pulling at your boyfriend's arm "Come on the shop's going to close soon."

You somehow managed to convince Chuya to come with you to the newly opened Victoria's Secret in town by promising him that he can pick anything he wants for you.

"I'm coming darling." he said as he languidly opened the glass doors of the store. "After you, my lady"

You entered the shop, barely able to conceal your excitement. It was packed with people and garments of all colours: elegant lingerie and nightgowns, shoeboxes and bottles of perfume.

"Woah! I didn't expect it to be this big" you exclaimed "What do you think, Chuu?"

Your boyfriend's gaze lazily wandered around the room; he seemed utterly unimpressed by the store.

"I mean, it wouldn't be my first choice for a shop. I prefer things from Bluebella or Bordelle, maybe even Fleur Du Mal. But I'm sure I'll be able to find something for you in here too" he said with a wink as he began walking around the store.

Naturally, you didn't know any of the brands he mentioned but you assumed they were luxurious; Chuya had an eye for expensive things.

Your boyfriend seem carefree as he carefully explored each mannequin and drawer.

"Wow look at this" he said as he held a pair of wine red see-through panties before you "You'd look absolutely ravishing in these."

His hand then travelled along the expanse of a mannequin's chest. It was wearing a matching set of black lace lingerie; the panties were connected to the bra by two leather straps, bound in the middle by a heart shaped metal. One of his fingers hooked under the iron heart, gently pulling at it.

"Oh darling what I'd do to you in this. Imagine how pretty you'd look wearing this and one of my leather chokers. My, my doll we must get this" he said in a teasing voice, causing your cheeks to turn a light shade of pink.

You only had about half an hour until the store closed for the day, but that didn't stop Chuya from buying you six sets of lingerie, two red bodysuits, a silky slip dress and two bottles of perfume. You stepped out of the shop, yoir boyfriend carrying six little pink bags.

"Darling we shouldn't have gotten all those things. They were way too expensive and-"

"Shh dear let me spoil you today, alright? You deserve it." he cooed at you, leaning in to place a feathery kiss on your lips. "Besides, you can make up for it tonight."

"And what exactly do you mean my that?" you said back, copying his alluring tone.

A smirk rose to his lips as his free arm snaked around your lower back, pulling you closer to him His breath was hot against the shell of your ear as he spoke, causing a shiver to run down your spine:

"I think you know exactly what I mean, dear. It involves you wearing that beautiful bodysuit I got you"

[just-a-strange-boy]

a helping hand

part one

part two here

masterlist

Unable to use his hands after the accident, Stephen is in desperate need for some help. And who are you to refuse?

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader (GN)

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), questionable sexual proposal, handjob, edging, orgasm control

A/N: IT'S TIME! buckle up bc this is shameless... and tbh who wouldn't love to help our poor Stephen in need

"Of course I'll help out", you had said, thinking that you could spare some time, to sporadically take care of Christine's friend, determined to offer a hand whenever you could.

It was a clear arrangement – whenever she couldn't be around to help, you'd be the one to step in for the time being. Keep an eye on him, help him around the house, and make sure he won't do anything stupid that might hurt himself.

And you had just been fine with that. It wasn't an issue for you to pop by once in a while. You had flexible work hours and being the reliable person that you were, Christine knew you'd definitely jump in when needed.

What you hadn't expected was kind of getting stuck with helping, something you had most definitely not signed up for, to the point where you found yourself regularly on duty during your free time. Not that you didn't like to help out – there were worse things you could have imagined and there must have been a good subconscious reason why you kept agreeing to it.

You just hadn't planned to get so wrapped up in it.

Instead of simply sparing a couple of hours for Christine's friend because you could and thought helping him out was a good deed, you had ended up agreeing to an entire week on duty at his apartment, because someone had the audacity to leave for a medical congress, letting the task of caring for him fall into your hands and not missing the opportunity to instate you as a personal watchdog.

"Yeah, don't worry about it", you had said, though her request initially confused you.

Why was she asking you to stay around his apartment for an entire week? Not even Christine stayed around him for that long, knowing fairly well how insufferable his behavior was sometimes, glad she had the distraction of leaving for work and getting out of the house once in a while.

Maybe you wouldn't have had to agree to staying at his apartment all week. A couple of hours would have sufficed and you couldn't even quite explain to yourself why you still put yourself up to the challenge.

Perhaps it was because Christine always had the tendency to put on that kind of tone and expression on her face that expressed 'Please do it for me or else I won't be able to get rest'.

Being the worry wart that she was, she wouldn't have let it go until you caved – which was exactly what you had done, agreeing to her request anyways and accepting you would just have to pester the man in question with your presence.

He probably would have been happy to stay on his own for a bit, with no one around to constantly get on his nerves. You often felt like this was exactly what Christine and you were doing.

He would have been fine, probably, because it wasn't like he was incapable of taking care of himself. Yes, he was in a vulnerable position, his last surgery hadn't been that long ago and his hands were still in some state. There were things he couldn't do on his own, he needed to rely on help with certain things, but he wasn't a child needing to be coddled.

Christine's friend, Stephen, had gotten into a fucking wreck of a car crash, leaving him unable to use his hands, which had taken the most damage. You had heard plenty about Stephen Strange before all that happened, considering he had been good friends with Christine ever since she had gotten employed at the Metro General. But you had never had the pleasure of truly getting to know him until you began helping him out.

Plenty of people probably knew, as did you, that Stephen used to be a truly brilliant neurosurgeon, who would obviously not be able to continue to work in that field since his hands were pretty mangled. Which of course was really frustrating him to the point where he had refused to accept help from outside, all alone in his stupidly huge apartment, relying on not another person in the world but Christine, who was pretty much the only friend he had.

And now he had you too, since Christine (understandably so) also needed a break from Stephen sometimes and had pulled in you, her sibling, for help.

At first Stephen had been mad at her for even bringing someone else around for something as ridiculous as being cared for, claiming he didn't need to be pitied by another person, as pity was all he had for himself and his lost career.

But once his frustration was out of the way, he had warmed up quickly to you. It might have been because he had quickly learned how snarky you were, unashamed to speak your mind and comment on his occasional dickish behavior, volleying his little jabs and teasing him right back.

Or perhaps, it was simply because you weren't throwing him a pity party, while never once belittling him for the amount of help he actually needed.

By all means, Stephen should consider himself lucky that someone put up with his shit.

It was a given that Christine helped him out, considering they'd been pretty close friends for years and colleagues as well, she was aggressively caring for those she loved, and since Stephen didn't have a lot of other people to rely on, she fit the role perfectly.

You also quickly began to understand why she had wanted to split 'Stephen duty' with someone else though and being family, you were apparently the only reasonable choice.

She could be certain that he wasn't going to dismiss you or else he would have to endure the wrath of Christine – and she sure had a temper people knew better than to mess with.

So had he though.

He truly was the perfect match for butting heads with on the regular. Sometimes you were convinced he was just being a cocky and arrogant ass out of spite, to rile you up, to get on your nerves as a payback for getting on his, to have some fun because he was getting sick of his recovery at home.

Sometimes you acted out of spite too, placing things out of his reach, screwing on bottle caps extra tight, rearranging his cupboards, to the point where he was forced to ask for help (which he hated doing), but this, as much as most of your comments, was all meant in good humor.

You were sure that Stephen got it. He didn't seem to mind that you were head-strong and speaking your mind, didn't seem too bothered by the harsh things you said sometimes or the not-so-friendly tone you tended to use when it was necessary.

He even seemed to find it rather amusing sometimes, making for playful banter, and in a way you were almost certain that he liked having someone to argue with, even if only for his entertainment.

It offered him some sort of distraction he desperately needed, after things going dastardly wrong, after all this suffering due to his own stupid lapse of judgment, letting himself be distracted while driving and leaping down a cliff.

There was a lot of pent up frustration within Stephen, a lot of sadness, and desperation. Things he didn't necessarily show, but obviously felt anyways. So whenever you managed to put a smile on his face with your gentle, friendly teasing, you were relieved to see him in a different mood.

You liked Stephen quite a bit, no matter how much he was irking you on some days – and no matter what it was, you were always there to help. So maybe staying at the apartment all week wouldn't be as bad.

Surprisingly enough, Stephen hadn't resented the idea either, though of course dropping the occasional comment about not wanting to be under supervision 24/7.

While you were not one to coddle, going after your own work on your laptop and giving Stephen some space during the day, you were insistent on taking care of his basic well-being, as usual.

You did care for Stephen, and not just because of your sister. In some sort, you considered him your own friend as of now, wanting to make sure he was having a reasonably pleasant recovery, fully aware how much it must suck to go through all of this.

How far you were willing to go though? No one, not even you, would have been able to tell.

"You can either eat the food I make for you or go back to wasting your money on shitty takeout", you had set pretty clear the first evening, scolding him like he was an insolent child not wanting to eat his greens, staring him down at the kitchen table when he wouldn't bother touching the dinner you made, "But I sure as hell won't let you miss out a meal."

Whenever you had stepped in prior, you were trying to make sure Stephen ate properly and regularly, because you knew the man occasionally refused to take a meal altogether, which usually ended in an argument. When arguing with Christine, she tended to give in.

While you were really fed up with his stubbornness sometimes, you had always accomplished getting at least some food into Stephen and this time was no different.

A mere two days later, you had been quietly working on your laptop in the living room, waiting for Stephen to finish up his shower, when you heard a thud and a loud "Fuck", thinking that perhaps the shampoo bottle had slipped out of his hands. It didn't sound like a dangerous bang, so you weren't sure whether you needed to check on him or not, but just in case something bad had occurred...

You still got up, caught a peek into the bathroom and rolled your eyes hard when noticing that it hadn't been his shampoo, and dear Lord, Stephen had apparently managed to slip, the spray of the shower still raining down on him while he was sulking on the tiled floor.

"Did you hurt yourself?", you asked instead of 'Are you okay?', because you knew that Stephen felt far from okay the way things were. He was obviously ashamed this had happened, any other person would have been too, but accepting of the situation itself, accepting that he needed help.

He didn't dare to look at you then, but you could tell there was defeat written all over him and it probably wasn't helping his embarrassment that he was stark naked – which wasn't the first time you had seen him like this, as you had assisted a few showers before and gotten into plenty of awkward situations whereas you'd seen a bit more than asking for, but still... the two of you sure could have imagined a more comfortable setting.

Though you were rather unafraid to touch him, which was a good thing. How else could you have possibly helped?

You touched Stephen all the time. Helping him get dressed? Done that. Combed his hair? Yup. Shaved his stupidly handsome face? Also yes. Changed the dressings on his hands? A given. Assisting him in holding as much as a spoon without dropping it? Daily. Tucking him into bed at night? Okay, maybe not that one, but you sure would have, if he had asked you to.

"It's hard to fall down gracefully without using your hands to help yourself", Stephen sighed, but turned out to be unharmed by his tumble, though he would likely still get away with some bruises from the impact. Coming round the shower cubicle, you could see his knees seemed to have taken a lot of the brunt, not too mention he had cracked the skin of his elbow open, trying to not use his hands to ease the momentum.

"This is ridiculous. Slipping in the shower like some seventy year old sod”, he grumbled.

"I slipped in the shower once as a child and that's how I lost two of my teeth. It happens, Stephen", you tried to ease the mood, momentarily seizing the spray, so you could aid Stephen to get back up without getting too wet yourself. You casually looked him over – he seemed fine enough to continue. At least he hadn't banged his head or something. Still, you decided to stay nearby for the rest of his shower, making sure he was able to get out unharmed.

"What were you even doing? Were you feeling dizzy?", you inquired, helping him towel off his hair, quietly acknowledging how long it had gotten since meeting him for the first time and especially how the gray on his temples had begun to spread.

"No, just unaware of my surroundings for a moment, didn't think and... there I went", Stephen answered, but you weren't sure if that was the whole truth.

You accepted it though, continuing to help him dry off. Situations like these brought an uncomfortable awareness to your mind - he was putting so much trust into you, letting you help him like this, and you had never really managed to find a good answer as to why he was allowing you do all of those things for him.

All the signs of trust were obviously there. He was letting himself be vulnerable with you, being in situations that were so deeply intimate without refusal or much shame.

Stephen was allowing you to touch him too, aiding him with getting dressed, letting you check his newly won bruises today – and as usual, quietly accepted your care for his hands, his sore point, tender and heavily scarred, so that he mostly kept them hidden beneath a layer of bandages, ashamed of having anyone see them.

Sometimes, only sometimes, you even got the impression that whenever your hands were on him, it seemed to ease the tension out of his shoulders, never minding the undoubted awkwardness of the moment.

You weren't one to judge. Maybe he did want a bit of comfort after all and therefore didn't mind being taken care of sometimes, even though always pretending that he didn't need any help or tending to.

Everyone needed someone. Even him.

Stephen was a very lonely person. He would have never admitted to it, but all the fame and the glory from his neurosurgery days hadn't really ensured stable friendships and people being actually interested in him on a personal level. On the contrary, a lot of people had dropped Stephen rather quickly. But not Christine.

And thanks to her, you wouldn't anytime soon either.

You grew aware of Stephen's actual issue, when your work was interrupted for another time that same day. Finally coming to actually work on a commission that had been prompted weeks ago, setting the final touches to the project, tapping away on your graphic tablet, you took note of the noises coming from Stephen's bedroom.

Somehow you tried to make sense of it as moans of discomfort, anguish, perhaps he was having a nightmare, perhaps he was in pain, perhaps he was just frustrated he couldn't sleep, a reoccurring problem he had described to you before.

Whatever it was, it did appeal to your little helper syndrome and you at least felt like you needed to look after him, figure out if anything was going on that might require your help.

So you went to check on him, no regard for personal privacy, quietly opening the door to the bedroom, about to inquire what was going on and whether he was okay.

"Stephen? Is everything... oh..." Shit. Okay.

You had barely crossed the threshold to the room when you took note of what exactly was happening. Because the noises of frustration weren't rooted in trouble sleeping, but as it seemed in sexual desperation – and apparently the man had been trying to get off, unable to take care of his evident erection, pulling the blankets over himself immediately once noticing that you were standing in the doorway.

Awkward.

Standing like a deer in headlights, you wondered which one of you would have rather wanted a hole to open in the ground and swallow you whole to avoid the complete embarrassment.

"God, fuck, I'm so sorry", you apologized after overcoming the initial full-body freeze, not sure whether to leap out of the room, cover your eyes or just act bluntly about it. Logically it would have been best to not make a big deal out of it, because it wasn't, not really.

Just a private moment you had interrupted. Nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone had needs.

"I was... uh... I was worried something was the matter and...", you tried to explain then, going on stuttering and noticing that nothing you were about to say was going to save the awkwardness of the situation.

"Well, you know what's the matter now", Stephen sighed, barely illuminated by the soft lamp light from the bedside table, though still turning away from you in plain shame, continuing on with the sort of self-pity you had never experienced so strongly from Stephen before.

"I'm pathetic. Can't shower without help, can't live without help, I can't even jerk off without help, because of this stupid fucking car crash and these stupid fucking hands and I can't even blame anyone but myself for it."

It wasn't all too often that the man voiced his own hurt so intensely, clearly on edge, emotional about what had and, in that case, what hadn't happened.

Understanding of his evident frustration, but unsure what to do with him now, in this state, you contemplated. Things were already awkward enough and it didn't help you remained standing there while Stephen was wallowing in self-pity, and you weren't really sure why the idea of helping him out even crossed your mind in the first place.

Sure, helping around the apartment was no big deal, attending to Stephen's needs was okay, but taking care of this rather specific issue... you didn't want to push his boundaries too much after all.

And yet you were so bold as to ask, "So, are you in need of a helping hand?"

"Fuck off, now is not the time to make fun of me", Stephen groaned, probably ready to smother himself (or you) with one of the pillows, "Life already mocks me enough. I don't need to have you ridiculing me because of this."

"I'm not... I'm not mocking you", you assured him, finally moving, closing the door shut behind you as you went over to the bed, watching his cowered figure, "I'm just... I'm not pitying you. It's just...me... requesting like... a favor for a friend in need? I'm sure I could help you out some way? If you wanted me to, that is."

"Why would you even offer that?", Stephen asked, though appearing neither dismissive nor exceptionally shaken about what you were suggesting. A little in disbelief perhaps, but that wasn't surprising since you were clearly deciding to cross a boundary for the two of you here.

"Because life's been shit for you and I guess you could need some relief. Since you can't seem to get off on your own, I'm offering to help you with it", your answer seemed to make him consider and you planted yourself down on his bedside. You reached out and touched his shoulder, trying to find out how he would respond to you initiating touch.

"Maybe it will help you unwind and relax?"

Stephen turned to look at you. "We will never speak of this ever again", he hummed in agreement, "And not a word to anyone. Especially not Christine."

"Promise", you agreed – this was definitely not something you were meaning to boast about. You just wanted to help and the decision to do this for Stephen had been surprisingly easy to make.

A normalcy had kind of settled over the situation, which however didn't mean that you weren't feeling some type of way. You were a little jittery as you slid into bed next to Stephen, making sure not to cuddle up to him too much, because you weren't sure how he would feel about any unnecessary affections.

This was just about a quick hand job and that was it. It already must have taken a lot for Stephen to even accept the offer. Not to mention, a lot of desperation too. But he trusted you. This was a friendly gesture and nothing more. It didn't have to mean anything, let alone be a big thing between you, something that might never be mentioned ever again.

Gently pulling back the blanket, you probably held your breath as much as he did, reaching out, making sure to touch Stephen where his sleep shirt had ridden up at first, your hand finding its place on his stomach, letting him get accustomed to your touch, which wasn't entirely new to him – this time with a little different intention than usually, which made it all the more exciting.

The man drew out a shaky breath, agitated even, and his muscles were tensing up before he was even thinking of relaxing. Looking at him, you could see there was concentration on his brow, his gaze averted to the ceiling, neither daring to look at you nor at where your hand was resting.

"Okay?", you asked.

"Yeah", Stephen said, barely a whisper. His consent urged you to go on, your fingers brushing over his abdomen, following the trail of hair down his navel, fully aware that his pants were still bunched down somewhere around his knees, and you could have reached for him right away. But you didn't, sliding your hand past his arousal, stroking along his thighs instead, bracing yourself to make the next step and touch him more intimately.

But even your hand on him alone was seemingly enough to awaken all sorts of things within Stephen and he sucked in a sharp breath as your hand skirted his inner thighs. He was warm, his thighs firm under your touch, and you gently squeezed them in reassurance.

"You're a damn tease", he muttered.

You thought replying something witty, but you knew better and just bit your tongue this time, curiously watching his face, not meaning to stare at his genitals. It wasn't like Stephen didn't seem to like it. He had closed his eyes, seemed concentrated, small breaths were slipping past his lips, and he swallowed hard.

As you continued to carefully caress his thighs, you could most certainly feel him squirm, tensing again, but not because he was uncomfortable. He was aroused, you had no doubts, and his words just made it all the more evident he wanted you to go on.

“Please don't make me wait”, he requested, so quiet as if he was speaking a forbidden thought aloud.

You didn't, fingers trailing the path up his thighs, enjoying the little huff that escaped Stephen when you brushed past his balls, reaching for the half-hard member, responding to your touch with a twitch, stirring in interest. Wrapping your fingers around him, you grabbed the base of his cock in a tight hold.

"God, I feel like I'm about to burst already", Stephen groaned in anguish as his breathing almost turned labored instantly, pressing his head back into the pillows, and the notion alone encouraged you to be a little more bold in your advances.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? Spilling your cum all over my hand and I haven't even really gotten to touch you?", you chuckled, unsure how Stephen would react to your words, but unable to hold them back. He didn't seem to mind the dirty talk though – if anything, it seemed to rouse him even more. You could feel the warm flesh throbbing in your hand, practically begging to be touched, already craving some release.

But maybe you didn't have to make this as quick as you had planned for initially, only allowing him slow movements of your hand, gently tugging on his cock, drawing out soft moans. And dear lord, he sounded wonderful. It was entirely entrancing and you found it hard to choose where you'd rather look – at the subtle emotions passing Stephen's face during your ministrations or his erect cock. With utmost interest, your eyes flicked back and forth.

You made sure to touch all of him, from the base all the way to his tip, thumb gliding over the glistening cockhead, a satisfied smirk coming to your lips when you noticed how much precum he was already leaking, circling his glans, before stroking down again, tracing the veins on his length, making sure to give special attention to those spots that made him buck his hips when touched.

No wonder Stephen was responsive and desperate for it. You had no idea how long it might have been since someone had touched him, intimately most of all. Stephen didn't have anyone, wasn't partnered and you doubted that your sister was that sort of friend. His own hands wouldn't do, which had caused you two to end up like this in the first place. Touch-starved like this, there was no doubt Stephen deserved someone to take proper care of him – and you had made it your mission to do so.

Unfortunately for him, you weren't all that nice to just give everything to him right away.

So as the man tried to thrust into your hand, wanting to chase his own pleasure, needing more, you eased the grip of your fingers around him, almost letting go off him, stopping any sort of movement altogether, earning a huff from Stephen.

"Oh, fuck off", he groaned with evident frustration, fully aware you were doing this on purpose.

"Do you want me to stop then?", you asked, with a grin Stephen didn't see as he still kept his eyes closed, and loved the power you held over him - you could have just taken your hand away, walked off and left the man even more desperate than before. Of course, you would have never been so cruel to actually do this, now that you had already gotten started, but the thought was amusing.

"No", another groan followed, "I want you to go on, you asshole." Then a pause. "Please", he added then.

"As you wish", so you tightened the grip around him again, jerking him at a slower pace, gently at first, before beginning to move your hand a little quicker, knowing very well that the change of rhythm, the change of pressure applied, was going to keep Stephen more on edge than anything else. You knew how, in some ways, it was more than cruel to tease him like this, in his position no less, but if Stephen was seeking release that badly, you might at least make the best of it and draw it out as much as he could.

You'd make sure to give him an exceptional orgasm.

So whenever you felt Stephen tense up, his breath quickening, his moans increasing, his words more pleading, brows furrowing, biting down on his bottom lip, when he might have been just on that threshold to achieving an orgasm, you stilled any movements again, sometimes taking your hand off him entirely, sometimes only abandoning his cock for a moment, though always long enough for a looming orgasm to be ruined entirely. It was a torturous game to play, trying to bring Stephen close to the edge each time, only to deny him pleasure the last second.

It didn't take you much to drive him to madness with fleeting touches, promising release, not quite allowing him to get it, and then doing it all over again.

The sight of Stephen was wonderful. He was squirming, erratically breathing, his sweet moans turning to frustrated groans, his words reaching from "God, please, just let me come" to "I hate you for doing this to me", but still welcoming your hand whenever it returned to touch him, each time a little more.

You didn't even want to imagine how much his balls must have been aching after minutes of being edged and denied, but of course you decided to take pity on Stephen eventually. You weren't that heartless after all and when you finally gave into him chasing his pleasure, allowing him that sweet relief, guiding towards the long awaited orgasm, it was absolutely worth it.

For the last few strokes, you even let him thrust up into your hand, gently guiding him through his orgasm as it struck. A long and shaky moan escaped his throat, a sound of relief coming from deep within, his body completely tensing up, before that concentration finally left his brow and was replaced by a look of ease, surrendering to the sensations altogether.

You could feel his cock pulsing, thick cum spilling all over your fingers and it didn't even seem to end there. He really was bursting, arching his back off the mattress as he was coming loads and loads, his entire body was trembling, sweetly groaning.

You doubted anything could have ruined the moment for Stephen now and thoroughly enjoyed how he was seeming to enjoy himself, jerking him through the remaining throes of passion, until his body just slumped.

Noticing his orgasm had passed, you eventually took your hand off his cock, gently placing it on his lower stomach instead, both sticky with cum anyways. You smiled to yourself, following the movement of his chest, still breathing heavily, and decided to wait for him to calm down again, allowing him another moment of comfort, allowing him to have another presence near, someone warm and caring.

He deserved it.

Though it wasn't like you weren't doing this at least a little bit for your own gain. You had enjoyed doing this for Stephen, had drank in the sight of him, this intimate moment forever etched inside your brain. And now that you thought about it, you wondered about whether you could still only consider this a friendly favor or if perhaps you wanted things to change between you.

You had never really questioned the kind of feelings you harvested for the man. Or could see yourself potentially having for him, if there was any sort of potential at all. Of course, you had come to consider him a good friend – but good friends didn't just randomly pay each other sexual favors, did they? Not like you were counting on this being more than a one time thing... well, unless he wanted to perhaps.

"Jesus... that was kind of... mind blowing. I mean I haven't come for weeks, but I don't think I have ever come that hard in general...ever", Stephen commended you, interrupting your train of thought, still a little out of breath, "Fucking hell, where did you even learn to give handjobs like that?"

"Years of studying", you joked, deciding to definitely not give him an honest answer to his question, looking at him to find him curiously eyeing you in return, "Sorry for being a tease. Can't say that I didn't enjoy it though."

