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[haveyoureadthismcytfic]

Have You Read This MCYT Fic?

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tonetag masterlist

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writing lessons for beginners/basic writing review (the guide above briefly covers Formatting Quotes with Dialogue Tags, Commas and Conjunctions, Capitalization, Pronouns, and Person POV with examples of usage)

mcyt writing cheat sheet (+tangotekification)

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[bitchslapblastoids]

Prompted by your post about dnp inviting audience interaction: it /is/ really brave, and so interesting! I haven't been watching them for long at all and one of the biggest things that just drew me in and deeply fascinated me about them is how so much of their work (not just on stage) is in some way a conversation/interaction with their audience and the more you watch the more you notice it. No wonder its easy to be parasocial about them and about the Phandom itself!

To me, at least, they seem to be the sort of performers/creators that need a relatively high level of audience interaction in order to be inspired or for their work to feel meaningful. Like, im absolutely sure they could also create things without this close relationship with their audience but it seems to be what their naturally drawn towards? Obviously the problem has been in maintaining boundaries within that but it seems like that's going better now than at some points in the past, which makes me really happy for everyone!

Sorry about the long yap, this is so interesting to me and I just needed to express it a little

yes!!! i love this!!! so beautifully worded! no need to apologize at all - i am in such hearty agreement and actually think about this so often. i think the engagement with their audience is their superpower, and it runs so deep. what was one of dan's favorite things about phil before he met him? phil's interactive adventure videos, in which he was creating an interactive experience for his viewers.

when they film pinof1 together, what are they doing? they're answering an audience-submitted q&a. the audience interaction is literally baked into their foundation! <3

2010, dan's uni dorm. what's displayed behind him on his wall? art and letters sent to him by viewers. he films danmail vids where he opens and reacts to said art and letters and personally thanks the senders.

for years and years and years, what's at the end of every phil video? fanart! draw phil naked! (in retrospect literally so weird lol but shhh)

the ongoing avalanche of vyous and younows and tumblr reblogs/follows and responding to yt comments and retweets and and and. so much interaction. the videos directly engaging with twitter and tumblr creations. they see us, they know us, they get us.

their first book? included a double-page spread with dozens of pieces of phanart.

every single one of their tours has multiple essential audience interaction components, and even more brilliantly, with multiple different access points that are perfectly calibrated to their audience. too shy to speak up? send in a submission ahead of time. want to be a part of the masses? shout something out during the audience participation segments! and there's always the likelihood that they'll include fanart in the show itself, casually mention an actual actively popular fic, throw in an ancient phwedding manip, or just build whole segments of the show around our tropes and the world that we created with them. all of that keeps things exciting and engaging on stage, bc you never know exactly what's going to come next. but it also keeps their audience feeling seen, valued, and like co-creators in a way.

When you look at the other britcrew and big yters from the 2010s, they simply weren't generating that ongoing, authentic conversation with their audiences. their approach followed the simple format of: i post, you watch. and then it became: i post, you watch, then i try and sell you something while i call you my 'community' because you are all watching me and sometimes you talk to one another in the comments. but it's not like zalfie or joe and casper etc. were chiming in on the convos too, or at least not in any meaningful way. it wasn't a community in the same way.

dan and phil truly built community. i think communities require mutual exchange, communication, a sense of value and worth, commonly agreed upon truths, shared experiences, touchstones of connection, and leaders who have integrity. i know this is all starting to sound a little lofty, but i really do think dan and phil are good humans who have worked hard to wield their power and influence responsibly and compassionately. they set the tone for us, constructed this world, paid attention to what landed for us, how we responded to things, everything that we were up to in response to what they were up to. they listened. they made us feel seen and celebrated and appreciated, and in turn we continued to celebrate them. they created weird inside jokes, we adopted them, then we all shared the weird inside jokes. they existed, we created our own language and lore and encyclopedia in response, and now there's a whole stage show about it.

that's how you get people sticking around for 15 years. that's how you get people to actually want to spend money on you. and yeah, some more boundaries at times couldn't have hurt. they fostered a sense of proximity and entitlement that obviously put them in harm's way. but i'd say ultimately what they've manage to do has been a net good for them and a tremendous success.

you raised such a good point that it seems to be what they are naturally drawn towards. i think it's because they, too, were fangirls. phil was writing buffy fic. dan was running a lost wiki. they both understood the power of online fan community before they were the titans of their own. they get it, they get us <3

[blitz0issilent]

Ring the Bell

Fandom: Helluva Boss

Ship: Blitzø/Fizzarolli

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Series: BlitzFizz Week 2024 | Prompt: Plushie

Summary: Fizzarolli spots a plushie he absolutely needs and Blitzo attempts to win it for him, aided by a bit of motivation.