"So did I. As you can probably tell", Stephen sighed, seeming a lot more content, showing you one of his rare smiles, "Though I'm probably going to need to wash up again now. I'm sticky and sweaty."

"It was my pleasure. Make sure to tell me if you ever need assistance again", you patted his stomach and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, before withdrawing altogether, trying not to smear any of the sticky fluid on your hand anywhere else it wasn't supposed to be, deciding to flee the room quite fast after realization hit that you had just jerked your sister's friend off. You had made your own friend, a man relying on your help day by day, come the hardest in his life ever.

Though perhaps it didn't matter, for this was only going to be a one time thing and you'd accomplished to help him out, only because he needed it. The moment was gone now and it had been good while it had lasted. That was the most important thing.

Stephen's voice stopped you in the doorway when he spoke your name. "Thank you. Not just for this. For everything you do for me.”

You turned your head back for a moment, gave him a reassuring smile, acknowledging his gratitude, and left anyways.

[kallie-den]

Preyblood

After drinking her prey’s corrupted blood, a vampire hunter discovers who the real predator is as feelings of love and hate for the vampire begin to blur

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As Emily was swallowed up by the club, with all its riotous colors and dancing, pounding music, and sinuous writhing of bodies, she clutched the wooden stake tight in her hand. She hated hunting in places like this. It set all her old military instincts on edge. Watch your six, check the corners, keep line-of-sight to the exits - none of that made any sense in such a chaotic environment. She couldn’t control what was going on around her. It made her feel defenseless.

Emily ran her fingers up and down the stake in her hand, taking a moment to feel the grain of the wood and remind herself of its heft. No, she told herself. She wasn’t the defenseless one here.

She was the hunter. And the vampire nesting here was her prey.

It was a typical enough haunt for a bloodsucker. Dark, sensual, open all night, lots of potential, pliable victims. An ideal hunting ground. This one, in particular, was a lesbian club, and Emily had to grant the vampire a little grudging respect for that. It was the kind of place she might have enjoyed spending time herself if she wasn’t on the hunt. Picking up a girl was a nice way to blow off steam, and what kind of lesbian wouldn’t go for a tall, strong, athletic dyke in a leather jacket and combat boots? Just as long as they didn’t mind that she was trans, anyway.

But that would have to wait for another night. Tonight, Emily could afford no distractions. She was an experienced hunter, but vampires were never easy to bring down. Emily kept her ears strained to hear over the loud music, and she kept scanning the room, searching for the slightest hint of reddened eyes or sharpened fangs. Nothing yet. In all likelihood, the creature was holed up in a private room out back or on the floors above. That was their usual way: a quiet little den, a place to sleep through the day and feed undisturbed at night. So, slowly and cautiously, Emily started making her way towards the back of the club, although she had to struggle to push her way through the tight crush of dancing bodies, made strange and hard to track by the dim, shifting, flickering, multi-colored club lights.

“Hello there, stranger,” someone whispered in her ear. “Are you looking for a good time?”

Without warning, some girl - drunk, probably - was draped across Emily’s shoulder. Emily did her best to brush her off, but the girl was clinging to her tight, entangling their limbs together.

“Hey,” the girl drawled insistently. “There’s no need to be so rude!”

“Not tonight,” Emily grunted. “Busy. Out of my way.”

The girl didn’t budge. Wary of distractions, Emily kept scanning the club. The girl was pressed up to her side, and all Emily saw of her was a shock of long, curly, red hair. Still no sign of the bloodsucker.

“Come on now.” The girl was purring right into her ear now. Her words sounded strange; it was as if she had a hint of some weird, old-timey accent. Maybe she was on something. “What’s the hurry?”

“Looking for someone,” Emily replied. She couldn’t spare the energy to think of a lie.

“Aww!” The stranger made a pouty noise. Emily still couldn’t seem to shake her off. She was surprisingly strong and clingy, for a party girl. “You’re all taken already? I can’t have you?”

“Not tonight.”

“Who you looking for?” the girl whined.

Emily sighed. Maybe if she just answered, the girl would leave her alone.

“Letitia,” she said. “Letitia Clarendon. Know her?”

“Oh!” the girl replied brightly. “In that case, I guess you’re all mine after all!”

A single heartbeat after all the alarm bells sounded in Emily’s head, she felt two sharp fangs plunge into her neck.

Emily didn’t scream. She was far too much of a pro for that. All around her, people kept drinking, dancing, laughing - but the vampire hunter was keenly aware of the fact that she was in dire danger. Emily turned, thrashing, elbowing - but now the vampire was using all her unholy strength, and Emily could already feel the creature’s soporific venom spreading through her body.

With each drop of blood Letitia Clarendon sucked from her veins, the vampire grew stronger, and Emily grew weaker.

“Get the fuck off me!” Emily roared. Mustering all her strength, she managed to wrench her body forward, out of the vampire’s grasp. Emily had time to let out a single gasp of relief, before wheeling to face her foe, stake raised.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Letitia sang. As lights flickered on, Emily saw pale skin, red lips, a wide smile, and blood. “I like it rough, see. And I think I’d like to keep you.”

Emily was ready to strike. She was ready to defend. She wasn’t ready for the vampire to surge forward and kiss her.

She felt the bloodsucker’s lips against her own before she knew what was happening. The vampire was a formidable kisser, despite her grave-cold flesh; she teased Emily’s lips apart effortlessly, and the vampire hunter found her mouth invaded by a tongue that was unnaturally long and impossibly nimble.

And that was coated in something that tasted of iron and sin.

A little of it had already trickled down Emily’s throat before she figured out what it was. Blood. And not her own. Not human. No, there was something distinctly unnatural about the taste. The vampire must have pricked her tongue on her own fang as she moved in for the kiss.

She was feeding Emily vampire’s blood. Vitae.

Emily recoiled violently at the sensation of that poison being poured down her throat. She tried to make herself choke it up, but the vitae was somehow sticky and slick in equal measure, and with the vampire’s tongue prying her throat open, Emily couldn’t keep it up. Letitia’s kiss was equally as inescapable. She was wrapped around Emily like a serpent, coiling tight, clinging, somehow guiding Emily as the two of them stumbled and struggled.

“Come now.” Letitia drew back, just barely, so she could hiss to Emily. Her voice was dripping with sour candy. “Let us get to know each other somewhere a little more private.”

Before Emily could spit a reply, the vampire’s tongue was back in her mouth, pumping even more of her poison past the hunter’s lips. Emily was still trying to throw her off, but something about the blood she was unwillingly imbibing was robbing her of her strength. Her vision was blurring, and she was finding it hard to resist as Letitia dragged her through the club and out towards the back rooms.

To anyone else, they probably just looked like one more pair of drunk, horny, stumbling lesbians.

Once the vampire finally drew back and allowed Emily to take a breath, the two of them were in a large, private room, luxuriously decorated, illuminated by low, steady, yellow lamps. Emily bent double and heaved, trying to will her body to expel everything she’d just drunk. It didn’t work.

“My, my,” Letitia purred. “Aren’t you a strapping thing?”

Emily looked up and, for the first time, got a real look at her prey.

Letitia Clarendon, vampire, was around a hundred years old, and came from an upper-class, old-money background. That was about all Emily’s research had given her. The real thing certainly bore that out. Letitia was only medium-height, but she certainly carried herself like an aristocrat. She had long, red, rich, curly hair, high, arching cheekbones, and freckled, milk-pale skin, lit within by a slight, pink blush that Emily knew came only from the blood the vampire had just drunk. She had an aristocrat's figure, too; plump from indulgence, and all the more alluring for it.

For a moment, Emily was struck by the odd notion that, in another life, Letitia could have made for a perfect farmgirl. Soft, rosy, warm, sun-kissed. Instead, she was a pale, immortal predator from another age.

Letitia’s attire - a floor-length dress, accented by no small amount of jeweled finery - was just as old-fashioned as her accent, but thanks to a few modern touches, probably let her pass herself off as some kind of devoted subculture fashionista. Anyone who looked too closely, though, would be sure to see that her apparent humanity was nothing more than a paper-thin veneer spread across undeniable monstrosity. Her eyes gleamed with a wicked, red light, she had a corpse’s countenance, and two of her teeth were far, far too long to be natural. Still, there was an undeniable, elfen beauty to her undeath that stirred even Emily. She was having a hard time peeling her gaze away from the vampire’s figure.

But more than anything else, Emily hated her. She simply hated her.

It didn’t matter what they looked like. She hated every single one of those bloodsuckers. Emily had vowed to devote her life to hunting them down. Letitia Clarendon had already given her more trouble than any yet - but Emily was sure she could still put her down. A little exchanged blood didn’t change a thing.

The stake in her hand was still sharp, and Emily still had the strength to lift it. That was all that counted.

“Darling,” Letitia drawled, as Emily raised her weapon, “if you wanted to dance, you ought to have simply asked. You really are my type.”

Emily’s lips pulled back into a snarl. “Funny. Real funny.”

“Oh, darling,” Letitia tutted. “Who’s joking? You’re really quite the kisser, you know. Enthusiastic. I enjoyed it.”

The vampire made a show of opening her mouth and letting her elongated drool out of her mouth, dripping some of her own black vitae onto the floor. As she lapped at her own fangs, polishing them clean, Emily was embarrassed to note a strange shiver race down her spine. She thought, unwillingly, about just how dexterous that organ was, and about how it had felt when it had forced its way into her mouth and down her throat.

Then she thought about how much of the vampire’s blood she’d drunk. She’d heard stories, of course. Dependency. Thralldom. She didn’t know exactly how much vitae that required, or exactly how much she’d drunk. Was it already doing something to her?

With all her being, Emily rejected that. She summoned up all her hate for the unholy, predatory creature standing before her, and spat it in her face.

“Fuck you.” Emily’s voice came out alarmingly thick. “Go fuck yourself.”

Joy danced in Letitia’s eyes. “You’d enjoy watching that, I’m sure.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Even more than you enjoyed our kiss, perhaps.”

“Bullshit! Fuck you!” Why was it suddenly so hard for Emily to find her fire?

“Oh, darling.” Letitia licked her lips. Another treasonous shiver. “I can see for myself that you’re not being truthful. Slut.”

Her eyes flicked down pointedly as she spat out that last, pointed syllable. Emily couldn’t help but look down too, following the vampire’s gaze. Once she saw it, her cheeks started to burn.

Emily was hard.

Despite the folds in her loose combat pants, it was unmistakable. Emily was hard. Harder than she’d ever been, maybe. At once, her bravado was undercut by embarrassment. Suddenly, the nature of her distraction was so much clearer. Emily’s overpowering attraction to the vampire standing before her was buzzing in the back of her brain.

Emily immediately started flailing for an explanation. She was a lesbian, yes, but this was more than that. Normally, she would never allow herself to feel such longing for an undead monster like Letitia.

“Who cares?” Emily spat, with a fierceness she was no longer sure she felt. “You’re about to be dust.”

Letitia let out a loud, shrill laugh. “My! You really are something.” She licked her lips once more. “Yes. Yes, I really must make you mine.”

Emily snarled furiously. She decided to end this before the vampire could confuse her any further. Drawing on all her strength, all her hate, Emily raised her stake and charged forward. Vampires could be inhumanly fast, but Emily’s combat instincts were honed to a razor’s sharpness. She crossed the short distance between them in no time at all. As the tip of Emily’s stake scythed through the air, towards Letitia’s chest, she rejoiced as she saw that the vampire hadn’t even raised a hand to defend herself.

Typical bloodsucker. Too cocky, and too slow when it really counted. It was already over.

Then, Emily’s arm froze.

It took her a long moment to realize what had happened. At first, Emily thought that she’d hit some kind of forcefield, or perhaps that time itself had ground to a halt. Eventually, though, she realized that her muscles had simply locked up. Her limbs felt like iron girders. They refused to obey her commands, and Emily was left standing there like a scarecrow, paralyzed, stake held mere inches from its target.

Letitia’s lips curled up into a smirk.

“W-what did you do to me?” Emily whispered. For the first time ever, she felt powerless on a hunt.

“You’re taking to it well,” Letitia noted, pleased. “Yes. Yes, I think we’re going to get along beautifully, darling hunter.”

The savage confidence in Letitia’s voice made Emily step backward. Discovering she could move again restored her confidence, but that drained away again just as quickly when she realized that she still couldn’t strike at Letitia. Every time she tried, her body rebelled. Something inside her was fighting Emily’s commands. It was like there was something black and wet wrapped around her spine, pulling her nerve endings like strings, formed of an inexplicable reluctance to hurt the monstrous creature bearing down on her.

The vitae. It had to be.

“What’s the matter, hunter?” Letitia chided. She took one step forward; Emily, one back. “Where’s that adorable confidence? Where’s that strength now?”

Emily opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled grunt. She kept backing away, but Letitia kept coming, and all that came into Emily’s head were useless, childish protestations at the unfairness of the vampire’s power.

Those, and stray, unwelcome observations about her unnatural beauty.

“Come now,” Letitia chided. “Don’t run. Let me get a proper taste of you.”

Emily felt her back hit the wall. Nowhere left to run. Some hunter.

“Don’t worry.” Letitia’s smile made her fangs look sharper than ever. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Until the bitter end, Emily tried to make herself strike at Letitia, but it was useless. Once the vampire’s fangs pierced her jugular, even that rebellious urge drained away. By the time Letitia started feeding Emily more of her vitae, the hunter was far too weak to do anything but lap it up.

Shamefully, despite the blood loss, she remained hard the entire time.

***

Without real energy or enthusiasm, Emily once again yanked at the sturdy, iron chain binding her to the wall.  Sitting, slumped, she watched forlornly as, unsurprisingly, the bracket didn’t even budge.

There was no escape. But then, Emily had already figured that out a long time ago.

It had been weeks. At least, Emily thought so. All she had to count by were the glimmers of sunlight that passed through the cracks in the paint on the blacked-out windows, but she was starting to lose track of exactly how many nights it had been. At first, things like that had seemed important - counting the days, figuring out where she was and how to get away. Emily had the sense that she was somewhere high up, perhaps in the disused rooms a few floors up from Letitia’s club. But over time, fear and boredom had given way to a kind of haze in which nothing mattered at all. She’d even abandoned the exercise regimen she’d planned to keep herself in fighting form for when the vampire came.

But when she came, there was never any question of fighting.

Letitia’s irregular appearances were the only times anything at all seemed to matter. They were the only times Emily felt alive. Every time her ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps, Emily’s breast swelled with a sick kind of anticipation, knowing that as soon as that strange, aristocratic creature appeared, Emily’s heart would begin to pound again with a heady, uncomfortable mixture of hate and admiration.

It was the only thing she seemed to feel at all, anymore. There was nothing else. Letitia Clarendon’s twisted gift had seen to that. Her unholy blood. Emily could feel the inky, black substance inside her, gnawing at her, hollowing her out. It was the stuff of her worst nightmares.

Emily didn’t know how to fight it. All she knew was that she had to hold on to what she was sure of: her purpose as a hunter, and her violent hatred for the bloodsucker keeping her captive.

How long? That was the question she kept asking herself. How long until someone came for her? How long until she was rescued? Only, over time, as hope had grown fainter and fainter, that question had started to change. To mutate.

How long until Letitia comes to see her again?

A footstep. At once, Emily’s pulse quickened. She was sure that a creature like Letitia could move silently, if she chose, but she couldn’t help but be grateful that Letitia allowed Emily to prepare for her coming. To savor the anticipation. Emily drew herself upright, back resting against the wall, and listened to the steps getting closer.

In the last moment before the door opened, Emily found herself grinning.

Letitia Clarendon swept into the room like the night. She was dressed, as usual, in a huge, sweeping, Victorian dress, and adorned in other, equally-archaic finery. Her fashion, it seemed, had never quite kept up with the times. She was sharp, though. Emily knew that much. Letitia knew exactly how she looked, and how best to turn it to her advantage.

There was a gleeful spring in the vampire’s step, like coming to see Emily was the highlight of her night. Emily couldn’t help but feel a little appreciative of that. By the same token, being in the same room as Letitia made Emily feel sharper. On edge. Alive. It was a chance for her to spit her fire at the bloodsucker holding her captive. To assert herself. To hear her own voice spoken out loud without talking to herself like a crazy person.

And a chance to look. Letitia Clarendon really was astonishingly beautiful. More and more, as nights passed, Emily found herself dwelling on it. She’d given up pretending she wasn’t stirred by the vampire’s appearance. By her sensual presence. The evidence was all too pressing.

Emily kept insisting to herself that it was just because she was a lesbian, and just because she didn’t have anything else to think about. That was why couldn’t help gratifying herself to the thought of Letitia between visits.

“Good evening, Emily,” Letitia greeted her, smiling. Showing teeth. “How is my hunter this fine evening?”

As she spoke, Emily noticed a fleck of crimson on the tip of one of her fangs. It made bile and choler rise in her throat.

“Not bad,” Emily spat defiantly. She was still grinning. “Strong. How about you let me out of these chains and we can find out?”

Letitia let out a merry laugh. “Good, good! I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want you to lose that fine spirit of yours.”

It was incredible how everything came into focus when Letitia was around. Suddenly, Emily’s tongue cracked like a whip. She could feel sparks in her belly. It was so much better than all that numbness. Emily had to remind herself, forcefully, that the vampire’s presence was no kindness. It was deceptively easy to forget that. Letitia Clarendon was coated with candy. Her words were thick with an overbearing sweetness that belied the malice beneath.

Emily knew better than to be fooled by such a transparently two-faced demeanor. But with Letitia, there was something slippery about it. Her presence was so undeniably pleasant and it was somehow a constant temptation to slip beneath the vampire’s flow; to take her pretty face and easy smile at face value. To treat her like a friend or a lover, instead of a captor.

To forget what she was.

Again and again, Emily had to remind herself she was dealing with a monstrous predator. Why was it so easy to lose sight of that?

Probably because of her beauty.

“Of course not,” Emily growled. “Why? What are you keeping me here for?”

“Why?” Letitia blinked at her, eyes guileless. “For the pleasure of your company, of course.”

Her beauty was oppressive. It weighed heavy on Emily’s shoulders. Frankly, she wasn’t sure how she’d ever been so oblivious to it. Emily had noticed, certainly, but somehow, on the first night, she hadn’t been dazzled by it. Letitia’s true beauty hadn’t quite struck her. Now, it was different. Just being in the same room as the vampire was distracting. What Emily had first deemed ghoulish about Letitia’s undead features, she’d now come to accept was simply her own difficulty coming to terms with physical perfection.

Yes, Letitia was perfect. Her cheekbones, her complexions, her long tongue and teeth, her ethereal red eyes - all of it was perfect. Her beauty was beyond human.

Perhaps that was why it was so treasonously tempting to just say ‘yes’ to her.

“Bullshit,” Emily spat. She refused to give in to that instinct. “I know your type. You’re hungry. Always hungry. If you’re not drinking me dry, there’s gotta be a good reason for it.”

Again, Letitia laughed merrily. She always seemed so carefree. It kept Emily wondering: what if she could find something sharp? What if she could lure the vampire just a little closer?

“I suppose you’re right,” Letitia admitted. “It’s true. I have my reasons. You see, you have something I want.”

Emily was all ears. “And what’s that?”

“I already told you,” Letitia replied. “Your spirit. You see, it really is so hard to find good servants these days.”

For five solid seconds, Emily just blinked. Then she scrunched up her face in disgust and started guffawing.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” she spat, between laughs. “Me? Serving you? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Letitia’s confidence was unmarred by Emily’s open mockery. “I hardly think so. You see, at my side, you could be magnificent. I have use for a hunter. I want you - and I always get what I want.”

Her smugness was insufferable - but beneath that, Emily couldn’t help feeling ever so slightly flattered. Letitia Clarendon wanted her. Of all people - her. It was an intoxicating notion. There was a certain pride to be taken in it, even. Part of Emily badly wanted to ask: why? Was it her looks? Her skills? Something more?

But she had more dignity than that. “Let’s get one thing straight, bloodsucker,” Emily made her gaze steel as she stared into Letitia’s eyes. “I hate your kind. I hate you. And no matter what, as long as I live, I will never, ever serve you.”

“Really?” Letitia raised an eyebrow, and then a hand.

“Yes, damn you!” Emily roared. “You fucking disgust me, vampire. I would sooner die than… I’d never… never…”

Her words died. Her eyes betrayed her, and she gave way in their little staring contest of wills. Instead, her vision locked onto something else: the little drop of black blood, welling up from where Letitia had pricked her finger on one of her talons.

And there it was again. The need.

Most of the time, during her captivity, Emily had been free from want and need. She’d felt nothing. No appetite. No hunger. But when Letitia confronted her with the vampire’s vitae, it all came roaring back. Suddenly, Emily became conscious of just how long it had been since any food had passed her lips. Her stomach, cavernous and empty, began to eat at her from the inside. A piercing, debilitating awareness of her own weakness washed over Emily. The hunter felt faint, pale, sluggish. Like she could barely move.

But one drop could fix all that. Just one drop.

Emily felt the chain pull taut around her ankle. She looked down, and realized that she’d already been crawling forward.

“I’m sorry?” Letitia said sweetly. “What was that you were saying?”

A whine forced its way past Emily’s lips. It had been like this ever since that first night. The very first drop of Letitia’s unholy blood, given in a kiss, had taken root inside Emily like a poisoned seed. Most of the time, she managed not to dwell on it. The cravings. The addiction. After each visit, she promised the next would be different. She promised she’d be tougher. Stronger. Sterner with herself. That she’d find the courage to say ‘no’ to Letitia.

Those promises were melting all around her.

At first, she’d fought tooth and nail to stop Letitia from force-feeding her the vitae. But the vampire, flush with fresh blood and unnatural strength, had always won, and so somehow, eventually, Emily had given up resisting. She’d just allowed it to happen. And then, before she’d realized what was happening, it had become too late.

“I…” Emily found herself saying. Her words came out wet and thick. She was salivating like a dog. 

“I suppose there is something else I want,” Letitia mused, as if she was oblivious to Emily’s plight. “Besides your spirit, I mean. Something very important.”

An offhand gesture sent a single, tiny droplet of Letitia’s blood spilling onto the ground. Emily watched it fall in slow motion, unable to stop it. As it splashed uselessly across the dirty floorboards, Emily let out a weak, keening cry. In moments it was gone, absorbed into the sawdust.

“I need your spirit,” Letitia told her, “and I need your love.”

That word caught Emily’s attention. She looked up at the vampire, dumbfounded.

“L… love?” she bleated.

“Do you know why dogs are so wonderfully obedient to their masters?” A touch of madness glinted in Letitia’s crimson eyes. “Because they love them.”

As hard as it was to feel anything but worship while she was in the throes of addiction, that comment made Emily indignant. “I’m not a goddamn dog.”

Letitia ignored her. “Do you know why dogs love their masters?” she asked. “Because they feed them. It’s that simple.”

Emily barked a laugh. Her head was swimming. Above her, Letitia shone like the moon. Every clear thought was a struggle.

“You’re crazy,” Emily spat.

“And you’re hungry,” Letitia replied.

Before Emily could form a retort, Letitia took a step towards and held her hand out towards the captive hunter. Instantly, Emily’s world shrank to a single point. The little back droplets welling up on the vampire’s finger were the only things that mattered. It was so close now, Emily could even smell it. The scent was more intoxicating than anything else; the iron, and the hint of something darker beneath. Emily was starting to drool down her chin.

“That’s better,” Letitia soothed. “Would you like a taste, my dear hunter?”

Without thinking, Emily nodded. She wasn’t even ashamed of herself for doing so. Raw hunger was the only thing left in her head.

“Then taste.” Letitia moved closer still, holding her hand down at the level of her hips. “Drink.”

Emily’s brow furrowed in confusion. Usually, when Letitia visited her, she poured her blood into a dish and offered it to Emily. Sometimes, she simply overpowered the hunter and forced her into another twisted kiss. This was new.

“H… how?” Emily asked, tongue wet. She already knew the answer.

“Drink,” Letitia repeated.

She didn’t explain. She didn’t need to. It only took a few more moments for Emily’s hunger to overpower her better judgment.

Emily stretched forward and wrapped her lips around Letitia’s bloody finger.

She suckled with the starving fervor of a newborn babe. It tasted every bit as good as she’d known it would. Just a few drops of the vampire’s blood were all it took to infuse Emily’s entire body with energy. She felt like she could run a marathon, or climb a sheer cliff face. She felt like she could fly.

She felt amazing.

Nothing could pierce that euphoria. Not shame, nor humiliation, nor the bitter sting of defeat. Emily was immune to those. She was on cloud nine. Emily kept licking and sucking, unwilling to let even the smallest droplet of Letitia’s ambrosia go to waste. She lavished the vampire’s skin with worshipful attention, kissing and licking every inch of her finger until it was clean. Letitia even helped, pumping her finger backward and forward, in and out of Emily’s mouth. Distantly, as if it was coming from far away, Emily heard the vampire’s laugh.

It didn’t matter. In that moment, all she could feel towards Letitia was an overbearing sense of gratitude.

Emily stopped once it became obvious that the small cut on Letitia’s finger had healed minutes ago. The hunter slumped backward and shivered rapturously as vitae coursed throughout her body. There was no feeling like this. No drug or high came even close.

“Well,” Letitia remarked mirthfully, “I don’t know about your spirit. But I see that your energy is certainly undiminished.”

Emily knew at once what she was referring to. As always, after a feeding, Emily was rock hard and tenting her pants. She couldn’t help it. Letitia’s blood left her infused with vigor - and besides, the vampire’s beauty seemed to grow after each meal. Emily felt like she could stare at Letitia forever, admiring her like a work of art. It was so strange, that such a dark creature would look so angelic.

“I’ll give you some more time to yourself,” Letitia announced, and spun to face the doorway. “To… contemplate your situation.”

Her sudden absence dimmed Emily’s blissful mood a little. It wasn’t long before the effects of the blood wore off, and Emily was left, once again, ashamed of her weakness and conscious of her own thirst. She knew the vitae was doing something to her. After each twisted feeding, she could feel something growing inside her. A kind of foreign influence, utterly alien to her true desires, but terrifyingly seductive and potent. It was nursing a kind of obsession for Letitia Clarendon; a violent one, perhaps, but still, a passionate one.

It was the kind of thing that might give birth to the very worst kind of love.

Emily had to stop. She knew she had to stop. Next time, she had to find a way to avoid drinking Letitia’s blood.

But somehow, as the minutes wore on, that thought slipped through her fingers, while the bittersweet memory of her captor’s face burned bright in her head, distracting her, luring her hand between her legs to deal with her sudden need.

It wasn’t long before she was counting down the time until Letitia might visit her again.

***

Emily didn’t look at the girl’s face. She refused to. She didn’t want to remember it. She didn’t want that face to haunt her, as others had. But, as ever, Letitia was kind. As she kept one hand clasped around the girl’s throat, she offered the other, dripping with vitae, toward Emily. As always, the former hunter was instantly transfixed by the mere sight of the substance. It helped her to block out everything else that was going on.

At least there was no whimpering or screaming. Mercifully, Letitia had somehow stunned her prey into submission. The poor, innocent thing remained calm, a vacant, dreamlike smile on her face, even as the vampire started tearing into her throat.

Emily flinched, but she still didn’t look. She kept her eyes on Letitia’s black-coated fingertips.

The first time Letitia had brought prey to Emily’s room, she’d been confused. When Letitia’s intentions had become clear, Emily had even managed to find some of her old fire, dampened though it was by weeks and weeks of starved apathy.

It had been useless, of course. Emily wasn’t chained up anymore - though she didn’t remember being freed, either - but Letitia had quickly taught her that resistance was meaningless.

And anyway, Emily couldn’t really bring herself to fight Letitia. Not anymore.

There was a splatter and a spurt, as Letitia’s fangs pierced the jugular. It churned Emily’s stomach, but she ignored it. She just sat waiting, peaceful and patient, exactly the way the vampire wanted.

Emily knew what was happening, of course. She was too smart not to, and besides, Letitia had made no real secret of her plans. It was simple exposure therapy. A way to desensitize her to the vampire’s true nature, and to progressively erode Emily’s convictions. After all, it was difficult to stand up against something when you’d been a silent, tacitly accepting bystander to it time and time again.

Emily knew what was happening. The problem was that she couldn’t seem to make herself care.

She’d long since given up on keeping track of how long she’d been held captive by Letitia - if ‘captive’ was even the right word anymore. She could leave whenever she wanted, but Letitia had made it clear that if she left, she’d never see or taste the vampire ever again. And for no more than that, Emily had stayed in that dark, squalid room, enduring countless hours of numbness and boredom that ground her down into a shadow of who she’d once been. All that was left were her feelings for Letitia.

She didn’t care about anything except Letitia anymore.

With a loud, wet smack, Letitia withdrew her fangs from the drained girl’s neck. A single, offhanded shove sent her sprawling to the ground, spent. Emily flinched - but she still didn’t look.

Letitia nodded approvingly at her stillness. “Good,” the vampire told her. “Very good.”

Pride, just as poisonous as any unholy blood, started to glow within Emily. She couldn’t help but be proud. Being praised by a creature like Letitia was a wonder. Her beauty was indescribable. She was more like a goddess than a mere mortal being like Emily.

“Drink up.” Letitia thrust her hand toward Emily. “You’ve earned it.”

Emily’s composure broke in an instant. Her meek stillness was gone, replaced by an unnatural voracity. Emily fed like an animal, lapping, licking, kissing, sucking - lavishing her new master’s skin with worshipful attention, and then, once all the vampire’s blood was gone, licking it clean of her own unworthy saliva.

She smiled. There it was again. Bliss.

Letitia took a moment to brush her fingertips affectionately across Emily’s cheek. It had become a little ritual of hers, after each feeding. A way to bond with her new pet.

“Yes, you’re coming along nicely,” Letitia mused. “Aren’t you?”

Emily blushed, flustered. Letitia was talking to her the way someone might a puppy, but Emily could feel nothing but warmth.

“Yes,” she muttered. “T-thank you.”

Letitia raised an eyebrow. She seemed pleased.

“And still… energetic, I see,” she remarked, eyes flicking downward.

Emily was hard. She always was, when Letitia graced her with her attention. Emily had given up on pleasuring herself - it didn’t seem to satisfy, without the vampire’s presence - but now that her belly was full of black blood, she was conscious of her own, desperate need.

“Do you remember,” Letitia asked her, “what I called you, the first night that we met?”

Emily nodded. Every detail of that encounter was burned into her brain. The memory was steadily supplanting all memories that had come before. It was the moment she’d begun.

“Yes,” Emily replied, voice stilted and meek. “A slut.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?”

Before Emily could agree, Letitia stepped forward and, balancing on one leg for a moment, brought her other foot down to press against the stiff tent of Emily’s cock.

Emily gasped. She saw white. She looked up in awed confusion. The former hunter had never dared to dream that Letitia would touch like that.

“Wasn’t I?” Letitia repeated.

“Y-yes!” Emily gasped urgently. Letitia was barely touching her, but the pleasure was unbelievable. The sole of her foot felt better than any other girl ever had.

“Good girl.”

Letitia nodded in a way that Emily somehow knew meant permission, and without hesitation, Emily started to buck her hips and hump Letitia’s foot.

“Oh my god…” Emily panted. She was practically weeping with joy. Touching Letitia like that was transcendent. “O-oh my god.”

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for her to reach her peak. Emily had once been a lot of things - a hunter, a stud, a top - but now all that was gone, and all that mattered was Letitia was rewarding her with this. The symbolism was more important than the sensation. A being as great and as beautiful as Letitia Clarendon had decided Emily deserved to feel something good. Even the condescending sneer on the vampire’s face was perfect. It helped to remind Emily of what she was.

A pet. A dog. A thrall.

And if she was that, nothing else she did really mattered.

Entranced by the thought, Emily kept rutting and humping, her moans and grunts becoming ever more desperate and animalistic. She was trapped; she was too desperate to stop, but she couldn’t continue for much longer, but she couldn’t even conceive of finishing without Letitia’s permission.

Eventually, Letitia set her free. “You may,” she pronounced, with a slight nod of her head.

With a ragged moan, Emily came. Letitia took her foot away at the last moment, and so the former hunter only succeeded in making a mess of her own, filthy clothing. Emily expected shame to follow on the heels of her orgasm, but no. Letitia’s presence kept that at bay as well, and as Emily basked in the afterglow of her reward, the vampire bent down to stare intently into her soul.

“Yes,” Letitia mused, a smile on her face. “I think you’re almost ready. There it is. Coming along nicely.”

Emily knew instinctively what she was referring to. She could feel it growing within herself, black and sickly, and all for her new master.

Love.

***

Instinctively, Emily squeezed the stake in her hand. It felt good. Comforting. Familiar. Even after all that had transpired, a few things still hadn’t changed.

That was a nice lie she could tell herself.

In any case, many more things had. Emily wasn’t stuck in that room anymore. She wasn’t wearing her old, now-filthy clothes either. She’d replaced her old look with one that was new and slick: a black suit, nicely tailored, cut slightly feminine, complete with tie and perfect white shirt.

It was exactly the way Lady Letitia liked her.

“Come on,” Emily called, raising her voice so it could be heard over the club music. “This way.”

“Right,” the other hunter nodded, following closely behind. “Are you sure she’ll be there?”

“Yes,” Emily replied. “At this time of night, the bloodsucker’s always in her lair.”

Emily twitched and scratched a phantom itch at her neck.

“Got it,” the other hunter replied. The girl was painfully young, and too trusting. “If you know where she sleeps, I’m surprised you need me. I’d always heard you worked alone.”

“She’s strong,” Emily replied simply. “I wanted backup.”

“Right.” Emily glanced over her shoulder, and saw a faint, bashful smile appear on the other hunter’s face. “I’m flattered you picked a newbie like me.”

That tugged at Emily’s heartstrings for a moment, before she shoved the guilt way down. Beneath the hunger.

“Focus,” Emily warned, as she led the other girl through the crush of dancing bodies, toward a dark doorway at the back of the club. “It’s dangerous here.”

The other girl nodded. Both of them clutched at their stakes. Emily’s heart was pounding, but not from danger. Not from guilt, either.

From anticipation.

The two of them entered the doorway and proceeded down a dimly lit corridor, the sounds of the club steadily dying away. Then Emily came to a halt and indicated a door.

“She’s in here,” Emily hissed. “You first. I’ll watch your back.”

The other girl nodded. After a moment of hesitation, of gathering up her courage, she opened the door and walked inside. Emily followed her a few paces behind and slipped her stake back into the inside pocket of her jacket.

And nodded to Lady Letitia, lurking in the shadows.

In an instant, the vampire was on top of the blindsided hunter. The poor girl barely had time to scream before Lady Letitia’s fangs pierced her throat and sucked dry her veins. After a few seconds of useless spasming, the stake rolled out of her open hand and clattered to the ground. The girl’s pale, dry, cold body followed soon after.

Emily only twitched a little. She could even look at their faces now.

But she didn’t need to. Not for more than a moment, anyway. Soon, Lady Letitia turned to Emily and smiled, blood still dripping from her fanged maw. Emily didn’t care about that, though. She just cared that her master was smiling.

“Well done,” Lady Letitia told her, “my hunter.”

Yes, Emily was still a hunter. She even hunted vampires, sometimes - Lady Letitia had rivals, after all - but mortals had become her usual prey. She helped to drive them into Lady Letitia’s cruel embrace, keeping the area free of genuine vampire hunters in the process.

Still a hunter - by some measures, anyway. But more than anything, Emily was simply a thrall.

“My lady.”

In a single, smooth motion, long-practiced, Emily dropped to one knee and bowed her head before her master. It was only right to lower herself before a being as beautiful and superior as Lady Letitia. Emily served her in all things. It was the only thing that gave her life a sense of purpose. The only thing that delivered her, even temporarily, from the gnawing numbness that had consumed everything else about Emily.

And there was the hunger, of course. Only Lady Letitia could sate that. But Emily no longer received the gift of her unholy blood every night, or after every service. Lady Letitia had trained her well. The vampire’s approval was all the reward Emily needed.

Like a dog with Pavlov’s bell.

"Thank you,” Lady Letitia said softly, “for my meal. You’ve proven yourself to be every bit the servant I hoped you’d be.”

“Thank you,” Emily whispered. The force of her master’s praise was enough to make her weep. She had to keep her face turned down, or else Lady Letitia’s beauty would overwhelm her. “Thank you, my lady.”

With her head bowed, she could see the body of the other hunter, lying just a short distance away. More and more, its presence started to eat at Emily. It stirred memories of another life. A life in which she’d protected people from vampires, instead of luring them into the predator’s lair. Emily could remember a former version of herself, one who would have been outraged and disgusted at what the fallen hunter had become.

Did that mean something? Wasn’t all of this terribly, terribly wrong?

Emily felt herself starting to panic. Her breaths came up short, and her pulse quickened as she fought with herself to fill her lungs with air. What was she doing? Why was she doing any of this? The doubts were suddenly swimming around her, eating at her, but within, something dark and wet and equally vicious was fighting back. The corruption nested in Emily’s bosom, the part of her that longed for Letitia, refused to let her go. Those two conflicting forces made a battleground of her soul, all but paralyzing her with sudden indecision.

Her hand trembled. Her stake was right there. Within reach. Couldn’t she just-

A familiar touch to Emily’s cheek stirred her from those unwelcome thoughts. In her usual, ritual way, Lady Letitia stroked her thrall’s face and guided her eyes upward, until Emily was staring into the vampire’s impossibly beautiful visage. Her fangs, her tongue, her eyes - Emily was captivated by all of it.

A single moment of being caressed by the vampiric master she now adored was all it took to remind the fallen hunter: she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Everything else was simply a delusion Lady Letitia had been kind enough to free Emily from.

The vampire’s touch left her hard, too. It always did. Emily had always been weak to beautiful women, and her thralldom had given the lesbian a singular, erotic fixation on her master. Lady Letitia noticed immediately and licked her lips pointedly, spreading blood across her face.

“Rise,” she bade, “and come with me. I require your service in other ways.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Emily rose to her feet and, misgivings forgotten, stepped over the other hunter’s limp body as she followed her master to her coffin chamber.

---

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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[robotic-rin]

Psychosomatic Freedom (To Your Head)

(Beetlejuice x Reader)

Summary: Renting out the spare bedroom in the Maitland/Deetz mansion was wacky enough when you found out you’d be living with real life ghosts, but things only got more intense when a certain demon was thrown into the mix as well. Not only does he pride himself on annoying you whenever you’re busy, but he chooses to do so in ways that make you regrettably very horny for him. You do well at keeping your flustered reactions under control when you’re around him, but please try to remember that he WILL appear if you say his name three times, no matter the context or intent.

Word Count: 13,840

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: horny demon escapades, a dash of praise kink, even smaller dash of humiliation kink if you squint, beetlejuice being a bastard but he also whimpers, hurt/comfort, emotionally vulnerable handjobs, afab reader (no gendered terms are used aside from beej referring to reader’s “tits” bc of him being the way that he is), tried to limit my use of (y/n) but it is in there, monster fangs/tongues, overuse of bj’s mood ring hair, beetlejuice is so annoying that he loops back around into being majorly fuckable

Author’s Note: it’s finally happened. i’ve been meaning to write this fic for years, and i finally gathered the willpower to write it all out. i don’t know if i properly followed the post-musical summoning rules but tbh i just wrote this bc i wanna fuck beetlejuice and i didn’t do a lot of lore checking, apologies. i hope y’all enjoy regardless, this demon needs to be dommed so bad and i was more than happy to provide the scenario. anyways, you know the drill: if you’re good with all the tags and are 18+, please enjoy!

You can’t clearly remember the moment you realized that taking up residence in the Maitland/Deetz household was going to be more than you bargained for. The living family was eccentric enough, let alone the fact that they were currently cohabiting with a friendly ghost family. You had to be willing to accept a lot of zany things very quickly when you went in to sign the paperwork to rent out the mansion’s spare bedroom, and you’d say that you’ve taken everything in stride so far, all things considered. Charles and Delia Deetz were nice enough and stayed out of your business just as you did with theirs. They had been a bit strapped for cash after their investment in a gated neighborhood fell through, and it seemed as though they were happy enough to make some money off of renting out their guest bedroom to a sane person who mostly kept to themself. It was a win for everyone, so you got along just fine. Their daughter, Lydia Deetz, was less into staying out of your way, but she wasn’t rude about it by any means. She seemed to just be an eccentric teen who was curious about the person living in her house, and you’d gladly indulge her out-of-the-box conversation topics about the newest death metal bands and join her for an occult ritual or two. Classic teen stuff.

Of course, sharing a house with a living family was one thing, but adding a ghost family to the mix definitely livened things up (ironically). Adam and Barbara Maitland, also known as the previous owners of the house who had suffered a tragic premature death, were not what you expected from real life ghosts. It’s hard to say what you did expect when that bombshell was dropped on you, but it definitely wasn’t two polite suburban Millennials that felt more like a caricature of a couple you’d meet at a vegan farmers’ market than restless spirits haunting their old house. It was a wild day when you met them, assuming that Lydia was having a bit of fun with you when she’d ominously warned you that their house was haunted. But no, she was certainly not, as the couple took your moving-in day as their chance to formally introduce themselves. You didn’t actually believe that they were truly dead until Adam walked through a wall for you days later. Despite being slightly bummed that they didn’t look like the classic ghost with little wispy tails for feet, you were also a bit relieved that, although ghosts definitively exist, they can be just as friendly and unremarkable as any human. Not to say it as a knock against them, you actually found yourself hanging out with the Maitlands more than anyone else in the house. Against all odds, they were the most normal and down-to-earth ones in the whole household, and you were grateful to have them as housemates.

You got to hear all about how they got to the living arrangement they had now, and if you weren’t already rooming with ghosts, you’d have considered it too unbelievable to be true. But you’re glad to hear how well everyone seems to be doing with this new living arrangement, especially Lydia, who it seems had a really rough time of it right after her mom died. All things considered, you were beginning to really enjoy living in such a crazy house with such colorful personalities around you, all unique but living in harmony. Well. At least until he showed up.

You’d been warned that he does this from time to time. Part of their story told how he went from full-on antagonist to the weird uncle of the family, now popping in whenever he felt like it, often unannounced. He always claimed it was just to check in on his favorite mixed-life family, but in reality, it was mostly just to bother everybody.

As long as you live and die, you’ll never forget the first time he’d made one of his surprise visits after you’d moved in. You’d been sitting alone at the long dining room table, minding your own business as you typed away at important work on your laptop, fully lost in your task. Important files for your work lined your screen, all perfectly organized and sorted through after a long day’s work. But then, with no warning, your laptop’s display had changed to a blue screen, causing your eyes to widen in horror as you realized that it had fully died on you and probably lost all of your progress. You felt yourself choke out a horrible sound of despair, before a hand seemingly appeared from nowhere and pulled the blue screen back as though furling up a classroom projector screen, revealing your undisturbed desktop behind it.

“Woah, that was almost a really expensive mistake,” a gruff but playful voice laughed, coming from right next to you. “I forget how touchy technology can be when it comes to spirit energy. My bad, heh.”

You had whipped your head to the side to see a disheveled-looking man with bright green hair dressed in a black-and-white striped suit that looked like it needed to be washed and dry cleaned about 10 years ago. He was grimy, but almost purposefully grimy. Like it was part of his aesthetic. You’d seen some wild happenings in this house, but the sudden materialization of this random weird guy in the dining room was the first to leave you speechless.

“W-what…how…you just….” If first impressions truly were everything, he’d surely always think of you as the pinnacle of eloquence.

The stranger grinned at your reaction, obviously a bit pleased with himself. “No words, huh? Wouldn’t be the first time, I do tend to inspire that reaction in people. My undeniable charms aside, who are you? Some long-lost Deetz cousin visiting from WhoTheFuckKnowsVille or something?”

You finally regained enough of your speech abilities to respond just in time. “Uh, no. Just…renting the spare bedroom. No relation.” There was a moment of silence as he looked at you inquisitively, before you remembered your manners. “Um, I’m (Y/N). Am I right to assume that you’re Beetlejuice?” Hey, why do I need to have manners after he almost just fried my laptop? Your bitter thoughts go unfortunately unanswered.

He looked positively elated at your words, his dark eyes visibly lighting up as he sidled up next to you in your chair, ignoring the fact that it was clearly only made for one person. “Oh, wonderful! I get to skip the charades part with you. You’re already my new favorite person just for that, you don’t know how much I hate playing guessing games when the answer hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. But yes, that’s my name, don’t wear it out. Unless you want to see me. Then all you gotta do is say it three times in a row, and I’m there, baby. Morning or night, rain or shine.” Boy, this guy talks a lot.

You nodded slowly, still bewildered. “Ah, alright. Sounds good. Did you…need anything?” You couldn’t, for the life of you, get an idea of what Beetlejuice would be doing here.

He huffed noncommittally. “Well, usually I come around to see everyone here, since the Netherworld gets reeeaaaalllly boring. But lately, Lydia’s gone so much at school, and my old flames Adam and Barbara don’t always have time for lil ol’ me anymore…” He made a pitiful little face and rested his head on your shoulder, acting like a kicked dog. Despite his bad manners and lack of personal space, you felt a piece of yourself feel bad for the demon. Looking back, that was your first mistake.

“Hey, don’t be upset. I know we just met, but if you come by and nobody’s here, I could always…hang out? For a bit?” And that was mistake number two.

His full demeanor shifted in an instant, as though you’d activated a switch on him that could never be turned off. “Really? You’d spend time? With me?” For a demon, he did have very effective puppy dog eyes. If you weren’t locked in on what you said before, you had to be now, looking him in the eye as he turned his full body towards you, inches from your face.

“Sure, I’m usually just hanging out around the house getting work done anyway. I could use a little company sometimes.” It felt more like you were talking yourself into this decision rather than him.

“Oh friend, you won’t regret it! We’ll have such a nice time together, I can just feel it. Don’t ask where, heh.” He pulled out a small business card from thin air and slid it smoothly between your fingers. “And remember babes, you want me, you just call my name. I wouldn’t keep someone as smokin’ as you waiting. Not like I have a choice.” Snickering to himself, he’d disappeared in a flash, leaving you with your head spinning as you wondered exactly what you’d agreed to.

As time passed, you found that you didn’t even need to call his name for Beetlejuice to show up in the middle of your day and start pestering you. Eventually, it got to a point where, even when the other members of the family were around, he’d still choose to hang around you over them at times. After a good while, you got to a point where you nearly forgot that calling his name three times would summon him due to how often he popped in of his own volition with no warning at all. And somehow, he only ever seemed to do this on days where you had something that really needed to get done, never just on a day where you were already lazing about on the couch and eating snacks. No, instead, he acted like a bored cat with no sense of responsibility whose only goal was to distract you, and it’s a goal that he prided himself in succeeding at through various methods. Turning your pencil into a baby sandworm, making the keys on your laptop keyboard detach and float away, grabbing whatever you’re working on and zipping it up in a pocket dimension for a few minutes. One time, he straight up ate an important stack of papers from your desk whole because you weren’t looking when he told you he was about to do a cool trick. Anything to rile you up and steal your attention for a bit.

You find yourself in another situation like that on today of all days, when you’re swamped in assignments and don’t have a moment to spare. You can already feel his unseen eyes watching you as you sit hunched over your large desk-vanity, checking out what you’re up to before he acts. You’ve developed almost a sixth sense for detecting him when he’s invisible at this point, but somehow knowing that he’s secretly here just makes your heart race faster. There’s no feeling quite like trying to predict the first move of a master scarer while he’s in the room, but you quickly decide to put a stop to it today.

“I know you’re there, Beetlejuice,” you say, clear and stern. It would really emphasize how serious and non-playful you’re feeling today, if not for the way the corners of your mouth turn upwards of their own accord. Fight though you might, your body always gives away how much you enjoy the little games you two play. You allow your eyes to slowly wander away from your glowing laptop screen to stare at the large mirror in front of you, hoping to catch a glimpse of his figure lurking behind you and catch him before he can put whatever plan he has into action. Just as you’re scanning the reflection for anything that seems off, your vision is engulfed by a sharp toothy grin manifesting in front of you from within the mirror.

“Boo.”

He can barely get the first syllable out uninterrupted before you’re screaming and jumping back so far that you nearly fall backwards out of your chair, only catching your balance at the last moment. You turn your fiery gaze up to his smug face, still sticking halfway out of your mirror.

“You rat bastard!” You’re panting so hard that you can’t even think of a clever insult for him outside of playground swears, which only seem to egg him on.

He flutters his eyelashes innocently. “Aww, you liked it that much? Well, I hope it was as good for you as it was for me. There’s plenty more where that came from, heh.” He sticks a long, snake-like striped tongue out of his mouth as if to cheekily punctuate his statement.

Despite yourself, you feel your face beginning to flush at his suggestive behavior and turn your back on the mirror to conceal your expression. You don’t want to admit it, but over the past few months, you had developed an issue even bigger than the simple annoyance of a demon constantly pestering you: you found yourself feeling really attracted to Beetlejuice’s stupid face and mannerisms. Even though he was insufferable, he was also undeniably cute and charismatic in a strange way, and he always managed to get you riled up in more ways than one through his teasing. This would only make you all the more bothered by his antics, which in turn would make him want to press your buttons even more. It was a vicious cycle that only ever ended up in you feeling a unique mix of irritated and hot under the collar after he left. Why, why was I cursed with attraction to this rude little gremlin man? He’s gross, and crude, and annoying…and yet.

You wrinkle your nose to dismiss your thoughts, still looking away from Beetlejuice. “So did you come just to make sure I don’t get these assignments turned in on time, or what?”