Read the rest here!

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[wren-kitchens]

I believe you (i'm not wrong)

2042 words

gem winces as she nicks her finger with the hammer for what she's pretty sure is the fourth time tonight, but she's not really been keeping count. it might be the fifth. it- okay, gem knows she should sleep, but she just- it- she doesn’t like the idea of sleeping right now. you can’t keep your mind off stuff if you’re asleep—they just turn into nightmares, and gem really doesn’t want to have another nightmare again. it's- she doesn't want to bother scar again.

this will make no sense if you don't know this au, and it is so self indulgent, but it's easier to format fics on tumblr than on discord GKFHD

anyway this is an au that me and stiff came up with and then made increasingly more angsty. this is the happiest part of the whole plotline if you can believe it

cw: panic attack, hurt/comfort

gem winces as she nicks her finger with the hammer for what she's pretty sure is the fourth time tonight, but she's not really been keeping count. it might be the fifth. it- okay, gem knows she should sleep, but she just- it- she doesn’t like the idea of sleeping right now. you can’t keep your mind off stuff if you’re asleep—they just turn into nightmares, and gem really doesn’t want to have another nightmare again. it's- she doesn't want to bother scar again.

she could bother joel. hypothetically speaking, gem could go up the mountain and knock on his door and awkwardly explain at three in the morning why she can’t sleep and that she needs his help, but- void, there is nothing she wants to do less right now. she loves joel- really, and it's more than likely that he'd be pretty helpful actually. it's- it's just too much right now. gem would rather build her problems away.

it takes longer than it probably should have done for gem to realise that her hand is bleeding, but she can’t be bothered to do anything about it; it doesn’t hurt much. besides, it's just another scar to add to the list of silly accidents she's had while building—like that time she almost took her finger off because she wasn't paying attention when she was dismantling some iron bars with less care than she should have been.

wiping sweat off her forehead, gem steps back for a second, taking in her work. her very wonky work. void, gem really needs to sleep soon, but there's no way that's happening without at least four nightmares, regardless of how much she tries to keep her mind occupied by something else. it's all she can think about- she's barely even done anything, despite 'building' for at least six hours now. the wood is unevenly cut, the moss is slowly dropping chunks into the sand from the roof, and the whole house looks like it's about to collapse on itself. that's- okay, that's the look she was going for, but it was meant to be structurally sound in actuality.

this was a bad idea- building a town that reminds her so damn much of where she grew up. it wasn't- it's not like gem really thought it through until it was too late to change her theme, and now she's kind of stuck. how in- anyone's name did she not even realise what she was building until after the nightmares started again?

.. don't answer that, actually. she doesn’t want to know.

maybe if gem sits down here, she'll fall asleep before she can start thinking about.. anything she doesn’t want to be thinking about. it feels like her limbs are made of lead, and gem has begun to debate on which sleep deprivation is worse: the exhausted building or the nightmares. maybe she'll flip a coi- what the fuck was that.

a figure- there's something- it's coming-

she hasn't- why the fuck didn’t she sleep- she knows what happens if she doesn’t sleep. can it reach her? can it make it onto the sand- can it outrun her? what if- what if it can walk, and she just never- gem never knew because she only encountered it whilst sailing but- she's endangered the whole server because of her stupid mistake-

stealing a glance behind her, gem's heart drops into the abyss- it's gaining on her. she's dead, she's going to die, she's doomed everyone, there's no escape-

something grabs her arm.

a strangled scream forces itself out of her tattered lungs, and she swings- desperation flooding her mind. she's gone- she's going to die- she's going to die-

"gem! please- it's me! it's me."