“Or…what.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see him slide out of the mirror like a long snake, coming back up to full height standing next to your chair. “You know how lonely I get in the stupid Netherworld, so checking up on my faaaavorite little breather is a great way to fill my social meter.” He gets a little too close to your ear, stretching out that “favorite” into almost a growl, and you practically stop breathing trying to minimize the shiver that overtakes your body. Fuck this guy’s stupid sexy voice.

Hoping he didn’t notice your reaction, you turn your body to face him and stand up from your chair defiantly, face to face with his usual shit-eating grin. “What, you just don’t talk to anybody else in this house anymore? It feels like you only ever visit me nowadays, and I really have no idea what I’ve done to be cursed with the privilege of being your favorite human.”

Beetlejuice looks up thoughtfully, as though truly trying to figure out how this relationship came to be, bringing his face closer still to yours. “Well, you are the only person who’s ever voluntarily offered to spend quality time with me.” The answer is so earnest and straightforward, it steals the next witty retort from your lips and you just gawk at him, inches away. His eyes quickly dart down. “Hm, plus, you do have the best tits I’ve seen in a few centuries.” There it is.

You roll your eyes and groan, gently pushing his face away from you with your entire hand, only for him to lick a long stripe down your palm with his tongue. “Ugh, you are so gross!” You relent and move to wipe your hand on your shirt instead.

“Only for you, babes,” he coos with half-lidded eyes.

“That is demonstrably false.”

“Ok fine, how about: especially for you?”

“Well, it’s closer to the truth at least.” You fold your arms and cock your head. “What did you wanna do, then?”

“Oh, you should know better than to give me so much control here, (Y/N). There’s a lotta things I’d like to do with you.” He runs his tongue over fanged teeth teasingly, causing your heart to race once again. Beetlejuice really is a demon without a doubt, because he’s perfectly created my own personal hell. He must be some kind of divine punishment for my wrongdoings. A sexy demon who flirts with me endlessly, and I have to just be normal about it because there’s no way he’s serious. Maybe I burned down orphanages in a past life to deserve this.

“Yeah, you’re right. You’d probably turn me inside out or something fucked up if you got the freedom of choice. I’ll pick, then.” You quickly scan your brain for the quickest, most painless way to get him out of your hair. “How about a game?”

His face lights up with mischief. “Twister?”

“No,” you respond flatly.

“Spin the bottle?”

“No.”

“Hungry Hungry Hippos?”

“N-what? How is that even-“

“Oh, it’s not a euphemism, I just genuinely like that one.”

You sigh in defeat. “Ok, no to all of those. I was thinking more along the lines of The Quiet Game. You sit over there and be quiet, and I sit over here and get my work done, and if you stay quiet the whole time, we can watch a movie or something afterwards.” You say all of this knowing very well that it’s a pipe dream. Even if he were to be totally silent, Beetlejuice would have no problem finding new and inventive ways to torment you. He’s quite talented at that, as both of you are keenly aware.

Upon hearing your proposal, Beetlejuice furrows his brow and wrinkles his nose in a way similar to a petulant child about to throw a tantrum. “The Quiet Game? Are you serious, I-hmph, well, I can tell when I’m not wanted! I don’t need your pity games, I have plenty of exciting and important work things to do myself, like…um. Well, I’d have to check my dossier, but I’m sure there’s plenty of ‘em!” He spins away from you dramatically, drooping his shoulders to appear more pathetic. It works, unfortunately.

Your gaze softens slightly as you take a step towards him. “Beej, c’mon, it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out, I just really need to finish-“

“Yeah, yeah, human work, I know it.” He whirls around to poke at your chest accusingly. “Well, don’t let me be a roadblock to you, Professor Workaholic. I’ll remove myself from your esteemed presence. Just don’t come crawling back to me when you’ve worked yourself to death! I’ll be too busy. Filing shit. Or whatever.” His voice warbles at the end, and you’re not entirely sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not. He’s not the easiest guy to read, though you do think you catch a flash of purple streaking its way through his otherwise green hair. Without giving you time to respond, Beetlejuice pulls out a pair of scissors and snips a long hole in reality, stepping through it with one last pitiful look at you before flipping you off and stitching it up behind him, causing it to blip out of existence.

Just like that, he’s gone, and you quickly realize that you may not have wanted this outcome as much as you’d thought. He’s a bit abrasive, but he’s not wrong. A break would’ve been good for me, and spending time with him is always…a lot, but never boring. We always have fun together. You groan to yourself, frustrated that your brain has decided to come around only after Beetlejuice had already dipped. Damn, I shouldn’t have let him leave.

Seeing no point in taking a break on your own, you sigh, sit back down, and attempt to keep trucking through your work. It’s mind-numbingly dull, and you keep finding your brain wandering off to thoughts of Beetlejuice. His poor little demon schtick really does work, I can’t stand to think about how sad he looked as he was leaving. His big, expressive eyes…how cute and proud of himself he looked after successfully scaring me earlier…his pointy tongue running across those sharp fangs. Fuck… You find yourself blushing at the mere memory of that last one, your conscious mind pleading that you stop finding it as sexy as you do. But try as you may, there’s no changing the fact that Beetlejuice’s playful antics paired with his handsome face have spelled your doom. You’re down bad, worked up, and all alone. Well, looks like this work won’t be getting done because of Beetlejuice even without him here. Fuck it.

Giving in to your body’s demands, you stand up from the desk chair and head over to your bed, taking your pants off on the way and tossing them haphazardly into a corner to start gathering wrinkles. You have bigger things on your mind at the moment; specifically, imagining what Beetlejuice’s long tongue might feel like dragging across your skin. Feeling goosebumps beginning to rise already, you recline onto the bed and slip your hand into your underwear, wasting no time as you begin rubbing slow circles into your clit. You’re almost embarrassed at the fact that you’re already fairly wet just from thinking about him, but then again, it’s not really that surprising. Ok, yeah, this is exactly what I needed. Well, maybe not exactly. If it was perfect, he’d really be here fucking me. The mere idea of that causes your fingers to speed up their ministrations, attempting to replicate the pleasure your mind is imagining in real time. You’ve been here before, touching yourself at the thought of having sex with that demon, but it’s starting to happen more often than you’d care to admit.

Ignoring your inner voice of shame, you focus your whole energy on getting yourself off, your hips twitching involuntarily as you continue. You’re audibly panting at this point, chasing your release at a fast pace. No need for slow pleasantries, this is just about me relieving some tension. Once I’m done, maybe I’ll actually be able to focus on something besides him. Maybe.

After a short while, you can quickly feel your release approaching as you continue to think of him. You’re so close, you can tell that you’re starting to lose yourself. You imagine his big brown eyes looking up at you, expression clouded with lust. “Mm, Beetlejuice…” His pointed fangs scraping your inner thighs… “Beetlejuice…” His lewd face as you suck his cock... “Beetlejuice!”

“Well, well, well, look who decided to come crawling ba-“

Pulled from the brink, you practically jump straight up in the air from where you lay in bed as you hear a familiar voice, too authentic to be fantasy. You snap your head up to see Beetlejuice standing at the foot of your bed, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them and streaks of hot pink just starting to tint his hair.

You quickly regain your senses and pull up the covers. “B-BEETLEJUICE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Beetlejuice, however, is not as fast on the recovery. “I…you…” Slack-jawed and speechless, he stutters out a few syllables that somewhat resemble words before shaking his head as if to clear his brain. “H-hang on, you’re the one who summoned me!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, I…” Your world suddenly comes crashing down on you with the weight of a thousand bricks. “…did. Oh, God, I did…” Your face begins to turn red hot, the obvious implications of this scenario making you want to pass away on the spot. Nope, not even death would help me get out of this one.

You can practically see the gears in Beetlejuice’s head turning, albeit slowly. “You…you summoned me? You called out my name three times. While…” The sudden lightbulb moment is very visible as his hand moves to cover his mouth and dozens more streaks of neon pink suddenly overtake his hair, his face darkening to match. For a moment, you worry that you’ve broken him, only for the demon to finally meet your gaze with a goofy grin that only spreads wider by the moment. “You like me, don’t you?”

“Obviously, dipshit!” You grab a decorative pillow from next to you and toss it at his head, which he easily dodges. You can only think to react with righteous indignation, despite the fact that this situation really is entirely your fault. Probably a defense mechanism to shield yourself from the fact that you’d really love to melt into a puddle on the floor right now.

Beetlejuice, on the other hand, seems far more elated about this than you’d ever expected, practically jumping around for joy. “You do! You really do like me! And it’s gotta be a lot, considering the fact that you like me enough to call out my name when you masturbate, heh. Do you do that often, or did I just do really well at seducing you today?” He strikes a mock sexy pose as if to prove his point.

Despite the added embarrassment of him calling you out so easily, you sit up straighter and raise an eyebrow inquisitively. “You’re…not mad?”

Beetlejuice looks practically bewildered at the very notion. “Me? Mad? Why would I be mad? I’ve been flirting with you so hard that I was offering to drop your panties since the day we met, and you think I’d be mad to see that you wanted it to happen just as bad as I did? Wow, you humans really are funny sometimes.”

“Wait, you were being serious? I thought you acted like that with everyone.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, closes it after a moment of silence, and then moves to coyly rub his neck instead. “Ok, yeah, when you put it like that, I can see where the confusion comes in here. But yes, I meant everything I said! And I mean everything, babes.” He waggles his eyebrows for ridiculous punctuation.

You blink up at him in shock. No fucking way this is happening. No way is this demon freely admitting that he wants to have sex with me right back, no jokes anywhere to be seen. This must be a dream.

But Beetlejuice is still standing at the end of your bed, real as ever, and beginning to look more than a little bit antsy. “So, um…you gonna invite me to join you, or just make me watch? ‘Cuz to be honest, I, uh, wouldn’t hate either outcome here, so long as I can stay.”

You have a decision to make. You could say his name three times right now to banish him and never speak of this incident again as long as you both shall live and die, or you could finally get to live out the fantasies that have been plaguing you ceaselessly as of late. In the end, it isn’t even really a choice when the best answer is so easily clear.

Your eyes flick up to meet his. “Come here. On your knees.”

Beetlejuice’s face lights up at this command. “Oho, you don’t have to ask me twice!” With that, he practically dives to the floor at your bedside, looking up at you expectantly.

You smile slightly, turning to face Beetlejuice and slide your lower torso out from under the sheets to hang your legs off the side of the bed. Before he can say something lewd, you move to cup his face with your hands. Immediately, he seems taken aback at your gentle action from the stunned, blinking look on his face. Smiling softly, you begin rubbing his beard with your thumbs in a way that makes his eyes roll back into his head a bit. Boy, is he touch-starved. Let’s fix that.

Without another word, you lean in and bring your lips to his, giving him a fairly sweet kiss that he absolutely melts into. You never would’ve expected it of a demon, but Beetlejuice really does have the softest lips you’ve ever kissed, and returns the energy you give him tenfold. It’s pretty cute how much a simple kiss seems to affect him, and you aren’t complaining as you feel his sharp teeth scrape your lips, either. You part your lips a bit to allow his tongue entrance, and he accepts the invitation immediately. His inhumanly long tongue slips in your mouth, wrapping around and rubbing against your tongue almost like a tentacle or other complex appendage. You scrunch up your face at the intrusion, not bad, but strange how it feels as though it’s investigating your mouth of its own accord, prodding and rubbing at you. It’s definitely different from kissing a regular human, but it’s pretty hot, so you’re not complaining by any means. After a few moments, you feel the need to break away and come up for air, panting for breath while Beetlejuice just kneels there in front of you motionless, like he’s just had a particularly amazing out-of-body experience.

After getting a good amount of air into your lungs, you give a small fond smile at his flustered demeanor. “Oh, Beetlejuice, I’m sorry I was so dismissive of you earlier,” you soothe, moving one hand to stroke his neon hair. “You were really just looking out for me, weren’t you?”

He audibly gulps. “Y-yeah…”

“Aw, you really are sweet. I shouldn’t have been so mean to you, baby.”

The more affectionate words you say, the less composed he is as he speaks, made clear by his bright red face and dopey grin. “Heh, s’okay…I kinda like it when you’re mean to me…” Beetlejuice averts his gaze and sinks his face into your hand as he says this. His words are so muffled that they’re almost unintelligible, but you manage to make them out just fine.

“Oh? You do? You really like it when I’m mean to you?” He nods his head quickly, still looking down in embarrassment. Well, this is already going better than I could’ve ever hoped. “Hm, I think I can do that for you. How about you show me how good that tongue really feels, to start off?” You spread your legs suggestively, his head at the perfect level.

Beetlejuice bites his lip in anticipation, his shyness melting away as he’s reminded of getting you off. “Oh yeah, I’ll show you, alright. You have no idea what you’re in for, babes. I’m well-known for my skills in this field, you’ll have the time of y-mmph!” His blathering is interrupted by you grabbing the black tie that hangs around his neck and tugging him closer to you with a swift motion, drawing a whimper from the demon.

“Can’t talk and eat pussy at the same time.”

“Mm, y-you underestimate my abilities…” Beetlejuice always has to have the last word, but he at least doesn’t waste any more time. Tentatively, he slides both of his clawed hands up from your knees to your inner thighs, spreading your legs a bit more to allow more room for his head to fit between them. Your underwear is still on, albeit completely soaked through, which he seems to note with a quiet smug look up at you. In one swift move, he hooks two clawed fingers from each hand around the narrowest strip of the fabric on the sides of your thighs and pulls the garment down slowly, never once breaking eye contact. You’re filled with a nerve-wracking sensation of nakedness as he does this, not just physically, but on a deeper level too. You never realized how deeply revealing it is to have someone watching your expression so shamelessly, gauging your exact reaction as he undresses you. It makes you feel transparent and fully see-through, like a ghost.

Finally, Beetlejuice slips your underwear off of your body fully, twirling it around one of his fingers in pride before pulling back and slingshotting it away with reckless abandon. Returning his head to rest right between your thighs, where there is nothing blocking him from his goal now. You half-expect a stupid remark now that he’s finally right where he’s been aching to be, but he takes you by surprise by just staring at your body in silent reverence for a moment. It’s almost eerie to hear such a long silence from Beetlejuice, who’s made it his full-time career to annoy you up to this point, but it’s kind of flattering at the same time. After a few beats, he seems to shake himself out of his own stupor and looks up at you with a more familiar lopsided smirk.

Before either of you can say anything, he seems to remember that he was given a job to do and begins to unfurl that tongue that you’ve been daydreaming so much about. At full length, it’s about a foot long, forked and striped, always looking like it’s moving of its own accord like a dark slimy tentacle. You’ve seen him loll it out before, so you know good and well what it looks like, but that was always when Beetlejuice was trying to entertain you by acting silly or creepy. In a situation like this, however, it was almost enough to make you feel faint. Consequences be damned, this is the best decision I’ve ever made.

Ever a creature of impatience, Beetlejuice leans down to lick a long, slow stripe starting at the bottom of your pussy and working his way to the top, right up the middle. As soon as he makes contact, you feel as though an electric shock has shot through your lower abdomen. The first thing that your mind registers is how surprisingly cold his tongue is. Sometimes you forget that he’s not a living human and doesn’t have the natural warmth that you’ve come to expect from people. Instead, his body has a natural chilliness to it, and you’ve wondered before if that’s a demon trait or just a Beetlejuice-specific quirk. Either way, the feeling of his long, cold tongue on your pussy is delightfully shocking enough to excite you even more than you could’ve ever expected. He gives another long lick and your hips buck in time without any input from your conscious mind, and you cover your mouth to stifle a moan. Is it just because I was already close, or is Beetlejuice’s tongue actually just the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life?

You don’t get much time to consider this, however, as Beetlejuice notices your full-body reaction, chuckles darkly, and quickly dives back in for more. This time, he’s in it to prove himself, pushing more of his long tongue out to efficiently swirl all around your pussy, going at a speed that would be impossible for a normal human with a normal-length tongue. It’s practically chaotic, but it feels so all-consumingly good that you throw your head back, overwhelmed by the sensation. You reach to grab at his hair, which only seems to spurn him on to move faster, his tongue practically spasming as it writhes against you. It brushes over your inner thighs, your entrance, your clit, practically all of the above at once because of its length, and it’s starting to bring you back to your precipice at an alarming rate.

“F-fuck, Beej…don’t stop, whatever you do, please...” You pull at his hair with more force, putting some power behind your command and drawing a needy whine from the demon. To his credit, he doesn’t stop, and seems to be doing his best to speed up his already-fast work.

If his expression is anything to go by, Beetlejuice seems to take a deep pride in how greatly he’s affecting you in such little time, and he whimpers out little words in between his ministrations. “You-“ He laps at your clit with his pointed tip. “Taste-“ He teases your entrance with the broad side of his tongue. “Delicious…” He draws most of his tongue back into his mouth, only to learn forward to suck on your clit with his whole mouth, his beard tickling your inner thighs as he does.

You’re beyond the point of words, but your thighs tighten around his head to wordlessly show him how close you are. You close your eyes to find a moment’s reprieve from the overstimulation, but when you reopen them, you inadvertently lock eyes with Beetlejuice as he continues to suckle at your clit. You’re blown away by the intense way he looks up at you; his eyelashes are obscuring his eyes in a way that makes him look absolutely beautiful, and weirdly enough, almost sweet and innocent at this angle. This is the moment when you distantly realize you’ve fully lost your mind, but you don’t have long to come to terms with your newfound insanity as your orgasm builds at an exponential rate. Suppressing a lewd sound, you grab fistfuls of his hair, grappling for any sort of leverage as your hips begin to buck against his face and your orgasm is suddenly crashing down on you with the force of a tidal wave. You lean down and wrap your arms around him for fear that you may topple over, still keeping the same tight grip on his hair, which causes his head to pull back forcefully and his face to turn upwards. Your nails dig into his scalp as you ride out the pleasure, eventually releasing his hair when you collapse against his form, your arms draping over his back and chest pressed to his head, feeling boneless and overwhelmingly good. You lean against him for a good few moments, trying to catch your breath and sit back up at the same time.

Beetlejuice stirs slightly beneath you. “No need to rush. I’m doing great right where I am right now. Really, take your time.” You raise an eyebrow, only to quickly realize that your chest is, in fact, pressed directly up against his face. You snort, but remain still for the moment. The only movements in your body are the intense thumps of your heart and the gentle stroking of your hands in Beetlejuice’s hair. After what feels like minutes, you finally pull away from him and prop yourself upright to survey the situation. Specifically, you take in eyefuls of the demon trembling below you, who is looking up at you with a hazy Cheshire grin, licking his lips and very obviously straining against his pants.

You grin salaciously down at where Beetlejuice kneels, reveling in how much you’ve already affected him. “Aw, I bet you’ve been so horny this whole time and still ate me out first without a word. What a good boy.”

His eyes widen. “Fuck, babes…” Beetlejuice openly palms at his clothed dick, making you start to feel warmth between your legs yet again. “S-say that again.”

“That’s not how you ask for something.”

His eyes dart downward as he lets out a shaky sound beneath you, then slowly tilts his head up to meet your gaze. “Please.” The way he whines out the plea is enough to get you a little bit drunk on power. Jesus Christ, this man is gonna be the death of me.

“That’s my good boy.” You hold back a shiver at his immediate and audible reaction. “You really must have wanted this for awhile, the way you’re doing everything I tell you to do so well.”

Beetlejuice moans softly, making no effort to stifle it. “W-well, you did summon me, doll. It’s my job now to make sure you’re totally happy with my work. So, whaddaya say…satisfied with my professional work ethic yet?” He sticks the tip of his tongue out teasingly, eyes lidded.

You giggle at his antics, just as present during sex as they are always. If anything, you’re impressed with his restraint since, so far, he hasn’t pulled any wild reality-bending nonsense to fuck with you while he’s…well, fucking you. “Oh, absolutely. I’d give you a five star review on LinkedIn, no doubt about it.”

He snickers, smiling so wide that his fangs are easily visible. “Hell yeah.”

Looking at him fondly, you move your right hand to untangle itself from his hair and move to scratch at his beard, which Beetlejuice leans into appreciatively. “But y’know, I’m not selfish. You seem a little worked up there, huh? I’d never leave my favorite demon to deal with that all by himself, especially after how good you were to me.” Your hand moves down from his beard, coming to rest on his chest. “How’s about it then, bug boy? You want my hands on your cock?”

Beetlejuice’s big brown eyes are as wide as saucers, and his hair is so vibrantly hot pink that you’re sure it would be blinding in better lighting. “Yes. Please. Oh God, (Y/N), I need you so bad. If you don’t touch me, I’m gonna die and go to whatever’s after the Netherworld, I’m serious.”

“Well, I definitely don’t want that!” You sigh fondly at his dramatics, then pat the space on the bed next to you. “Come on up, I want you right here with me. And lose some of those clothes on the trip up, you’re making me feel underdressed for the occasion.”

“Y-yeah, I can do that.” He wasn’t lying, you really don’t have to ask him twice. He immediately begins shrugging off his iconic striped jacket and slips his suspenders from his shoulders, leaving only his partially-unbuttoned undershirt and tie on below it. He crawls up onto the bed and sits back next to you, mirroring your posture with an air that’s much more shy. Once he’s up, he unbuttons his striped pants and pulls them down enough for his growing erection to be free of their confines, though still trapped in his underwear (also striped, points for staying true to theme). You’d have expected Beetlejuice to be overly confident and full of himself in a situation like this, but now that you’re both in it, this reality-bending, all-powerful demon looks…small. Nervous. Averting your gaze. You feel a need to reassure him overtake you.

“Hey, Beetlejuice? You alright? I know I talk big, but…we don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.” You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Beetlejuice snaps his head up towards you with a wary expression. “No, it’s not that I…I mean, it’s just that…even though I say it, I’ve never…really…” He pauses his jumbled words to collect his thoughts. “It’s different…to have attention on yourself…I guess.” He sighs in frustration and looks away. “Ugh, this is ridiculous. I do want this, I swear I do. I’m just being…stupid.”

“Hey, this isn’t stupid. I’m serious, don’t say that.” You never would’ve expected this level of self-doubt and anxiety from the demon that literally held everybody else in this house captive during a temper tantrum once, but it just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its war crimes. “What can I do to make it better?”

Beetlejuice looks back to you with a vulnerable expression that you wouldn’t have thought him capable of. “Just…keep doing what you normally do, I guess. Like I said, the problem here is me.” He’s quiet for a contemplative moment. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud, so if you ever tell anybody, I’ll feed you alive to a sandworm. For real.”

“I won’t, I promise.” You cross your heart for good measure, making his eyes soften their wary gaze.

“Ok, the thing is, most people have never really…liked me. I know, I couldn’t believe it either, heh. But it’s true, everyone that’s ever summoned me has just used me up for my power and hated me the whole time while doing it. Even if I tried to roll over and do whatever it took to appeal to them, it never worked, so I figured, might as well just do whatever I want if they’ll hate me either way. So that’s what I’ve done, and it made me kinda…not like me, either. I mean, my own mother thought I was a disappointment, so that’s pretty pathetic, right? The closest I got to a friendship was when Lydia summoned me, but I went and messed that up, too. But…” He pushes his forehead against your shoulder so he won’t have to look you in the eye, purple quickly overtaking his hair. “You seemed to like being around me, right? At least a little bit? And I guess I just didn’t want you to see all of me and decide you…didn’t like it, like everyone else. It’s one thing if I do something for you, but I guess it’s…weirdly scarier to let you do things for me. If you do, it’s like I’m not being…useful, or something. See, you can see how ridiculous this sounds, so that’s why it’s just a me being dumb problem.”

You stay quiet for a moment, taking in Beetlejuice’s first words from vulnerable standpoint with you. You don’t want to say the wrong thing and make him regret ever opening up, so you ponder all of the occasions that you’ve spent time with him and bring your hands up to pet his head reassuringly. He can get on my nerves, but for all of his button pushing, I always look forward to his company. He’s silly, and fun, and even unexpectedly sweet at times. “Well…I can agree that it’s a you being wrong problem, at least. Because I do love being around you, Beetlejuice. And I’m sorry that people have made you feel less-than in the past, but I think they’re idiots for missing out on the fun of getting to know you. You don’t need to be “useful” to keep me from leaving, I want to do nice things for you too, no conditions attached. I like you. I want you. You’re perfect as you are.” You press a tender kiss to his forehead.

If Beetlejuice disagrees, he doesn’t say. Instead, he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, trembling enough that you can feel it against your body. “I love you.”

You try to hide how taken aback you are by his words, electing to wrap your arms around him to conceal it. “I love you too.” And the two of you stay just like that for an impossible to determine amount of time, just holding each other gently. You feel wetness against your neck but say nothing and silently hope that you’re doing this right. He loves me. He really said it himself.

After some time, Beetlejuice pulls back and you can finally look at that cute face you’re so fond of again. His expression is sheepish and his hair painted in a gradient of light pink to magenta, tinges of purple confined to the tips of his hair at this point. “Sorry, I ruined the mood there. Not a lotta guys can have a breakdown with their pants down, but as you can see, I am a man of many talents.” His voice is soft, but sounding steadier and more comfortable than it did a few moments before.

You chuckle softly. “Hey, you didn’t ruin anything. I still had no plans of using you for myself only to leave you high and dry.”

“Heh, you mean it?”

“Of course, I mean, as long as you’re up for it.”

“Oh hell yeah, I can bare my soul and still be horny. I can multitask.” A familiar grin lights up his face at the sound of your laughter, his usual personality returning to him bit by bit.

“Good, I still had a lot of things I wanted to do with you. But seriously, if you change your mind at any point, please just tell me. I want you to be comfortable and enjoy yourself, so if you’re not ready, that’s ok.” Part of you realizes that he’s an all-powerful demon who could easily put a stop to anything at a moment’s notice if he felt like it, but another part told you to be extra kind and considerate with him. You want him to know that although he could forcibly end anything he disliked with his powers, he didn’t have to feel the need to use force. You would always respect the power of his words just as much.

He raises his eyebrows. “Heh, look at you, caring about me ‘n’ shit. That works for me, but what, are you plannin’ on tying me up and blindfolding me? Some real kinky shibari shit?”

You pretend to think about it, tapping your chin. “Hm, maybe not this time.” You begin kissing along Beetlejuice’s jawline, stubble scratching at your face as you do. You take the moment to scooch the two of you away from the edge and closer to the center of the bed, with him sitting up against your pillows. Once he’s comfortable, you crawl over to straddle his lap, causing him to groan out a beautiful sound below you. You finally remove your top, ridding yourself of your last piece of clothing before getting to work on him.

“Nice,” Beetlejuice half-whispers, having been watching you slowly peel your shirt off as though he were studying for a test.

“Hey, sounds like I might’ve secured myself that five star review too.”

“Oh fuck yeah, by tits alone. Don’t get me started on everything else, they haven’t even invented a grading scale that goes that high yet.”

You giggle, leaning down to softly kiss his lips and scratch at his beard. Beetlejuice immediately melts to your touch and tilts his head up, giving you easy access to begin trailing downward slowly with your kisses. You move to place kisses along his neck, drinking in the soft sounds that are forming in his throat and causing your lips to vibrate ever so slightly from the rumbles beneath them. Taking your sweet time, you kiss down to just above his collarbone and begin loosening his tie to get at him better. Once it’s wide enough, you slip it overtop his head and let it fall onto the sheets, then you unbutton the last few buttons of his undershirt so that that can slide off of his shoulders as well. Mimicking him from earlier, you chuck the shirt away haphazardly with a satisfied grin.

“Hey, watch the suit, doll,” he quips, with absolutely no bite behind the words. If anything, he just seems a bit breathless. I didn’t think he needed to breathe. Is he just doing that to egg me on?

“I’d rather watch what’s under it, thanks.” You scrunch up your nose playfully and return to your barrage of kisses, happy to now have his bare torso to work with.

“Wow. I’d normally roll my eyes at that, but I’m actually kinda flattered that you’re using lines that are so dumb, they sound like they came from me.”

“Yeah, your Beetlejuice-isms are contagious.” Without his suit, you can better admire that his stomach and arms are a good mix of soft and round and chubby but also pretty strong, giving him a really cute body that you’re getting a bit sick of not having your hands on. Immediately moving to rectify the situation, you pepper kisses and lightly suckle along Beetlejuice’s collarbone. You relish in the heavy rise and fall of his chest under you before moving downward to flick your tongue across his nipple. You’re immediately rewarded with a high-pitched gasp as he arches his back slightly, sending you the cutest pleading look right after. You’re unsure if he’s aware of how strong that kind of positive reinforcement is, but he’ll probably figure it out quickly since you’re already dragging your tongue across his nipple again, bringing one hand up to brace yourself against his bicep and trailing the other down his stomach with one slow, featherlight touch.

Beetlejuice snorts out a giggle between his more lewd sounds and covers his stomach protectively. “H-hey, careful now, I’m ticklish…and add that to the list of things you are not allowed to share with anyone, ever, under any circumstances.”

You chuckle. “I promise.” He looks utterly unconvinced but just pouts his lip wordlessly in embarrassment. I’m really not sure if he knows how cute he is and uses it to his advantage or if this just comes naturally to him. Either option is pretty scary. You move your hand back farther down still to finally graze the top of his clothed dick, fingertips dancing lightly against his strained underwear as you move to fully suck on his other nipple.

“Ughh, you’re such a tease,” he chokes out, moving to cover his face with one hand.

You frown. “Hey, don’t hide from me. It’s not fair if you get to look me in the eye while eating my pussy if I can’t do the same for you when I’m being a cocktease.” Begrudgingly, he grumbles something unintelligible and moves his arm out of his face, looking down at you with faux irritation, causing your smile to only widen. “Wow, your face is almost brighter than your hair right now. Wonder what made that happen.” As you speak, you drag your fingers down his shaft with even more pressure, causing him to make a choked sound. Your hips move to grind down on the thigh that you’re currently sitting astride before you can even think twice about it, the quick friction making you bite your lip to hold in a gasp.

“B-babes, I’m begging ya.” Beetlejuice looks unspeakably horny below you, but you can’t quite resist the thrill of making him work for it.

“Huh, that’s weird, cuz I didn’t hear actually any begging at all, Beetlejuice. But that is a good idea, maybe you should try it.”

“Ohhh, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-”

You bark out a laugh at his immediate and visibly desperate response. If he had any pride before, it seems it had vanished the moment that you first touched him. Taking pity, you finally remove his bottoms completely, feeling quiet satisfaction when his cock is freed and you get to see just how hard he really is. It stands fully erect and leaking precum, matching the color of his flushed face perfectly.

“Y’know, when you actually put in the effort, you’re pretty good at playing nice,” you coo, dragging a single finger up his length from bottom to top.

Beetlejuice represses a shiver and instead lets out a low growl. “Careful, I can still flip you over and rail you into the bed ‘til you can’t speak if I feel like it.”

“Not that a little power struggle with you doesn’t sound awesome, but I have a feeling you won’t do that tonight. Like you said, you want me to be mean to you.” You punctuate your sentence by grabbing his twitching dick and lightly squeezing, enough to make him squirm. “You want to see what I’ll do to you if I have control.” As if challenging him to say otherwise, you begin slowly pumping his cock, looking him directly in the eye as you run your hand up and down his shaft.

Beetlejuice breaks eye contact first, unable to hold your intense gaze as he’s slowly pleasured. “M-maybe, but I still have a good memory. Next time I’m in a more dominating kind of mood, you’ll b-be sorry y-mmph!” Whatever he was about to say is quickly silenced by you running your thumb over the slit of his cock and then immediately picking up the pace of your strokes, causing Beetlejuice to descend into a cacophony of moans that he isn’t even attempting to keep at a reasonable volume level.

You pause your ministrations. “Shh, Beej, other people live here! You want Charles to know you’re getting your shit rocked all the way from his home office? Or the Maitlands in the attic?”

He tilts his head to lean further back into your soft pillows, looking as though he’s truly considering his position on the idea. “Mm, well, my brain is telling me you want to hear a no, but my humiliation kink is just giving me a resounding yes.” This little shit.

You sigh and shake your head, only to catch something you’d forgotten on the bed not long ago out of the corner of your eye. Immediately, you’re struck with a wondrous idea. You grab Beetlejuice’s black tie from where it had been strewn across the bed and ball it up in your hand. Beetlejuice watches you carefully with a confused expression, tilting his head at your handiwork. Once finished, your eyes glisten with a mischief usually more common to his face.

“Open.” With a single word, you cause Beetlejuice’s entire expression to shift into one of shock, but certainly not in a bad way. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say a word, only shoots you what you can only describe as a proud, horny grin and opens his mouth wide, saliva practically dripping from his lips and fangs. This turns you on way more than expected, and you find yourself mentally debating with yourself on whether it’s sexy in a gross way or gross in a sexy way, before ultimately coming back to your senses and stuffing the tie into his mouth as a gag before you could think on this any further.

Beetlejuice adjusts the tie with his tongue to properly fit. He tries to speak, but the only thing that ends up coming out is something like, “Mm fhh dmmm.”

You giggle at his attempt. “Well, if you need to tell me anything important, I think you’ll need to take that out first.” He narrows his eyes in a look that very clearly communicates yeah, no shit. But he doesn’t make any attempt to remove it, so it must not have been very important. Satisfied with your new setup, you return your hand to his cock, pumping as slowly as you had been in the beginning to get him started.

Beetlejuice, however, is not having it. He nearly knocks you off of where you’re straddling him by violently bucking his hips up into your hand. You carefully reposition your naked body as he finds a way to smirk at you through his gag, because of course he can do that. If he can’t make noise, he can easily find another way to make his impatience crystal clear to you.

“I’m sure you think you’re funny, but the more time you spend playing bull-rider, the less likely I am to let you cum anytime soon.” Your words immediately cause his hips to twitch upwards, but he seems to keep himself under better control this time. Of course, knowing Beetlejuice, he’ll probably do it again within the minute if he thinks it’ll push your buttons and/or result in you possibly edging him. You decide to cut him off at the pass by grabbing his dick and vigorously jacking him off without any warning. His eyes practically bug out of his head in surprise before high-pitched moans and squeals start to pour out of him, significantly quieted by the gag in his mouth but still plenty audible enough for you to enjoy. And enjoy you do, keeping up your brutal pace as he squirms deliciously under your touch. Not content to be the only one taken by surprise, he grabs at your chest and begins squeezing with reckless abandon, rolling your nipples under his clawed fingers as he lets out a stifled cry. Between focusing on giving the handjob of your life, drinking in Beej’s reactions, and having your nipples roughly played with, you don’t even realize that you’re rocking your naked pussy against his thigh until you can feel your own arousal rising again.

Though you’re certain you could reach another orgasm if you just keep at it, you decide to slow down so your brain doesn’t fizzle out and forget to focus on making your demon happy. Instead, you lift your body up to bring your face right up to his, slowing your hand motions. Before anything else can happen, you spare yourself a moment to really look at Beetlejuice’s face from slightly below, and what you see in his eyes makes you almost cum untouched. He’s desperately close, almost lost in the sensations you’ve wrapped him in, but still anchored tight to you by gaze alone. If he wasn’t gagged, he would almost certainly be begging again, if he could get any coherent words in between his moans. As it stands, he looks like he’d give you anything in the world right now as long as you keep looking at him and keep touching him. And you’re happy to oblige.

“Gonna cum, Beej? You look preeeetty close.”

He cries out a muffled sound at your words, his hips practically shaking as he wordlessly begs for more, his pleading eyes inches away from your own, scanning your expression for any sign of acquiescence. Fun as it may be to play with him, I shouldn’t toy with him too much for right now. Wouldn’t really be fair after how well he’s treated me.

“Alright.” With a single word, you cease the cruel slow strokes that you’d been teasing him with and swiftly return to the frenzied, messy pumping of his cock that made him arch his back and practically scream beneath his gag. You’re relentless this time, keeping up the sloppy pace while you bring your free hand up to cup his cheek. You would’ve tilted his head to make him look at you, but he’s already been locked onto you since the beginning and you don’t think you’d be able to make him look away now if you tried. You feel dizzy and it’s intoxicating. “Cum for me, Beetlejuice.”

With a moan that almost renders his gag useless and the distant unexplained sound of fabric ripping, Beetlejuice cums hard, coating your hand and belly as you’re leaned over him in a fluid that resembles human semen way more than you actually expected. After fully finishing, he collapses back for a moment, removing the gag from his mouth himself and catching his metaphorical breath. You allow your own worked-up body to lay more comfortably against his chest while he comes down from everything.

“Ok, don’t be mad, I think I may have ripped up your mattress a little bit.” He opens one eye to peek out at you, as though actually expecting you to be angry with him. Sure enough, you look at where his hands were gripping the sheets on either side of him and see distinct, deep claw marks raking down the surface of the bed.

You hum noncommittally to yourself. “Well, I can’t really be mad about something that boosts my ego like that.” Instead you look down at the mess that’s been made of you and consider what to do about it.

Beetlejuice’s eyes follow yours down. “It does glow in the dark, if you were wondering.” His lips twitch upwards, looking quite proud of his fun fact.

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Oh?” Beetlejuice offers a smug smile, then dims the dull lights of your room with his powers until they’ve fully shut off. Sure enough, your entire stomach, hand, and part of your bed is glowing a fluorescent green, his signature shade. He flashes a proud smile at the sight of it. “Told ya so!”

“Ok, color me impressed.” You swipe some of the liquid from your stomach with a finger, studying it inquisitively. “Hey BJ, are you radioactive? If I taste this, will I die?”

Beetlejuice’s face flushes so badly, you can even make it out in this poor lighting. “Uh, no, but I might…”

“Oh, awesome.” You stick the finger of glowing cum in your mouth, relishing the taste of your favorite demon. It’s not too different from a human’s, but it does have a faint taste of sweetness, almost like green apple candy or something. It was certainly fitting for him. “Hey, bring those lights back up, I’m dying to see your mood ring hair unlock new shrimp colors when you see me licking up your cum.”

Wordlessly, Beetlejuice brings back enough light to see each other well in. You’re a bit disappointed to not see any new colors yet undiscovered by man in his hair, but in reality, you may have maxed out the hot pink’s vibrancy today. What you are surprised to see, however, is Beetlejuice’s dick already hardening again as you take another lick of his cum from your palm.

You blink in surprise. “Woah, how are you already getting horny again that fast? Do you have some kind of penis-based superpower that you’ve somehow never mentioned despite you being yourself?”

Beetlejuice lowly chuckles to himself, making shivers run down your back at the tone. “Eh, sort of? See, demons aren’t like humans in that we can all go multiple rounds, regardless of equipment, no problemo. We very often have enormously high libidos that a delicate little breather like you could never hope to keep up with, but hey, you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.” He raises and lowers his eyebrows like a suggestive idiot.

You absentmindedly play with the tufts of hair behind his ears. “Well, you got me there. I’m down for another round if you are. I’ve wanted to ride you for months now, so the spirit is certainly willing.”

“Fuck yeah I am! I’m beyond willing! As long you know that I’ve got the stamina of a cheetah and can totally outlast you on this.”

“I’m pretty sure cheetahs are known for their great speed but awful stamina.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t give a shit.”

You give an involuntary snort-laugh at his quick retort, causing the demon to beam at you with unmistakable adoration, gently pushing some loose hair out of your face. It’s almost off-putting to see such an unashamedly wholesome expression plastered across the face of a supernatural being that has spent his existence being feared by so many, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t also bring you joy unlike any other to be lucky enough to see him like this. So many people didn’t deserve to, and you aren’t exactly sure what you did to become worthy of the privilege, but you won’t question it.

“Here, allow me to level the playing field,” Beetlejuice says, snapping his fingers. You whip your head around the room, but nothing appears to have changed.

“Uh, what exactly did you do?”

“Oh, nothing. I just soundproofed the room for a little bit. I wanna hear you scream, babes.” His eyes narrow at you as his arms engulf you in a light embrace, pulling you closer. His claws come up to rest on your shoulders, the pinpricks pressing against your skin and threatening to break it.

You raise a teasing eyebrow. “You…couldn’t have done that from the beginning?”

“I like the thrill of possibly getting caught, sue me! But hey, if this is what it takes to get you loud, well, I’ll make the sacrifices that I gotta.”

“You really wanna hear me that bad, huh?” Beetlejuice shakes his head so hard it looks as though it should be making a cartoonish sound effect. “Well, I’d honestly love to hear you without that gag too, so I guess we’re in the same boat.” You lift yourself back up to better straddle his naked body again, hovering just above his erect cock and flashing him a sly smile. “Now fuck me, demon boy.”

Beetlejuice’s eyes widen. “Oho, with pleasure.” More than happy to comply, he grabs onto your hips with his clawed hands and gently but firmly maneuvers you down to line up with the head of his dick.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, causing the demon to whine softly below you. After a moment, you’ve fully lowered yourself down and sheathed him inside of you, a full but not at all uncomfortable fit. You give it a moment of stillness to adjust before rocking your hips a bit, feeling his dick twitch inside of your cunt as you do. He immediately reacts by moaning loudly and snapping his hips up against you like a man possessed.

“Fuck, Beej…” You groan at almost a growl pitch, the feeling of him moving inside you almost too much at once.

“Mm…could do better…that sound was only maybe a three outta ten. I’ll have to-mmph-up my game.” God, it is just like this guy to make pleasuring me into a game. I guess I’m not complaining, though. As if on cue with your thoughts, Beetlejuice grabs your back just below the shoulder blades to quickly pull you in close to his chest, his claws applying enough force to definitely leave some red marks in their wake but not enough to hurt badly. The sudden dig of his claws only causes you to start rocking your hips at a faster pace, making it plainly obvious how much you enjoy him handling you so roughly.

“Y-you can try, but I doubt you’ll be able to hear me over yourself soon.”

Beetlejuice responds with silence, which you’ve learned usually means he’s planning to do something that he doesn’t want you to know about. From where you’re pressed against his upper chest, you can’t quite see his face either unless you craned your neck to look up towards him. You don’t slow down your speed, but do feel a sense of horny dread wash over you at his continued silence. Suddenly and without warning, you feel sharp fangs sink into the vulnerable back of your neck where your shoulder connects. It’s so unexpected and hurts so good that you erupt into a chorus of shuddering gasps, unable to even form sentences as Beetlejuice keeps biting and sucking at your neck. His claws keep your squirming body in place as he continues his barrage, and you feel him smiling wider and wider into your skin the more noisy that you get. It’s so good, so overwhelmingly good, having him inside of you while also using those fangs that you love so much on you at the same time. You’re struck with the realization that you can’t let him play you like a fiddle so well without fighting back. Before you can think twice, you turn your face into the crook of his neck right above his collarbone and bite down on the skin even harder than he’s biting at you. You may not have fangs, but you are determined nonetheless.

“Jesus FUCK, (Y/N)!” Beetlejuice is forced to pause his bites to yelp a few similar exclamations. “Ohoho, you’re lucky I’m a demon freak who doesn’t mind being ripped a new collarbone, cuz wow.”

An apology half-forms in your mouth before you realize that that was probably his weird way of complimenting you rather than sarcasm. “Well, m-maybe now, after this, you’ll get to go through what I went through every time you flashed your stupid teeth in public.”

Beetlejuice pulls his head back so his face is in your view again, and you slow your rocking against him just a bit out of curiosity. He’s sporting a growing smile that looks practically delighted.

“Hold up, were you really that into my fangs from all the way back when? You had it that bad?”

You flush at his wording of a situation that you, personally, do not find as humorous as he seems to. “Hey, it’s not like it was just that. It was…all of you, I guess. Every little thing you did turned me on basically all the time, and, as you can imagine, it was a living nightmare.” You realize that that doesn’t exactly make you sound less like a pervert, but it also doesn’t help that his cock is still twitching inside of you and you can’t exactly think straight at the moment.

“Wow, so every time I was around you, you were just being a grade A horndog!” Beetlejuice cackles at his own joke. He is the only one laughing. “Aww, looks like we’re more alike than we thought! Cuz, I mean, you were doing the exact same thing to me all the time, so. Fair’s fair.”

You groan. “Oh my God, you were literally going through the exact same thing? We could’ve fucked ages ago and put ourselves out of that misery!”

He snorts. “Hey, it’s fine. Y’know what? I’m glad it turned out just how it did. Honest.” Your starry-eyed demon lifts a claw to gently cup your jawline.

You put your own hand on top of his. “Yeah, same here.”

Beetlejuice grins, then his face immediately shifts. “All right, I’ve done a lot of talking and now I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you have visions of the Netherworld. Boobs in my mouth, please.”

“HA!” You practically double over at his sudden mood shift, wiping a tear from your eye. “I’ll hold you to that, big guy.”

Before you can even start rocking, Beetlejuice takes things into his own hands and starts thrusting up into you at a fairly speedy pace. He’s holding your hips to keep you balanced, as well as maneuvering them to drive himself into you better. The angle that he’s hitting you at is already starting to make you see stars, and you roll your hips to meet him in time. Apparently, he was not kidding about the boobs in his mouth request, as he leans his head forward to latch onto your left nipple, sucking and ever-so-slightly grazing it with his sharp teeth. To make matters worse, he grabs the other with his claw and begins rolling his thumb over it, all while keeping his eyes locked onto yours, just as he did the last time his mouth was on you. It’s all so good, you can already feel your orgasm building again.

“Oh, don’t stop, Beej, that’s so good…” You’re nearly at the precipice again, focusing your energy on getting up and over. The image in front of you is certainly helping get you there, as Beetlejuice is truly giving it all he has at the moment. His expression shows that he’s right on the edge as well, as you focus on his beautiful brown eyes looking up at you with unmistakable love and lust. “Mm, Beetlejuice…” His long tongue wrapping itself around your nipple… “Beetlejuice…” His cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you... “B-!”

Suddenly, you find two hands clamped over your mouth with surprising force. “Don’t.” The word comes out as a snarl next to your ear, taking you by surprise and sending a shiver down your whole frame. Before you can recover, an erratic snap of his hips sends you hurtling over the edge, an orgasm so intense that it makes your ears ring and your other senses dull for the duration. You moan loudly against his hand, which hasn’t yet moved and doesn’t do much to muffle your sounds of pleasure. Moments later, Beetlejuice moves to grab onto your hips and presses deep into you, holding you in place above him and filling you up with more of his otherworldly cum, all the while letting out gasping moans of his own like a man drowning. After filling you to his satisfaction, his arms fall limply to his side and you slump against him, both dazed and overstimulated. You catch your breath while Beetlejuice seems to be going through a factory reset, his eyes wide open and blinking harshly.

After gathering himself, he finally speaks. “Babes, I love you, but you really gotta get this name thing down if you don’t want me to suddenly poof away when I’m balls-deep inside of ya.”

You look at him sheepishly. “Heh, yeah, sorry. Good save though!” You finally lift yourself off of his dick, rolling your body haphazardly off of him to lay down at his side more comfortably.

He snorts. “Yeah, I bet you enjoyed me putting a stop to that. I’m thinking next time, I act like that from the start and we’ll see whose better at bossing who around.”

You begin lightly tracing patterns on his chest, resting your head on his bicep. “Oh yeah? And what if I wasn’t finished bossing you around yet?”

“Well, then you can peg me about it the next time!”

You giggle at his response while simultaneously filing it away for another day. Smiling into his bare skin, you feel your heartbeat begin to stabilize after quite a long period of elevation. Beetlejuice is still chilly to the touch, but in a way that unexpectedly comforts you, like a soft pillow after being flipped over in the middle of the night.

“Can we flip?” The demon’s sudden request paired with his big eyes meeting yours takes you out of your musings.

“You want to lay on me? Sure, c’mere.” You move to your back, patting your chest for him to lay on. He doesn’t hesitate, snuggling his head into a cozy position on your chest, his left cheek pressing up against your collarbone and his tussled pastel pink hair barely reaching up to tickle your neck. He’s in the perfect spot for you to drape your arms across his frame protectively, your hands coming up to gently rest on his shoulder and the side of his face. Your hands are tired and still, but even in a passive state, you find them needing to touch Beetlejuice without asking for your input. Even if it’s just the comforting brush of your fingers against his jawline, you can’t resist the ache to be close to him.

Beetlejuice leans into your touch. “Mm…you feel so nice…” He tilts his head so that his ear is pressed against your chest and practically melts against you. “Heh, I’ll never get used to that sound. Never thought I’d get to hear it so close, but it’s even better like this.” Your heartbeat instinctively quickens just a bit at his comment, and you feel Beetlejuice’s lips curl up in a smile. “Cute how I can change the tempo at will like that. Like the best radio in the world, babes.”

You blow air from your nose and kiss his head from above, mostly just getting his hair in the kiss from the angle you’re at. “I like your chilliness, you like my heartbeat…I’m starting to think this may work out for us after all!”

The demon snorts, repositioning his head to your shoulder so he can look you in the eye better. “Y’know, I really thought my awesome cock and subsequent use of it would be the thing that made you think that, but whatever seals the deal for ya, doll!”

“That too.” You sigh and close your eyes. “So, what are we gonna tell the others?”

“Uh, you got so horny after I annoyed you one day that you fucked me about it?”

“Beetlejuice, we are not telling people that.”

“Sorry, that you fucked me and you fucked me good. Better?” Your raised eyebrow is enough of an answer on its own. “Hm, and I thought you were a fan of honesty. Well, suit yourself. We can think of something more PG later, it’s not like we have to tell anyone tonight.”

“Well, I guess you are right on that front. I’ll think of a nice and polite way to bring it up at the family dinner table later.”

“Yeah, plus it’ll be a shitshow either way. They’re all gonna say that you’re too good for me, which yeah, fair.”

You brush some loose hairs out of his face reassuringly. “They can think whatever they wanna think. Doesn’t make ‘em right.” You kiss his lips gently, with the soft whisper of a promise at the edge of your own lips guiding your touch. “I love you, Beetlejuice.”

Beetlejuice looks so utterly overwhelmed by emotion after you speak that he can only think to immediately bury his face against you silently. He’s holding so tight to you, as though you could disappear at any moment if his grip slackens. Like you’re his lifeline. After multiple moments of heavy breathing directly against your skin, he manages to barely choke out a response. “Ditto.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the demon, rubbing circles into his back as a comfort. “Just rest now, baby. You did great.”

Beetlejuice looks up at you in relief. “Oh God, thanks for saying that. I’ve been drowsy since we stopped, I just didn’t wanna leave you alone.” Never would’ve guessed him as the most considerate type, but he sure loves to prove me wrong.

“No worries Beej, I’ll be right here next to you. I’m not going anywhere. You can sleep.”

With those last affirmations, Beetlejuice’s eyes almost immediately droop shut as he begins snoring lightly, asleep at an impressive speed for a demon or human. It’s pretty cute how tired he must’ve been before you told him to rest, you didn’t even know for sure if demons wanted and/or needed sleep til now. Yet here he is, making deep contented rumblings from the back of his throat, his head and torso acting like a soft weighted blanket on top of you. The presence of him sleeping soundly on you is deeply comforting, both physically and emotionally. This demon, who’s lived a million lifetimes and dealt with more shit than I could imagine in both the world of the living and dead, trusts me enough to fall asleep on me. He trusted me enough to talk to me about his feelings during sex. Beetlejuice, of all people. Even if I told someone as understanding as one of the Maitlands about that, I don’t think they’d really believe me. Or even really get it.

You reach one arm down to pull a sheet up over the both of you sloppily, just to have something covering you both. Human instincts for avoiding being preyed on by demons in the night always persist, despite your unique situation. As you adjust you pillow to make yourself comfortable for the night, you run your fingers through Beetlejuice’s hair, which is now settling back into its default green without any more external stimuli. You wonder bemusedly if it ever changes color in his sleep, then feel a peaceful rush of happiness when you realize that you’ll have ample time and opportunity to find out the answer. Overtaken by a quiet joy, you quickly lean your head over to kiss him goodnight on the forehead, trying everything in your power to somehow physically materialize this feeling of affection for Beetlejuice that is so strong and all-consuming, just so you could hold it so close that nothing bad would ever happen to it. In lieu of that impossibility, you hold Beetlejuice tighter in your arms instead, with the same goal in your mind.

Author’s Note: this took me an indefensible amount of time to write and if i look at it for another second i’ll go crazy so please take it and look at it with your own eyeballs so that mine can rest. on the fun side, can you tell that characters who always flirt with others by making bold sexual references but end up actually being really flustered and submissive when the other person finally reciprocates are my favorites? anyways i wanna pick this guy up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, he is so special to me. originally this fic was supposed to be way less emotional but sometimes you’re writing and a character decides to have a breakdown halfway through a scene and you just gotta deal with that curveball when it’s coming at you. but i’m pretty happy with how it turned out, and i hope you guys enjoyed it too. thanks for reading! edit: hey you, want some more? i finally made a sequel lol (x)

[bokettochild]

came back wrong sounds like a very wild thing

and maybe twi could have obedience? something about wolfie and training could be angsty.

If no one suggested that one for Wild, I wanted to do it anyways LOL

Since I already posted Day 4 elsewhere, I'll give you Day 16 personally <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 8,047

Summary: Coming back changed the Hero of the Wilds, and he's known it for a while. he's not sure how much changed, although he's happy to let Zelda and Purah try and find out. He does know though that there's a certain sort of power that lurks under his skin now, one capable of many things, but it comes with one great disadvantage: he doesn't know how to make it stop once he's started to employ it.

(This is set in the Inner Hero AU, so there are references to the other fics of that series, so consider this your warning!)

-

  It’s no great secret to anyone in Hyrule that there’s something Wrong with their hero. Since the shrine of resurrection, he isn’t what those who once knew him remember, and even those who’d never met the him from Before can sense that their hero isn’t exactly like the rest of them. Most of them accept that oddness as just another quirk or some such, just something intrinsic to Link, the weird kid who wanders the kingdom and somehow is also the hero that defeated the Calamity. 

  The Zora accepted it as a change brought by time, much as their own selves have all become altered in the hundred years since last they saw him. Maybe they know too; maybe they’re just too polite to say, but they never fuss about it. 

  Zelda knows though. She’s told him plainly that she knows he’s not what he used to be. He’s still him, she assures, because she knows the smile he spares for his mounts and recognizes the little habits he’d never have suspected she’d caught before the Calamity occurred. He’s still him, she says, but he’s More now too. 

  He came back different. 

  Purah and Zelda have looked into it, with his permission. He's sat and watched his girls sit with their head’s together over tests and papers and results as they try to understand how he’d changed. It’s nice, in a way. He's not very involved and, in many ways, he feels as though they forget at times that he’s able to hear them and the clinical way they refer to their study of him, but it’s not with any ill intent that they do so. In fact, it’s sort of nice to slip into the background of their minds and watch them at their most natural, see their bright smiles and hear them talk over each other and cut each other off in their excitement as they come to similar conclusions 

  He treasures the time spent up at the tower above Hateno, He treasures the time where he can simply exist as he is beside those he cares about, watching them bustle about doing what they love while he can finally rest in peace, knowing that his work is done, that nothing calls him out and that he can linger there as long as he pleases, without guilt. He can see what he was denied; Zelda’s joy, her eagerness, her freedom, and enjoy his own as well. 

  It’s good. 

  Returning to the rest of the world though, he’s always reminded again of how illy he fits among them. Magic has faded from the land of Hyrule, but he is steeped in it. Those around him walk with only the slightest bit of the power of heaven in their veins, yet his body overflows with magic that seeps out of the cracks left by his death. Zelda has compared him to the broken pottery he leaves across the kingdom, cracked and damaged by his adventure, and from those cracks, the power that twisted up with his own to bring him back from the brink now ekes out into the world, twisting and strange. Hylians aren’t meant to understand the feeling of Death’s touch, she says, eyes solemn and wary, lip pulled between her teeth as she’ll scan his face for signs of pain or sadness at her words. He knows she means well to do so, but he understands, and there’s really no need to be sad over such a thing. 

 He’s not normal, but it’s not their fault, and as they still accept him, still treat him with kindness, he feels little hurt for the changes that occurred to bring him to their sides. It’s a sacrifice he’d make again, even knowing what it will do. Watching Hyrule flourish in the wake of the Calamity, watching their victory paint the world anew in life and prosperity for their people, it’s worth dying and being pieced together again for, even if what holds his once drifting soul to his broken body is a magic no one can explain to him. 

  Life is good as long as he learns to hold back the worst of the magic, keep it tamed and keep his temper in check, which is hardly any struggle around most people. There are a few, certain people who drive him crazy and make him want very much to do things a hero ought not, but he holds himself back, and when Zelda really wants him to test himself, to see how much he can restrain the twisting Thing that has become part of him, she’ll challenge him to deal with those people. Really, they make it a game, so even if those people do drive him mad, seeing Zelda beam and mumble to herself at what they’ve learned from such encounters makes it worth it. 

  For her, he’d do anything. After all, he’s already died for her, what worse is there? 

  Well, as it would seem, leaving her behind for the sake of undertaking a new journey is worse. She’s happy in Hateno, capable of defending herself with both her magic and the archery her family is renowned for across the ages. She’s not as good as he is with a bow, but it’s a near thing, and he has no doubt that one more trip to Rito village, one more study session with Tulin and Teba, is all it will take before his princess can out-do him with his own preferred weapon.  

  Even knowing she can handle herself just fine doesn’t make leaving her behind any easier though. He’s still not sure how he’d managed, but he had. He had and he’d stumbled across the other heroes, joining them in their quest. It’s not perfect, not by any means, they’ve found peace in their new team. While there’s still some settling and sifting to be done before they click together like a real team, they are getting there. 

  He may have thrown a wrench in that process though. 

  See, since meeting the heroes, his magic has been rather well behaved. None of them rub him the wrong way, and while he isn’t exactly friendly with them all, they’re not the sort of people who push his boundaries or upset him either. He can co-exist beside them, and in many ways they remind him of the champions. He’s not sure how Time would feel knowing that in many ways he makes the cook think of Chief Urbosa, but he thinks Twilight might get a laugh out of being compared to Daruk. Of course, not everyone has similarities to the champions; Warriors isn’t like anyone he’s met before and he doubts he’ll ever meet anyone like him again, but it’s there for the rest. It's mostly just small things; they are, after all, their own persons, but finding something familiar to define them with makes approaching and working beside them easier. Four possesses the same quiet strength as Riju, Legend the certainty and experience of Teba, and Sidon’s wit and charm peeks through the traveler’s smile at times. Using what he knows about other people, about those he knew before, he can navigate the group with some decency. There's hiccups and there’s snags, but fortunately, they rarely if ever involve him, and never his magic. 

  Until now. 

  He sits back and tries to learn when he finally realizes that the others have magic spilling out from their cracks as well. Warriors is fire and Twilight is rich earth, Somehow, Legend is the force that quiets both, and despite a harsh outwards demeanor, the man holds a surprising amount of sway over the group as a whole. 

  In many ways, Legend reminds him of the Zelda from Before. There’s a potential for something bright and warm and rambling, something that would flourish if left alone and free to its own will, but like his princess, the vet restrains it for some reason or another. Duty drove Zelda, and he thinks something similar leads the vet, because no other factor has yet appeared. It’s there though, that warmth and light, mixed with a strength that is regarded and respected even if it isn’t followed. Legend is no leader, but his word has power, and they all listen to what he has to say in regards to what it is that they face. Not only that, but the vet’s magic is a twisting, free thing that is embraced and clung to by those in their gathering. 

  Warriors and Twilight seek its peace, and Sky urges it forwards with bright smiles and open arms as he somehow slips past the thorns of trailing magic to get at the hidden blossoms beneath. Time, in his own way, accepts it, although he does little with it. Wind seeks it, and Hyrule, whether the traveler seems to realize it or not, has tuned himself to it.  

  Wild may be clueless as to how people work normally, but he can understand magic. He can see how Hyrule’s flickering and dancing light embraces the magic of the veteran, and while he doesn’t grasp where the older ones do, he does linger and bask in it. 

  Wild doesn’t blame him. Legend’s magic feels like safety, like the goddess statues across Hyrule, the ones that quiet his soul and the twisting of his mind to grant him peace and rest even when he’s at his worst. Hylia, they say, is a goddess of Life, so it’s natural that her light would ease or even erase the darkness of Death. He's not sure how Legend’s magic echos that of the goddess, like the moon reflecting the suns rays even once the bright star has faded from view, but he welcomes that warmth and light all the same. 

 Losing that light affects them all. They are, after all, all beings of light, so losing the source that travels with them, having it snuffed out or hidden, leaves all antsy and ill at ease, and he doesn’t blame them. He still doesn’t appreciate Hyrule’s approach to fixing it though. 

  They’d talked, and maybe he'd let his own worries and insecurities spill over. Maybe he’d not correctly portrayed what he thinks he’d seen in the face of their brother when the vet had had Claims explained to him, but what really bothers him is how quickly his words were cast aside, how quickly Hyrule had returned to twining his magic with Legend’s own, laughing and chatting like nothing had happened and he hadn’t tried to tie down a ray of light itself. 

  He’s seen people try to tame light, bend it to their will and force it to linger rather than shine over the world as intended. His princess was never meant to stay locked in a castle, hidden in dark rooms to pray for power she wasn’t allowed to seek on her own terms; to find within herself what had always been. Seeing her free now, riding where she will and doing what she wants, he sees that light realized, knows the same could be found if Legend is allowed to do the same, as he’s expressed wanting. Light doesn’t belong to anyone after all, but to everyone, although they can’t hold it or keep it. Legend feels the same, at least with their group, and he wishes Hyrule would understand that. 

  The problem is, he’s not sure how to talk to vet about it. 

  Twilight, Warriors, Sky and Hyrule all feel free to approach, but Wild has never had anything with which to connect himself to the vet, no foundation for a friendship. They're such different people, and he’s not so blind as to have missed how the vet recoils when his own magic flares and hisses along the edges of the others in camp. His magic, the twisting, festering, darkness of it, entwines with Zelda’s like second nature, both dimming each other to the point of being null. In contrast, he lacks the familiarity with the vet to do the same, and instead, Life’s light flickers and hides when he loses control of the darkness of Death. 

  He wishes it wasn’t so, but it is. 

  How does fire that burns and earth that tends to smother have such a way to twist up with light, yet the un-named otherness of his own soul can’t find a harmony of its own? 

  “Wild, hey, focus.” 

  He shakes himself, staring up at Twilight where the other is standing next to him with a worried look on his face. “Huh?” 

  “You good?” The rancher asks, “you drifted out again.” 

  It wasn’t a memory, but it strikes him that he has, in fact, been sitting here unmoving for the last twenty minutes or so, and that’s probably just a bit worrying to the others. “Yeah, just lost in my head.” 

 The man frowns, settling himself down slowly on the loam underfoot so he’s sitting at Wild’s side, dark stare searching over him as though for an injury of some kind. “Anything on your mind?” 

  Does he tell? He can’t help the way his eyes drift to where the vet and captain sit back to back by the fire, Hyrule so close his knees are almost touching the vet’s as they face each other and chat, busy at work with their sewing and magic even as the captain writes what’s probably a report to his princess. They look at peace, somehow already over the latest hiccup of their group and already resettling into place as though it never happened, as though the subject of Claims never came up at all. How can do they do it? 

  He shakes his head. “Just thinking is all.” The doubt on the face of the other is soothed with a smile, dark gaze softening at the sight of flashing teeth. “Not memories or anything, I promise.” 

  “If you’re sure...” 

  “I am,” he says again, chuckling slightly for extra good measure. “At worst, I’m a bit homesick, at best, just confused, and considering this is me,” he laughs again, watches the face of his brother relax into one of those easy smiles they are al so used to, “I’m pretty sure that’s just normal.” 

  A heavy hand claps down on his shoulder, squeezing slightly, and despite the lingering concern in the rancher’s face, he is smiling. “If you’re sure. Remember though, pup, I’m here if ya need me.” 

  “I know.” He smiles in return, but beneath, his magic seethes just a bit. Twilight is great, Twilight is amazing, Twilight is there if he needs something and always offers a shoulder to lean on, and he’s incredibly thankful for that. But the rancher is also against the idea of using most magics, and despite the fact that he knows Twilight would never resent them for their own use of the stuff, his choice being personal preference rather than a hard belief about it in general, it does still mean he’s rather...ignorant, at least when it comes to magic. He can’t help here, and he probably wouldn’t even understand half of what Wild would need to explain. No, because unlike certain people, he doesn’t have a mastery for teaching. Good grief, he wishes Zelda was here, or even Purah, they could explain this mess to him, and maybe help him find a solution. He’s good at fighting and exploring and making things, not magic. He’s not qualified for all of this! 

  At the other side of camp, he sees Wind sit up abruptly, eyes scanning the world around him, wary. He's not the only one either, for Warriors is grabbing his sword as he scans the trees, Legend’s ears are flicking about, seeking something. He doesn’t feel or see or hear anything though, and it’s only when he sees the fiery glow of Hyrule’s gaze on him that he realizes he’s lost control again. 

  His magic really doesn’t do any of them any favors, does it? 

  He needs to gather it up again and tuck it away in a neat little box, watch guards relax again as the heroes puzzle at the sudden disappearance of whatever they’d felt or thought they’d sensed. Warriors gets up and starts patrolling the camp, leaving his own magic twisting here and there, like a spider casting a web, but predictably, he finds nothing to indicate that they are in any danger, even after he and Twilight have checked the forest around them. 

  Honestly, the longer they look, the more he wants to shrink in on himself and just... bang his head against a tree or something. 

  He feels like a threat to those he cares about, and they have no idea, because they don’t know it’s him that makes them jump to an alert and drop what they’re doing to instead prepare for a fight. 

  It’s worse in a fight though. 

  The next time they’re on a battlefield, Warriors leading the charge with Time and Sky, Legend and Four covering their asses and darting around the field to take out the threats that creep up upon the others, it slips loose. The problem is that it’s his monsters they’re fighting, recognizable by the fact that they’re not nearly as horrific to look at as the creatures from nearly all the others’ eras. He knows them, and they know him, and its sort of his habit when fighting in his own world, where the likelihood of other people being around is basically null, to just... let go. 

  Magic surges around him, a twisting, snapping thing that creeps and twists and twines over and around the enemies, driving them into a state of frenzy at the threat of something, something that their senses can’t pick up, but their souls can feel all the same; feel creeping over them, ready to snatch, to grab, to destroy. Death is scary to the creatures that aren’t familiar with its touch, and even those that act as it’s messengers tremble when the focus of Death is turned from their prey and onto themselves. The bokoblins run about attacking anything that moves, including each other, and it makes sweeping in and slaying them so much easier than if he was just fighting like the others do. 

  It helps that the monsters have come to know to associate the creeping presence of Death with his face, and they know, even before his sword slips across their throats or through their chests, exactly what’s coming. The ones that have met him before, brought back by red moons and dark malice, only fear it more with experience, and it’s sort of...satisfying, unleashing it all and watching the enemy panic, half knowing what’s coming to them and the other half unaware but just as panicked. 

  Once they’ve all fallen though, there’s always one little problem, one he’d sort of forgotten about. 

  “What the heck is this?” It’s Legend calling out, eyes wide, stance wide, sword gripped in one hand and fire rod in the other as his gaze flicks across the field; searching, looking.  Similarly, Warriors is staring about with that glinting look in his eyes, teeth bared, and ears pricked back, a dragon ready to surge out and rip something apart the moment it reveals itself. All the heroes are still looking about for the final threat, and Wild- 

  Wild can’t control the magic. 

  It happens, sometimes. If he leans into his magic, he can’t tame it so easily. It’s like a particularly eager stallion; plunging ahead no matter how he leans back in the saddle or tries to turn the creature off course, turn it, slow it, circle until its energy dies and it listens to him again. Magic isn’t an animal he can slow down though, and despite their efforts, neither he nor Zelda have found a way for him to get it under control by himself. They just have to wait until it calms of its own accord, for now. Purah said she’d try and help him find a way to control it, since it’s his, it's part of him, so reasonably he should be able to control it, just like a limb, a muscle, another part of himself physically. Zelda says it’s because it’s still new, still unfamiliar, still something he’s adapting to, so he’s still learning how it’s part of him, like a pup discovering its own wagging tail, although far less innocent because puppy tails don’t have everyone around you preparing to fend off a death blow. 

    Warriors snarls something he can’t make out, something that has the twisting darkness around them surging back in kind.  

  Wild isn’t trying to threaten, he swears. If anything, there’s something in the magic, in himself, that hears the dragon’s threat and eagerly bounces forwards in response. Now is not a good time though, in fact, it’s probably the worst of times. 

  Hyrule’s eyes are turned on him, harsh and just slightly scared, like they had been in the inn room. Still, the other hero darts to his side and, under his breath, unable to be heard by the others past their own panic, the traveler hisses at him. “Can it, champ.” 

  “I can’t,” he hisses back. He’s trying, but he’s fighting against a part of himself that he still can’t understand, and he’s not sure how to bind it back when it’s strong, only when it’s just beginning to peak out and is just the slightest of strains. Now it’s a howling force he can’t keep back, and all attempts are failing badly. 

  “Are you trying?” The embers in those eyes are flickering, but Hyrule’s voice isn’t harsh so much as straining, worried. The gaze of the traveler is trailing over the rest of their group, aware of their panic and doing his best to try and quell the source, but unwilling, Wild realizes, to reveal it. Hyrule has no interest in exposing him, just making him turn it off. 

  The problem though it he can’t. “Yes! It’s not working!” 

  Some very harsh words slip from the tongue of the other, but it’s not hylian. It’s not fae either, which he’d recognize, but something smoother and less lilting. Legend would know it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t suppose it matters either. 

  Flames rise against his darkness, a raging force that shrieks and screams. Hyrule’s ears are pricked back as far as they can go, too many teeth glinting in the fading light of the setting sun, light that sets his face aglow as magic surges in a silent battle around them, one that has Warriors tensing, Twilight balking. Wild can feel the wings of the dragon flaring, the lash of the tail, can almost see the rise of the wolf’s hackles. There’s a crackling energy around their chosen hero, a surge of light from their vet, shields rising against the unseen threat, but Hyrule’s magic surging against his own, lashing and licking along the darkness in a roaring flame that reaches to consume and destroy, has his full attention. 

  He doesn’t try and fight it. Hyrule is pushing back what he can’t handle himself, but the boundaries thrown up around his own power, boxing it in and forcing it back, won’t last, and he knows it. The strain is clear on his brother. He’s not sure how strong his own magic is, but the color is draining out of the traveler’s face, his breath quickening as the whipping and shrieking of the fae’s magic pushes back against the hiss and shadow of Death, steadily pushing it back and bottling it up within some confines the traveler must have forged himself, because it’s not just tucked back into the spot within him that he usually pulls it from. The hand on Hyrule’s sword is turning white with the effort of actions unseen, but he sees the guards of the others lower, sees the strain flow out of their shoulders as, at long last, the magic is bottled up and away, still writhing and twitching, but unable to break free. 

  Honestly, it’s terrifying. He didn’t know Hyrule could do that. 

  The traveler sags beside him, breathing hard as he stumbles, but when he reaches out to catch his brother, Hyrule stumbles back. “No, just....” dark lashes flutter and Hyrule’s lips are slightly grey, “Don’t.” 

  So, he doesn’t. 

  Not too far away, Legend is creeping up into the space of their captain, voice low and wary, like he’s approaching a spooked animal, and like any other time in the past, the moment clarity returns to eyes the color of holy flame, Warriors is dropping his sword and grabbing ahold of his brother, hunching over him as Legend sighs and let’s himself be clutched close, huffing words the rest can’t hear but which have short little ears twitching slightly out of their pricked back position. 

  Similarly, Twilight is checking in with the rest, reaching to touch, to self-assure. Clapping Wind’s shoulder and brushing against Four. Time reaches out to the rancher first, but the touch lingers, both comforting each other and themselves before turning to Sky, who’s sheathing the Master Sword and happily accepts the worry of the others, assuring with a smile and a light nudge to Twilight’s shoulder, eyes bleeding warmth that Wild envies. None of them approach the captain, but Legend calls something to them, huffing and half laughing past the arms wrapped around him, an promise that all is well as his magic soothes twisting scales and quells flames. 

  The warmth of Life surges, like a balm, around all of them. Legend’s reach touching the rest even despite the fact that they seem as blind to his efforts as they had been to the source of their previous fear. 

  “You alright, boys?” Time asks, Twilight at his side as the both move to the sides of their wildlings. Their leader’s eyes linger on Hyrule, and when he reaches out, the traveler lets himself sag against the man’s touch. 

  Hyrule doesn’t like touch, Wild reminds himself, trying to excuse the denial he’d faced at a similar offer. Only Time seems exempt from that rule, and it’s probably only because of the fairy magic that lingers faintly over the other, the remains of an old Claim resting about the edges of his magic to mark him as something not quite fae, but treasured by them all the same. If the traveler reaches for that magic, he doesn’t say anything, and Time doesn’t seem to notice either. 

  “I’m okay,” he answers honestly. The worst effect his own magic had had on him was fear at not being able to control it; not the overwhelming terror that seemed to grip the others that they would fall victim to it. 

  Twilight’s eyes linger on him shortly, but drift away after, apparently accepting his words as truth and determining that the others, still shaken and, in Hyrule’s case, trembling with exhaustion, require his attention more. Still, the rancher grips his shoulder briefly in passing, assuring himself and offering brief comfort to the champion in the process. 

  It’s nice, but as he moves away, leaving their leader and his mentor to tend to the exhausted half-fae, he can’t help but watch the others. Specifically, his gaze trails to where Warriors is sagging against their vet, making the smaller man stumble with a cut off laugh as he pats broad shoulders, magic still twisting and entwining with flames as easily as though they’re naught but harmless air. 

  Life pours across the group of them, a heavy weight that settles across their shoulders with the grace and warmth of a cat climbing up to greet it’s master, its presence a comfort that he wants so bad to catch ahold of and nestle into, like he once had curled at the base of goddess statues when his own power wouldn’t quiet, letting the power of Hylia soothe him when he couldn’t do it himself. He wishes there was a goddess stature here too, because as much as Legend reflects that same power, his arms are rather full of their captain, and the hold of gloved hands in red fabric says that he won’t be free for at least a while more. Not that Wild could ask anyways. He and Legend aren’t close to begin with, asking for the same welcome as is granted to the dragon that has slowly been tamed to his brother’s presence isn’t realistic by any means. Still, it’s easier to hide the writhing presence bottled up by force when he’s slinking closer to the source of comfort in their camp, so if he settles closer to the vet and captain than he normally would that evening, after finishing with making dinner, well, Hyrule’s the only one who really seems to take notice. Warriors is distracted with teasing their sailor, and while Legend’s dark gaze lifts to greet him as he moves over, the man says nothing at his choice of seat, just keeps eating his dinner quietly. 

  Hyrule is staring, a warning look in those eyes when they’re on him, but worry when they turn to the veteran. He doesn’t say anything from where he’s slumped against Time though, across the fire and picking at his food. The traveler is exhausted, and reasonably so. The others don’t know why, so it’s natural that they’re worrying, and the cave dweller hasn’t elected to explain himself either, so they probably will continue to do so for a good while. 

  Despite the camp-fire between them, Hyrule’s magic, weak and tired, has still managed to entwine with the vet’s. Legend answers back with flickers of his own power to the embers that scatter themselves at his feet, assuring and fond, even if there’s confusion in the flicker of his ears, the twitch of his hands and the gaze of starlit violet that turns from time to time to meet faintly glowing embers. 

  Wild doesn’t dare try and sneak his own flickering, snapping power out to try and reach, knowing far too well what the reaction would be, but also wary of the escape of the still writhing power that surges against the wall of flames raised around it. 

  How Hyrule bottled back his strength, he doesn’t know, but it feels dangerously like a weak seal; like golden power meant to keep back evil. He isn’t sure of a lot right now, but the idea of that makes him uneasy and definitely bothers him. He’s not a monster or demon that needs restraining by holy power, but the fact that he’d failed to hold himself back enough that Hyrule would feel the need to take such measures at all is just as pressing a pain to his pride and soul as the action itself. 

  The magic holds though. His soul doesn’t creep and screech against that of the others after that. Doesn’t even surge when his emotions run hot. If anything, it thrashes within its confines, but it doesn’t escape to twist like a net around those he considers friends and brothers. Unfortunately, that also means that it doesn’t emerge when faced with enemies either. 

  The next time they’re in battle, this time against something Legend calls a ‘gleeok’ and which he desperately hopes will never appear in his own world, he somehow can’t summon his own magic at all. It’s there, he can feel it, but trying to bring it out, even just the smallest amount, proves to have no results. Every prod, every call, every little hiss of his soul to push and pull and just get his magic to respond, has it only thrashing more, wild within its confines but not breaking past them. 

  His sword plunges and stabs, and the heroes around him do the same. Warriors is a whirlwind of power and ferocity as he charges in head on, the vet’s magic raising in a shield and Hyrule’s own likewise surging across the field in strikes that leave their foe howling and screaming in anger, flames licking across the ground in response, but his own power can only beat at the bounds created around it. He can’t break them, but he’s trying. He’s trying and surging, biting his lip with focus to the point he knows there’s blood trailing across his face from his own efforts and not any wound dealt by the dragon like monster they’re pitted against, but it isn’t working. 

  He hisses as a tail rises up to thrash at him, drops and rolls to avoid the impact of it hitting him, all the time pushing at the seal on his own magic in a valiant attempt to summon it, only to still be met with no results. He could ask Hyrule, if the other wasn’t on the other side of the enemy and currently absorbed with trying to stop the head firing at him with flames that surge and lick around a magic shield thrown up at only the last of moments. Still, with the amount of effort it took to raise the seal on his power, he doesn’t know if the traveler could even summon the strength to undo that same work, not when he’s so busy currently trying to avoid getting killed. 

  It’s driving Wild mad though. 

  Before, he was the knight of the princess who had the power to topple an army of lynels. He'd lost some of that to Death, but in return had been granted something he’s used like second nature since, letting it ruin and destroy and tear apart and terrorize anything and everything that dared rise before him as he’d worked across the kingdom in an effort to rescue the one who’d called him back out of Death’s hold. He can’t control it once it’s free, but he’d at least been able to employ it before, and being without it in the first time in his memory has a fear he hates bubbling up from within, anger surging at the bonds of magic to snap and hiss and cry with a wildness he hadn’t known he possessed. 

  He wants free. He wants to unleash the wildness he’d been named for and let it at the very least leave their foe cowing, if only slightly, as the imminence of its own fate is made clear to it. 

  He can’t. 

  He can’t because Hyrule bottled it, and he hates that. 

  Not Hyrule. He doesn’t hate Hyrule. The traveler had done him a favor by rendering him tolerable for the others to be around again without leaving them straining themselves to understand the threat they’d felt slipping about them. What he hates is the bounds of the seal closing in around him like the walls of the shrine he’d woken within time and again, aching pains all over from half healed wounds that had been strained over and over by efforts to push free from a prison of stone. The shrine had felt as though it was closing in on him and keeping him sealed, leaving him only to awake and fight and pass out, water filling his lungs and straining his body as he’d tried to escape from his confines only to fail yet again.. He’d healed long before he’d escaped, and since letting on the truth to Purah (but not Zelda, he could never tell her about that), she’d started looking into why it had kept him so much longer, but so far, they have had no results. Still, the feeling of being trapped, sealed, shut off from his own strength, it drives him mad. There’s a writhing and snapping, a hiss and a scream, a howling of something in his soul as it tears at the bonds. 

  Slowly, they give way. 

  It’s like a dam breaking. Just a crack, then a hole, then the rest comes crumbling down and, from the other side of the battlefield, he hears Hyrule’s breath shudder, catches ember eyes rising, wide and terrified. And then he’s free. 

  His magic sweeps like a fierce current, a mighty wave, a shadow that plunges over the field and has the gleeok before them screaming, turning its heads for a source of the threat it feels, and thus missing the approach of the captain who’s own surging flames rise beside the shadows, a pulsing, pounding force as the man severs a head and sends it falling towards their waiting leader, who dispatches the thing before the creature can do more than cry out in pain. Writhing darkness twists, twining and trapping and sharing the feelings that only moments before had overwhelmed him; now wrapping themselves around their foe and leaving it frenzied and panicked as the rest of the heroes, despite their own obvious awareness of the new presence, surge forwards. 

  In a strange way, he thinks the flames and scales of the captain are surging stronger as well, pushing back with a hiss against his own magic, one he can’t help but respect, power surging away to let the older man take charge and wreak havoc on their foe while he focuses instead on keeping it on edge. The captain’s magic isn’t stronger than his, but it’s not something he has a wish to reckon with either, and like so many times before, he finds that even the twisting of Death finds something to admire in the lashing of the war hero’s own power. 

  Their foe falls quickly after that. 

  Once the gleeok lies dead, dissipating into black and purple smoke and leaving only the barest remains, he feels able to breathe again.  

  The others though, are not. Wariness marks their features, save Hyrule who looks so, so tired; desperate and weary as though the idea of trying to push back the force of their brother yet again, especially after it had somehow broken through his last attempt, is a far worse fight than the creature they’d just felled. In a way, Wild thinks it must be, because trying to push it down himself is far more a struggle than simply felling something tangible and mortal that fears it. 

  This time though, there’s a surge of another magic, a familiar one, one that pulses and creeps, seeking, against his own. It recoils, as if by instinct, but still presses back against his magic, not pushing so much as following, and light against crypt like darkness which has him looking up in time to catch the gaze of indigo eyes that have lifted to focus on him, sharp and piercing. 

  Legend’s breath shudders, lips pursing. He knows now. 

  Wild tries, tries so hard, to make his face do something, say anything to indicate that he’s sorry, he’s trying, he really isn’t doing this on purpose. It’s hard though when something warm curls up inside of him. It's not his magic, not the cold death touch he knows and has learned to view as an extension of himself. It’s a steady gleam of warmth, not harsh and burning like Hyrule’s, not fierce and violent like Warriors’, but a gleam of light rather than heat, one that curls around some innermost part of him, like it’s wrapping around his very heart. 

  Legend’s eyes glint curiously, stars blazing within. 

  The vet’s feet step towards him. 

  Hyrule whips around to stare, something on his lips and magic surging, throwing up walls and shields and warnings- protective, wary, guarded, begging. The urgency that flings itself at their vet has the other stumbling slightly, but not stopping. Their traveler looks like he wants to scream, ember gaze trailing between them, panicked, worried, wary. 

  Wild tries not to let it bother him. Hyrule is just worried for their vet, their light, his friend. If Zelda trailed into something he felt was a risk, something that made his senses recoil as violently as his power makes the others do, he’d feel the same way, he knows it. Still, the wariness of his brother isn’t helping anybody right now. 

  “Wild,” the same low, even tone that the man uses to ease Warriors own of his own head rises to play in his ears, “what’s going on?” 

  He opens his mouth to answer, but no words come to mind, just a panic, a wish to assure, to apologize. 

  The warmth curled around his core flickers. Light, pure, unaltered by death-touched power, presses around him. The vet steps closer and then, like stepping before a goddess statue, he feels the surge of his own magic quiet. The rest of the heroes ease, looking about in confusion for the threat they’d felt a moment before but there’s nothing there. Nothing that isn’t twisting and twining, muted by light that itself is dimmed to their senses in an echo of his own quieted power. 

  Hyrule is gaping. 

  Legend is just looking utterly confused, stopping only a pace or so away, ears flicking between a curious forwards tilt and a wary press back against his skull. Violet eyes search his own, flickering golden with power that’s familiar, that’s safe, that’s Hylia’s hand in a gentle caress to quiet his own soul and tame the Wrongness that came back binding him to the body that ought to have perished a hundred years ago. 

  The vet sighs, eyes slipping closed and shoulders sagging with the motion. “The heck, champ...” He doesn’t say anything more though, just raises dark eyes to stare, something crooked in the smile that’s offered to him, tired and weary but bright like the magic that pulls his own inwards again and eases it back where it belongs; nestled beside his heart and twining and twisting, crackling at the edges but not in ire as before. No, he reaches, and despite the twitch of the vet’s brows, the warmth of holy magic answers with a press that his own grasps and clings to. 

  He shouldn’t grab, try to grasp, shouldn’t set off the same ire that Warriors has triggered before, but with the alternate option being to scare the wits out of his brothers, he thinks Legend might understand. 

  “You good?” 

  He nods, and this time he actually means it. “Yeah.” 

  “Good,” Legend shakes his head, that weary little smile still on his face. “Honestly, you guys...” 

  “Sorry.” 

  “I should have seen it coming,” violet glimmer, twinkling oddly as they catch his own, the glow of the shrine still lingering in wild blue. “Just don’t make Wars and Twi lose their shit, ‘kay? I’m not keen on dealing with that again.” 

  He promises he won’t.  

  He doesn’t either. Yes, he trails after the vet as the other moves back to the rest of their group, but he’s wary of leaving the immediate presence of the power that quiets his own. Still, he doesn’t get in the way of their usual post battle arrangement. Doesn’t get in the way when Warriors drapes himself over the smaller hero with a huff, soul still seeking the presence it had felt before but finding naught of the force that surged alongside his own. He doesn’t deny Twilight’s wary check over as the man seeks injury among their group, or Time’s verbal call for them to report on their condition. 

  Injuries are treated, and camp is made. Hyrule’s eyes are burning into the back of his head, gaze confused and magic seeking, pushing, looking for that presence he’d strained so much to contain before, yet finding silence in it’s place. 

  He doesn’t stray far from Legend for the rest of the evening, but by morning, he’s got the courage to risk it, and it’s like he’d never released the terrible creature within to begin with. 

 Even so, all this doesn’t mean that, next time that they make camp, Legend doesn’t have questions. Ringed fingers catching his arm and the vet’s steady voice calling to Time that the two of them will do a quick round of the area to check for threats are his only warning before being dragged out of earshot of their brothers and having an answer demanded of him. Legend has questions, and while he doesn’t have answers for all of them, he does his best to give them. He owes that much after the trouble he’s caused. 

  The vet’s pinch of his brows, tired sigh and sinking shoulders are becoming quite familiar. “So, your magic is death-touched, and you scare the shit out of others with it.” 

  “Yeah.” 

  There’s something between a scoff and a laugh that puffs out from the chest of the other. “Dragons, wolves, fairies, now Death herself, good grief.” 

  “I’m sorry.” He’s not sure why, but he feels he ought to say it. 

  There’s the smile again, Legend’s shoulders shaking and pink hair swishing as he shakes his head once more. “Not your fault, champ. Magic’s screwy, and if there’s anything I'm learning with y’all, controlling it’s always a pain in the arse.” 

  Still, he feels awful for adding to the mess that the vet is already caught in. 

  “Okay,” a clap of the hands and a lifting of glittering stars to focus their light on him, “here’s the deal. Your magic quiets around holy magic. I have holy magic. You need it to shut up, you can come to me, but for the love of all holy, please, I am begging, do not mess with the captain, and whatever your beef with Hyrule is, don’t get me involved, deal?” 

  He blinks. “Deal. I wasn’t...I-” it takes a moment, but the vet waits, although his foot taps the ground as he does, nervous maybe, or just impatient. He can’t tell. “I know better than to mess with the captain,” he finally manages. “Hyrule... we’re working on it.” 

  “Good,” Legend sounds, “but again, I don’t want a part of it. Whatever tiff you two have, settle it yourselves. If you need help with your magic, I’m here, but I don’t stand for funny business, comprendo?” 

  He blinks. 

  The vet rolls his eyes, sighing. “Do you understand?”  

  “Understood.” He wishes people would just speak Hylian to him instead of switching mid conversation. 

  “Good. Now, anything else I should know?” And it’s not harsh, it’s not cold, its’s said with the tilt of the head in a way that almost reminds him of Wolfie in their early days, that same half-amused look in dark eyes as the one that had followed him as he’d acquainted himself with a new world, freshly brought back into it. There’s nothing more to share though. Not for now, but he promises to tell if there’s anything he thinks of. Legend accepts that answer too, nodding and setting out again to continue their patrol. 

  He doesn’t get it, but he supposes that’s not the point. How the vet handles the nonsense they throw at him, he can’t fathom, but that he does at all is a blessing. They may laugh and jest about sharp tongues and scathing remarks, but the vet has the patience of a priestess to handle all of them, and he’s thankful for that. 

  He came back wrong, twisted and death-touched and terrifying to those who don’t understand why he is the way he is. It's not fun to explain and it’s tricky to live with, but at least he has a way to control it, even if it does mean asking for help. Still, he doesn’t hate it. His magic is a tool to terrify and harm the enemy, and he values that tool. He doesn’t cherish it, doesn’t adore how it affects those he cares about, but he’s glad he has it. He's glad he has it and he’s working to understand it, to control it.  

  Maybe having someone who understand these things, who knows magic because he’s steeped in it and has lived with it forever- not just unlocked it in a moment of desperation and without proper guidance to master it- will help. Who knows, maybe he can learn something from the vet, maybe even something help Zelda! That would be nice! Being able to return to her and teach her even just the smallest bit about her own power- help her in the way she’d begged the goddesses for, the way he’d wished he could for all the time he’d spent at her side unable to offer more than protection- it’d be nice. 

  Magic is weird, but maybe, maybe, he can get a handle on his Weirdness. 

  At the very least, he can make it shut up now when he needs to. So that’s a start! 

[silver--scar]

INTRODUCING ME

🚫PLEASE HEED WHAT I WRITE BELOW🚫

The Basics

My name is Silver Scar! I use any pronouns and have many floating interests! I sometimes use tone indicators, and I love gaming, art, and talking/hearing about interests!

I AM AN ADULT!

While I do not mind chatting and having fun, making moots and friends here and there, at the end of the day, we are NOT EQUALS if you are a minor. I am a firm believer in keeping proper boundaries in place and making the internet safer for the younger people. Again, I don't mind making friends! But remember that I will not treat you like an adult if you aren't one. It's for the best, even if you hate me for it.

I do my best to be respectful and educated, but I am a bit slow. If I say something wrong, PLEASE HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE FOR IT AND INFORM ME ON HOW TO DO BETTER! The last thing I want is for people to let it slide or immediately attack me.

My Platforms

Aside from tumblr, I also have other social handles you can visit! The main ones I have are:

Tiktok

Instagram

Twitter

https://x.com/SilverScar360?t=s_Gldynda0uxih9ZIgAWvg&s=09

Twitch

Here, and on all of these other platforms, I AM NOT A SAFE SPACE FOR THE FOLLOWING:

PEDOPHILES

ZOOPHILES

NAZIS/ZIONISTS

RACISTS

HOMO/TRANSPHOBES

PRO/COMSHIPPERS

It will result in an immediate ban. I do not care. I know it's ironic that (currently) I am a South Park fan, but even I do not like the things that occur within the show, regardless of satire or jokes, and I'm tired of people hiding behind this fact or using it as an excuse.

My Interests

I have a few things I enjoy which will all change in the future. So far, this is a few bits of what I'm into:

South Park

Red Dead Redemption 2

Minecraft

Stardew Valley

Dauntless

TheHunter: COTW

Warriors

Call of Duty (Story Mode only)

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Slime Rancher

Hermitcraft

Gravity Falls

Bonus Bits

ART REQUESTS ARE OPEN

This status will change from time to time!

I love to write short stories in my spare time, but I am no means a good writer.

I have a pet dog! Her name is Missy, and she's a Pitbull/Boston Terrier mix.

I'm a heavy procrastinator, but I'm trying to change it up this year!

I love creating ideas. Even if I suck at it. Whether stories, art, AUs, concepts, I love to explore the "what ifs" in things.

I'm a rambler. I'll talk, dump a bunch of images, or spam a lot about many things big and small. But I also love hearing people ramble! Like, yes! Tell me more about why your oc did this thing or why you think this film is your roman empire! /gen

My online persona is Gumbo from Fortnite. I have stolen him and he is mine. I am literally a monster gumball machine guys, believe me. /j

Lastly, I do commissions! You can ignore this last bit, but if you ever consider supporting, you can look at the examples below!

Anyways thank you for taking the time to read this! I hope to deliver stuff you all will enjoy!

[tngrayson]

Tuesday

A/N: A little something I found during a desktop cleanup. This is OLD, but I thought I’d post it anyway.

Pairing: Sam x reader

Warning: Angsty

Word Count: 650

Summary: Sam just loves Tuesdays (Sarcasm)

________

“Wake up, Sammy. It’s Tuesday,” you say, leaning down to kiss his cheek to wake him gently.

Sam wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and sighing contentedly. “Morning.”

“Is that…bacon?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Yep,” you answer, popping the p. “Come on, Jody’s making breakfast.”

Jody had asked the three of you to come to Sioux Falls yesterday evening. You were all packed up and heading over before she could even tell you why she wanted you there, and when you finally arrived in the middle of the night, she had insisted that you all get some rest first.

You and Sam joined Dean and Jody in her kitchen. The boys sat at the table, Dean with his coffee, and Sam with the smoothie Jody handed him as soon as he walked in. While you helped Jody put the final touches on breakfast, Asia’s ‘Heat of the Moment’ comes on. Dean snatches up his phone to change the song. “Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam grimaces, briefly remembering the torture that Gabriel put him through all those years ago.

“So, Jody, why’d you call us over here? Got a case for us?”

The doorbell rings suddenly, pulling everyone’s attention for a moment. “That’d be Bobby,” Jody mentions.  

“I got it,” you say, putting down the knife you were holding to run and answer the door.

Sam gets up, grabbing your arm before you can leave the kitchen. He pulls you close, taking his time to breathe in your scent. “Don’t get that.”

You laugh, a little confused. “Why? It’s just Bobby-“

“It’s not Bobby.” Sam’s words have an odd sense of truth and finality to them, but you make to answer the door anyway. Sam grabs your arm again, hard enough to hurt this time. “Please.”

Dean and Jody tense, uncomfortable with Sam’s sudden shift in behavior. Dean’s voice sounds like a threat. “Sam…”

Sam realizes what he’s done and jerks his hand away from you as if your skin were searing hot against his own. Absently, you rub your arm where he grabbed you. The doorbell rings again, and Sam bites his lip in anticipation. Bracing himself for what’s on the other side.

“Okay, consider me spooked, Sammy. What the Hell’s going on?”

He spares a glance at Jody and Dean in the kitchen. They’re completely still; frozen in time. For some reason, you haven’t noticed.

“It’s a Demon.”

“You sure it’s not just Bobby? I mean, Jody just said-“

“I’m positive.”

“What else are you positive about, Sammy?”

“It’s gonna kill you,” he finally breaths.

The doorbell rings again, and you hear Bobby. “You idjits gonna let me in or not?”

Sam shudders at the sound, and a solitary tear slips down his face. He gives you this terrified look that almost breaks your heart right there on the spot. “Don’t answer it,” he practically begs, “Don’t let it in this time.”

“This time?”

Sam nods. Every morning, I wake up here. Jody’s making breakfast, that god awful song comes on, that thing comes to the door…and it kills you.”

“Like the Mystery Spot?” you ask.

“Worse. I don’t always wake up as soon as it happens. Sometimes it’s the end of the day, or the next two days. Whenever I naturally fall asleep.

“Gabriel’s dead, the world isn’t ending, I’ve prayed to everything I can, and I’ve tried to make deals. Nothing changes it.”

“How many times have I…”

“Too many,” he says, looking down at you. “I can’t—don’t make me do this again,” he pleads.

“I have to,” you say, walking to the door. Your hand touches the knob and-

“Sammy!” Dean’s standing next to his bed in the bunker. Sam finally comes to in a cold sweat. As he calms down from the nightmare, he looks around the room and the only sign you were ever there is the photo on the bedside table. Reality sets in and Sam remembers that you died years ago.

“I still miss her too.” Dean says, reminiscing as he picks up the photo.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Doom hunter x mechanic/techy reader that has an obsession with demons. Head scientist reader's cousin/j takes in a partially wounded doom hunter, that SOMEHOW survived the slayer, and is now forced to live in a geek's basement while this crazy human fixes him.

With your underground bunker doubling as a high-tech laboratory inspired by your former workplace, it's the perfect safe haven from the demonic invasion, allowing you to observe those hellish creatures from a safe distance.

After everything went to shit at your UAC division, you took some of the logs, equipment, and schematics and hightailed it out of there. You're fairly certain you were the only survivor--not that you cared too much about finding other people and sticking with them.

You worked better solo, anyways. No more Samuel Hayden reprimanding you for gawking at every demon the facility brought in for study. No coworkers calling you "crazy" for talking about said demons like they were a spectacle.

It was just you, your cozy little bunker....

And the Doom Hunter that somehow survived an attack from the very man he was designed to eliminate.

By some miracle, he hadn't lost the sled yet, although at the time you found him unconscious, you noticed a lot of flesh wounds on his body, and upon dragging him back to your lab for diagnostics you realized he lost the ability to regenerate its plasma shield coating--his most critical defense mechanism.

You've been on a tour to the Doom Hunter Base once before., and while you haven't actually looked at the schematics of this demon before..you wanted to at least try repairing the poor thing.

As of this moment, he was awake and alert with all vitals signs reading steady. Yet despite you being a human with a fresh soul, he didn't seem to have any desire to attack you.

It's not like he could even if he wanted to, given you've detached him from his sled, removed his arm cannon, and kept his chainsaw in a tight restraint.

Even so, his lack of initial aggression was interesting.

"Doom Hunter, could you state your objective to me, please?" You attempted to make conversation.

If only your coworkers could see you now. Being polite to demons and saying "please". They'd probably think you were one of them in disguise.

"Eliminate the Slayer." The Agaddon responded robotically, glancing all around the room, the yellow optics in his visor flickering with a hazy glow. "Unable to locate the Slayer--ERROR....have...I failed the mission? Am I still a useless machine?"

"..now who told you that? Deag Ranak?" Your eyebrows furrowed as you fearlessly stepped closer. "You don't have to listen to him anymore, big guy. He's um...done with the Doom Hunter project indefinitely."

You considered saying "dead", as you've overheard chatter on the broadcasts that another hell priest in the tundral area has fallen, significantly crippling the demonic invasion.

But perhaps...you shouldn't say that straight to his creation's face. You don't know what reaction that would provoke.

"..he is?"

'Shit, I hope the deag didn't install a lie-detector into these fellas..'

"Yep." You insisted. "He called it quits and fed you to the wolf in green armor."

"......"

"The Slayer, I mean."

"Release me." He growled, baring his teeth as he stared down at you. "Must find and eliminate the Slayer."

"Why? So he can kill you properly?" You huffed, shaking your head at his defiance. "If I were a demon, I'd be bless--erm..relieved. I heard he's like a god...but I guess even gods can make mistakes."

"The Slayer is no god." The Doom Hunter was growing aggravated, as the computer screen showed his heartrate elevating. "Release me, mortal, and you may be spared when this world is created anew-"

"Yeah I'm not buying that--woah!" You quickly shuffled back as he snarled and tried grabbing you with its long claws. "C'mon, don't be like that. I can't just send you back out there to die. What if...I made you more combat-efficient? Give the Slayer a real challenge? Will you comply if I gave you special upgrades?"

His hostility faltered for a moment, and he tilted his head. "Upgrades? To kill the Slayer?"

"Those, and then some. But you'll have to listen to me and...protect me from other demons. I can't exactly give you any upgrades if they take my soul, y'know."

"....understood."

"So...do we have a deal?"

"....deal accepted. Awaiting further upgrades." He confirmed.

"Sweet!" You grinned like a child on Christmas morning, before rushing to the table that held a holographic projection of the arm cannon. "But first, I wanna make some cosmetic changes to this. Oh this is gonna be fun!"

"Fun...yes.." The Agaddon emitted a small robotic chuckle.

At first, he wasn't too thrilled at the idea of being trapped in some ex-scientist's basement with a soul fresh for the taking.

But if you could give him the means to exact revenge on the Slayer?

How could he possibly refuse?

[theoddcatlady]

The Strangest Roommate I’ve Ever Had

This took place all about three years ago. I was going to college at the time and was living with two of my friends, Phoebe and Macie, along with Macie’s boyfriend Joe. I’d been friends with Phoebe since we were kids but only recently befriended Macie within like a year of agreeing to move in together, and Joe was sort of a last minute addition.

Well, to sum it all up so we’re not here all day, Joe was a jackass. He was a lousy roommate, but he was even worse to Macie, who’s a pretty meek person and a doormat for Jackass Joe. It was the third time Joe was caught sleeping around that Macie finally snapped and broke up with Joe. He responded by taking off and leaving us scrambling for a new roommate so we didn’t end up losing our place. I think it was Macie who posted the ad on our school’s Facebook page as a last ditch resort. It didn’t matter if they smelled like ham or were up all night blasting Marilyn Manson, we just needed someone to pitch in with the bills.

The next day I answered the door to Miss Dorothy Ball.  

I could already tell she was a weirdo off the bat- she was wearing a floor length navy colored dress with long sleeves and a high neck and didn’t seemed bothered at all by it considering it was almost ninety freaking degrees out. Not a blonde curl was out of place, not a drop of sweat on her paper white skin or rosy cheeks. Her large blue-green eyes stared at me as I stared at the trunk and suitcase she had behind her.  

Her head bowed down, speaking so quietly her lips barely moved.

“I’m Dorothy. I’m here about the roommate ad?”  

I only let her in because I felt bad about how hot she had to be in that get up. When she sat across from me I noticed she even had white gloves on, she seemed to be doing all she could to hide every inch of skin she could.  

“I have the money here.” Dorothy sat down an envelope on the table. “I intend on staying a full year, minus any unpredictable happenings. I would like to stay in a room by myself, and I promise that I will be silent as a church mouse and that the rent will always be on time. Will that be fine?”  

I cleared my throat. “I’ll have to talk to everyone else.” I opened up the envelope and nearly choked on my spit as the crisp one hundred dollar bills fell into my hand. “Is this for half the year?!”

“Just the first month.” Dorothy cocked her head to the side. “I found out the cost of rent, is this too little?”

“You’re only supposed to pitch in a quarter-” I cut myself off as I realized Dorothy knew exactly what she was offering. “You’re paying for all of it?”  

“The first month at least.” Dorothy laughed quietly, her lips not even twitching. “My family is quite wealthy. I would just like to live close to the campus and this is such a nice area, I want to show my appreciation for letting me board here.”

I had a meeting with the other roommates after introducing them to Dorothy. I showed them the cash. Phoebe’s eyes filled with dollar signs as she was clearly imagining what she’d do with all the spare cash she had while Macie seemed a bit more hesitant, but we’d not had any other offers. Most people by now had a place to call home while they went to college, and someone offering to pay all of this month’s rent? You’d be an idiot to say no to that.  

Dorothy was pleased as punch to be allowed to stay here, even giving us all a hug as she thanked us again and again. Phoebe tried to bolt from the hug but Dorothy insisted on it. We did have to move things around a bit, Macie moved into my room while Dorothy took her old one, but I didn’t mind since Macie and I basically had the same sleeping schedules anyway.  

You know how I said I wouldn’t have minded if we got a roommate from hell as long as they paid the bills? Well Dorothy was basically the roommate from heaven. She kept to her promise, she was so quiet she’d sometimes scare me because I didn’t even realize she was there. Not to mention she was a neat freak- there was never a dish in the sink or a speck of dust on the shelves. I swear it was how she had fun, well, that and shopping.  

There wasn’t a week that went by that we didn’t have a bunch of packages on the front porch. All cloth or dresses, Dorothy was quite the seamstress. Her closet quite literally overflowed with dresses, all long sleeved with floor length hems. The few that didn’t have high necks she’d pair with chokers or scarves, again, she didn’t want to show any skin. Not like she minded us dressing how we did, I think Phoebe nearly cried with Dorothy presented her with a crop top she made that was hot pink and had her name on the front. She made me something too, this summer themed dress printed with lemon and lime slices. I still wear it whenever I can, and it fits perfectly. She could guess a person’s measurements just by looking at them.  

Not to say I wasn’t still a bit offput by her. Something was just not right about this perfect roommate. Any time we’d ask a question about her family or her past, she’d give a half-answer and change the subject, usually by offering to buy us dinner. Even though she did that I never saw her eat, although she enjoyed tea twice a day, once at ten and once at three, like clockwork. I never caught her in the bathroom, although I did hear the shower run late at night when we’d all gone to bed, even Phoebe who’s a night owl and potential insomniac. Whenever she talked she’d bow her head down so I couldn’t see her mouth clearly, she’d never complain about being hot or cold, hell, she never complained at all. And her face was practically frozen. She’d blink, but she had no real expressions from what I could tell- again, she’d always bow her head down so I couldn’t get a clear view of her face past the curly hair.

Again, all of this is weird, but harmless. I chalked up my willies to just Dorothy’s weirdness and did all I could to be friendly to her. I never wanted to be an asshat.

Dorothy was closest with Macie. After Joe left her Macie was pretty messed up, she cried nearly every day and Phoebe said she was afraid Macie was going to drop out and leave us too.  

That changed after Dorothy moved in. I think Dorothy sensed how sensitive Macie was and focused a lot of her energy on becoming her friend. Macie never told me what they’d do when they hung out, but Dorothy made it a habit to enter our room and just… talk with her for hours. I’d usually just excuse myself to the living room to binge Netflix and well, whatever Dorothy did worked. Macie got out of her funk, her self esteem shot way up, and she even began going on dates. All the while Dorothy was just basking in her glow, just happy that Macie was happy.  

Of course, something did happen. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten Jackass Joe from the beginning of this story. For a little more context, Macie’s old room was on the ground floor, while my room that I now shared with Macie was on the second floor.  

Waking up to hearing Dorothy scream bloody murder at around three AM was not a welcome sound.  

I jumped the stairs three at a time to rush down there, and when we threw open the door I saw Macie was hiding under her quilts while Joe was sitting in the center of the room completely flummoxed.  

“I thought it was Macie!” He tried to explain as Phoebe dragged his ass out of there. Naturally, no one was interested, even if it was Macie it’s gross as hell to just crawl into bed with your ex girlfriend who wants nothing to do with your ass anymore.

I approached the bed, Dorothy still shaking and crying. I tried to draw the blankets back but the blanket bulge flinched back. “No! Don’t take away the blankets!” She screamed.  

So I just sat by the bed and waited for her to calm down. Her crying did slow but she refused to come out.

“Are you okay?” I finally asked.

“… He almost saw me.”  

The very top of Dorothy’s head peeked out from under the blankets, I did absentmindedly note how her eyes weren’t bloodshot and her face wasn’t red and blotchy, but she was still shaking. “I know… I know if anyone sees what I hide, they will never want to come near me again. And to suddenly have a man in my bed, I… I was frightened. I am so sorry for screaming.”

“Don’t be, I think most girls would freak out with a stranger suddenly climbing into their bed,” I rested my hand on the side of the bed. “It’s okay. You’re my friend, no matter what you’re hiding.” I meant it too. Sure, she was strange, but she was nice. And I prioritize nice.  

Dorothy slipped back under her blankets, but I heard a muffled ‘thank you’ as I exited the room.  

Of course Joe wasn’t going to stop being the worst because he accidentally got in bed with the wrong girl. He began harassing Macie, saying he was ‘sorry that she felt hurt’ and he’d ‘never do it again’. A quick Facebook check revealed that he was about to get kicked out of his dad’s place for being a shithead, so it made sense he’d go back to his doormat ex to get a new place.

Cept of course, in the few months Joe was gone, Macie had grown a backbone and she was just not interested. Neither were the rest of us, Dorothy especially. The first time I heard our strange roommate swear was when I heard her call Joe a bastard over breakfast, which nearly made Phoebe choke on her Cheerios. Joe could rot in hell. Joe probably sent over one hundred texts asking Macie to kick out ‘the weird chick in your room’ so he could move back in. Macie just ignored him, blocked his number and then every social media profile he tried to reach out to her on. She kept blowing him off, and we all figured sooner or later Joe would get bored and leave us alone.  

Oh boy. Not even close.

Phoebe was out that night. I just went out to go pick up some frozen pizzas at the corner store, I was probably gone for like ten minutes. When I got back my heart sunk in my chest when I recognized Joe’s truck out front. I didn’t even enter the house to hear them arguing.

I bolted up the stairs to see Macie and Joe screaming at each other. One of Joe’s friends was there too, a guy named Derek. From what I could make out apparently Joe did find another place, but they needed one more roommate to make it work, and apparently Joe was back to harassing Macie about it. Macie’s face was bright red as she yelled at them both to get the hell out of her house, she wasn’t interested in ever being near Joe again, and if he didn’t leave she’d call the police.

That police threat seemed to really rub Joe the wrong way as he grabbed her arm and squeezed it so tight I thought he was going to break it. I tried to step in, but Derek actually pushed me away, stepping between us so I couldn’t get to my friend to help her out. My cellphone was in my pocket and I was considering just running for it to call 911 when I heard someone walking up the stairs.

I turned to see Dorothy, her head bowed so I couldn’t see her face. She was dressed in a white nightgown that reached just past her calves, I could make out what I thought was scarring on her ankles and toes as she paused at the top of the stairs for only a moment. The next moment she stormed up to Joe and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him towards the stairs, clearly intent on throwing him out herself.

“Get out of this house. Right now. And never step near Macie again.”  

Her voice was cold and grating, far from the typically soft mumbles. Joe was probably frozen in shock at first, but he reacted with violence. He shoved Dorothy with all his might, Dorothy stumbling for a moment at the top of the steps before losing her balance and falling down the stairs.

When her body collided with the steps, it sounded like someone had taken a stack of china and thrown them down to the ground.

Dorothy rolled down the rest of the steps, the discordant sound of smashing glass causing all of us to freeze in our tracks. Dorothy finally hit the bottom step with her head and stayed all too still at the foot of the stairs.  

Joe shot us all a ‘what the fuck’ look before Dorothy stirred. With the rattle of broken glass, Dorothy got up on all fours. For a nauseating moment I thought the side of her nightgown had been pierced with a piece of bone, but with a sickening grinding sound, Dorothy grabbed onto her gown and ripped it down the side,  grabbed the loose shard of white porcelain in her hand, and began the painful looking process of crawling up the steps.  

Now I could see what Dorothy had been insistent on hiding, now that her gown had been ripped to ribbons thanks to her shattering. Each of her joints was like the ball joint on a doll, a dip in the skin that now made more disturbing grinding sounds as she hauled herself up the steps. Slivers and pieces of porcelain continued to fall from her body, the biggest missing part nearly taking up her entire right side. Inside of her I could make out incredibly lifelike imitations of ribs, lungs, all cracked and breaking apart. Her right cheek was horrifically cracked, her eyelid hanging half down, unable to fully shut or open. Her chin hung loosely open, her mouth a black, gaping hole. But that still open eye was focused right on Joe, and it was full of loathing.

Macie acted first, bolting into her room and turning the lock. Derek screamed in horror and shoved me forward to act as a shield. Dorothy hauled herself up that last step and I nearly fell on top of her, barely managing to catch myself as I stepped on another piece of porcelain and sliced my foot open like butter.  

Dorothy paid me no mind as she managed to push herself to her feet, swaying as she tried to regain her balance before she began to limp over to the terrified men. Joe looked at me and I think I remember him saying ‘help me’.  

I responded by crawling into Phoebe’s room and locking the door behind me.  

They weren’t screaming for much longer.  

I hid in there for hours, clamping my hands over my ears to block out the worst of the wet ripping and tearing. I didn’t leave until I heard Phoebe enter the house, call for us, and then shriek when she saw all the blood.

And there was a lot of blood. It soaked the carpet on the second floor, with bits of flesh and muscle embedded in the fibers. But other than that and the shards of porcelain scattered about the stairs, there was no sign of Joe, Derek, or Dorothy.

We never heard from Dorothy again. An envelope containing enough money to cover a few more months of rent did appear in our mailbox, but the police couldn’t even confirm Dorothy Ball was a real person outside of her school registry. I never even told Phoebe the entirety of the story, only that Dorothy had attacked both Joe and Derek.  

I still don’t know what I saw, not really. The image of her shattered body crawling up those stairs, the hate in her still working eye as she stared at Joe will never leave even as I try to rationalize how on earth that could happen. People don’t shatter like… like that.

But I do know Dorothy was real. I know she was.  

And I’m thankful for her. And she’s still my friend. Wherever she is.

[muraseclinic]

Not even anonymous cuz fuck it no one cares but holy fuck your exactly the type of person in every one of the scenarios I desperately want.

The way my brain shuts off when i end up in these situations get to live to give someone slight entertainment while i throw away everything around me for it.

Id do so fucking much for you for just that slight validation every once in a while since the biggest lows give the best fucking highs. The way i’d cut, starve until i’m actually passing out just since you told me to. The way if I got even slightly drawn in i’d have the biggest fucking reactions to the smallest things, real pathetic but it’s entertainment the way my mindset would tear itself to shreds only to stay hooked on that same unhealthy attention. Plus my mindsets real fucked so i’m pretty damn easy to condition so you want to try some random dumbass thing just to see if it could actually work in a human mind id be there volunteering with no second guess.

So uh yeah that’s my rant since I think my mind is actually fundamentally invested in this thing especially considering the unreasonable happiness i felt when i saw that people like you still exist around. Don’t see it enough anymore. Plus give one sign and you can have pics of my cuts and nudes too if you want them whatever gives you some type of enjoyment <33

this has to be one of the most desperate confessions i’ve gotten to date and i adore it ‹𝟹 you really are a mess ..

i just have to wonder how far you’d actually go to entertain me though ,, would you really do anything ꩜ .ᐣ let me break your mind until there’s nothing left but the hollow need for my attention and to make me happy .ᐣ you know that’s all your good for anyways ᥫ᭡

besides you’re body and your malleable mind you’re worth nothing to me ..

i can already imagine it, i wouldn’t even spare you a second glance half the time,, only looking at you when i need something to keep me entertained. but the one time i say “good job, angel ᡣ𐭩” you’re eyes are glazing over and you can’t think.. i’d love to see it (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

god pathetic toys like you are the best ,, you’d do anything for my validation right ? i want to play with you ,, see how good you actually follow orders and how much you actually wanna please me .. keep this energy when you dm me ! ᵎᵎ ˚⊱🪷⊰˚

(n yes,, do send the pictures ⭑.ᐟ )

[atierrorian]

I'd like request Yandere Daki and/or Shinobu headcanons for a heavily traumatized mute reader. Gn so that everyone can enjoy. Please and thank you.

Sure of course I can! But I'll make them Gender Neutral! Ps I'm not so sure if like sign language was thing back but yk.

•When she tried to speak to you first and you didn't respond to her, let's just say she almost killed you on the spot.

•But after learning that you were mute she kinda spared you for now.(Only because she thinks that you wouldn't be good to her anyways cause your mute.)

•Now the more time you spent with Daki the more she became Clingy to you. •Only if you're already far into the relationship, friends, or lovers.

•Now when she learned the reason your mute, hell bouta break loose.

•The only reason why she considers you a worthy friend is that you are patient with her and see her point of view.

•Despite Daki is not the best comforter out there that's for sure, the only comfort she got back when she was still a human was from her Brother.

•Daki tries her best to comfort you but despite that, her words are quite Harsh.

•But that does not mean she doesn't love you.

•She's still impatient with you but still tries her best.

•She also really wants to hear your voice as well.

•Daki also makes Tantrums whenever you're not in her sight. •She also tries to remove the things that makes you remind of your own Trauma or past.

•Overall Daki is not the best but not the worst.

•Shinobu is quite alright with you being mute really, I mean Gyomei is Blind so.

•Now when she first met you interacted with you and you didn't respond but just stared at her blankly she thought she did something wrong.

•But then she quickly realizes that your mute and feels bad for you because Kanao was selectively mute.

•Now because of the experience she had when she and her sister took care of Kanao she knows quite some techniques up on her sleeves.

•She respects your boundaries and comforts you the best she can whenever your having a panic attack or PTSD.

•Because you are mute she is really protective of you even if you can take care of yourself, she's just really worried for you you know!

•You and Kanao get along quite well actually! And all the other staffs in the Butterfly Estate, Especially Kanao tho.

•You and Kanao have so much in Common and It makes Shinobu happy that the both of you found a friend and could actually relate to each other!

•Even when you are mute that doesn't mean they don't love you! Actually you and Kanao have some sort of secret language or Telepathy with each other that only you two know..

•But overall Shinobu and the others care for you and love you deeply!

Hope I did alright! My first time making a headcannon actually!

[howitendsstudio]

Is this how it ends? Not with a bang, but a whimper?

If so, thank you for the memories. If not, know that there is at least one person still waiting with peeled ears.

Whatever the case, may the gravel crunch well beneath your boots and the hoot-owls sing fearful heralds of your coming. May your feet be ever fleet as you trek through the tangled forest of life, while those who would harm you find themselves hemmed in by briars and spiteful trees.

Y'all made a cool thing and I hope you know that <3

Hello, and thanks for your question, kind wishes, and for saying you're excited about our story and want it to continue. I thought about how to respond to this, and instead of only replying that we're working on it and it's coming soon, I wanted to write a more personal response. 

There have been long gaps in between seasons before this one. And the honest truth about that is because we're are two people (with a contracted amazing team of VAs) who have families, chronic illnesses, jobs (and job instability), and day-to-day stuff that sometimes hinders the amount of time and money we can dedicate towards How it Ends Studio. We are fully self-financed, save for the generous support we get from Patrons. 

That said, despite those long gaps, we always come back. And we always will. This story will be seen through to its end. Even then, there are countless other stories we dream up all the time that we hope to tell in the future. So, thank you for your continued enthusiasm and support of our show. We love making it for you and anyone else who stumbles across it.

We are excited to announce that we are working on Season 4. We just finished up recording the first five episodes of the season, which will then go into the editing process while Stephanie and I continue writing. 

We have mostly posted about it on our feed on the ever-dying social media platform that was Twitter. It used to be where we could reach our audience the best. But since its rapid decline, reaching our listeners has been incredibly difficult. Many people (rightfully so) abandoned Twitter, and besides our other established accounts, we genuinely don't know where we can reach folks like you. 

We have a Patreon. Sign up for a free account, and when we post announcements, they go to everyone, including Free tier members. We have been communicating regularly with our followers there. We also have an email newsletter, but we are sparing about how many emails we send, so Patreon is more active.

Join our Discord Community. It's quiet since we are between seasons, but even then, we check in when we can. The truth is that there are so many places we'd like to reach folks, current listeners, and new ones, but we only have so much energy and time to manage a few social media platforms. So, we want you all to tell us where you are so we can reach you! Is it Tumblr? Email? Online communities? Blue Sky? TikTok? Instagram? Patreon? Discord? 

At the end of the day, we have to pick and choose where we spend our energy, and most of the time, we end up brushing socials aside not because we don't want to engage with our community but because we need to spend the time producing the show you love listening to and we love to make. 

Please consider this a request for information, guidance, etc. How can we stay in touch with you? What do you want to see from us when we're in production and not actively airing episodes? What would encourage you (the collective "you", not singling you out @bookshopsbizarreblog) to keep up with us during off season? We genuinely want to know so we can improve this aspect of show-making. 

Anyway, thank you again for reaching out. I appreciate the space to answer you outside of the traditional 140 characters. I hope you can appreciate my honesty about our process! But... Stay tuned ;). Season 4 is coming, and it's going to surprise you. We promise. -m.

[websterss]

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! MASTERLIST

“Yo, so uh, welcome to my crib.” Charlie walked backwards with his ridiculous snapback on his head. “So right over here we got the bean bag chairs.” The camera panned over to the bean bags. “And uh…” Charlie stammered trying to think of what to say. Then he saw you across the room. He motioned the camera to follow him as he walked closer to you. You looked up and noticed the camera and Charlie coming over. What a terrible combination the two. 

“Over here, you’ll see the stray we picked up off the street.” Charlie placed a hand on his chest pouting. “Poor thing needed shelter so we uh, me and the guys took her in. Madison is in charge of feeding her, but we take turns.” Charlie shrugged. The camera then panned over to your face as you sat in a chair. Your mouth slightly agape as you took in a light offense to Charlie’s jokes. The celery stick dipped in peanut butter was stopped and frozen from your lips. You furrowed your eyebrows together. “Yeah she uh, she likes to eat healthy, so we provided her with some nutritional dietary fibers.” He smiled.

“Excuse me!” You tried so hard to maintain your laughter, you could only play along for so long. 

“I’m just kidding.” Charlie broke, wrapping his arms from behind you. 

“She’s really an Orphan.” He deadpanned and nodded with a straight face.

“It’s okay Charlie I know it’s hard to admit the truth, but you shouldn’t try to place your pain onto others.” You coddled him giving him your best puppy eyes. You then turned to face the camera like you were in the Office. “We are here today, with a guy, named Charlie Gillespie. Any and all donations are welcomed, even a penny will make a difference.” You nodded like you were an ad announcer. “If you would like to make a donation, please visit www.TheWishFoundation.com. Please an Orphan like Charlie needs your help.” You nodded. “He really…really …really needs help. Like a lot, it’s getting serious, he jumped off a bridge once into water. It was insane.” You sighed. “Doesn’t even have to be a penny…anything you can spare…like common sense.” You didn’t know how you managed to stay serious. When you turned to Charlie, you busted out laughing. His facial expression screaming ‘what the hell’. The camera panned onto him zooming in on his straight and emotionless face.

“Walk away…” He scowled at you playfully. You doubled over in your chair almost falling to the floor in fits of laughter. He walked across the room again, the camera following. “As I was saying, this is my crib everybody!” He exclaimed, hearing him this time.

“Ha.” You snorted. The camera turned to you. “Charlie wishes…he uh he actually lives in a cave. He’s secretly goldilocks.” You grimaced with your teeth showing. “I guess the cats out of the bag.” You placed a hand on your mouth.

“Shut up.” You could see his playful annoyance demeanor fade, as a smile threatened to make itself shown. “I consider myself the big bad wolf. She’s the granny.” He leaned in and whispered into the camera. “Cause I…you know.” He ran a finger across his neck to indicate that the wolf killed the granny.

“*B***h I’m little red riding hood!” Charlie’s eyes widened.

“This is a kid’s show!” He shouted over at you.

“I believe the term is young audience.”

“Yeah that includes children.” Charlie said.

“Shut up!” You exclaimed, pouting.

“I should’ve left her on the street.” He shook his head looking at the camera lens. 

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to!” He nonchalantly shrugged. “Anyway this was fun, wish I could show you more… um this has be-” He was cut off because you ran over and body slammed him to the side. Charlie tripped over his feet falling out of frame. Owen and Jeremy’s laughter could be heard in the background. You huffed catching your breath and quickly fixed your hair before talking. This started the on coming tradition of you signing off for each video. Yet Charlie interrupted you. 

“Ow!” Charlie groaned as he laid motionless on the floor. You quickly chuckled and extended a hand out to help him up, but he ended up bringing you down with him. You yelped as your chest hit his. You groaned, then squealed as he flipped you both over. Him now on top.

“Come here often.” He grew smug as he hovered over you. Careful not to crush you with his body and weight.

“Yeah…” You then looked up at the camera causing Charlie to laugh at your dismissal of his attempt to flirt with you. “This has been the cast of Julie and the Phantoms, make sure to subscribe to Paul Becker’s Channel for more content like this. Go give this a thumbs up and stay tuned for more behind the scenes content. Byeee.” You waved the camera goodbye. Paul turned the camera off. Charlie’s smile doing something to you. Out of instinct you leaned up and pecked his cheek. He immediately blushed.

“Get off you’re heavy.” You teased, groaning as you pushed him off you.

“Rude!” He feigned getting hurt.

“Get a room!” Owen called out.

“Mind if we borrow yours then!” Charlie retorted winking at you briefly, this causing Owen to open his mouth agape, and your cheeks to heat up. 

“Yes I vividly mind!” Owen exclaimed.