she opens her eyes, breaths still tearing their way through her throat, and- when did she get on the floor? her vision swims, body shaking too violently to steady herself and she thinks she must be drowning. there's a figure above her- there's- there's something above her.

her hands are numb and she's shaking and she's on the floor and she's not drowning, but she may as well be because she can’t fucking breathe. she's going to die and she's going to deserve it- she's- it's all- there's nothing left-

someone is holding her hands. she is having a panic attack and someone is holding her hands. she's not dying- she wishes she was dead. why would- who is- where is she? who is talking?

there's- there's her name. she feels like she's falling, but someone is talking and holding her hands and she's not drowning. did she- did she break something? was it her fault? she didn’t mean to.

a hand- a thumb against her face. gem was- she is crying. her vision is clearing but nothing will process and she just- she just wants to go home. she doesn't have a home anymore. she broke her home.

she didn't mean to. she's sorry- she just wanted to fix it. she's sorry. she is breathing, and she's not drowning, and she's not dying. right? is- is she right?

"right." there's a voice, and it sounds like home. she is crying again. "you’re okay."

no that's- she's not- she can’t be okay, ever again- she ruined it. there's nothing- she can’t- there's nothing left. she broke it- she ruined it. she's sorry.

her hands are warm. someone is holding her hands, and she's breathing and she's not drowning. there's a figure in front of her- there's scar in front of her.

"i’m sorry." gem's voice is sore, and comes out quieter than she expected it to. she's not drowning. "I never- i’m so sorry."

scar is crying, and gem is holding his hands. "I know." he says, and he’s quiet too. "I didn’t- void. I don't think i’ve- ever been on the receiving end of that."

it takes gem a moment to understand what he means, and her chest fills with emotion. she tries to say something, but nothing comes out.

"what-" scar's voice breaks, and gem wants to hug him. she doesn’t know if she's allowed. "what did you think I was?"

gem takes a shaky breath, shaking her head. "I never- I never knew what they actually were." she whispers. "they'd- if you didn't sleep, they'd appear."

scar is silent, and gem almost apologises, but her voice seems to have abandoned her. maybe this is all she can ever have- was she asking too much of him just now? void- the whole plan was to avoid pestering scar, and now she's had a panic attack because she mistook him for- that- okay, it doesn’t matter what, but now he’s dealing with her and she doesn't know if he even wants to, or if he just feels obligated-

"can you stand?" scar asks suddenly, and gem takes a second to recalibrate. can- what? can she stand? of course but- why is she standing? gem doesn’t actually ask any of this, of course, but the questions arise nonetheless.

gem lets go of scar's hands and pushes herself upwards on weak legs, but she doesn’t let it show. she wipes her face and takes a breath, bolstering herself for whatever it is she has to do next.

but scar just holds his hand out. "can you come sleep?"

gem is so surprised, she takes half a step backwards before she realises how rude that looks, and steps forward again, hoping she can play it off as rocking. "I don't- what?"

scar looks almost embarrassed, and gem finds herself getting even more confused. "well- if you-" he clears his throat awkwardly. "if- I can’t, um. I can’t be mad if you're.. not sleeping."

is scar being deliberately vague, or is gem's brain just too tired to understand what is going on? she shakes her head, still trying to process what scar could possibly mean. "I don’t- I don’t know what you-"

"I don't want you to stay up so late." scar says, and his voice is soft like gem hasn't heard it in months, and she might cry. again. "I just- I know you can’t sleep unless you have a distraction. I was trying to ask- can I be the distraction?"

gem takes a shaky breath. "oh." it's all she can manage- it's all she can think right now. gem is tearing up again and she wipes her eyes hurriedly. "I- are you sure?"

scar nods, smiling tearfully. "I miss you. I never- I didn’t expect how much." he holds out his hand again. "will- will you come with me?"

there's a moment of hesitation, of is she allowed, before gem slips her hand into scar's and squeezes. "i'd be happy to."

-

the conversation between her and scar on the way to his base was awkward and best, and plain old silence at worst, so gem was a little nervous for what it'd be like when they tried to go to sleep. what if scar changed his mind- or if one of them had another nightmare and suddenly both of them couldn't sleep? what if scar was just- lying, or something, and he was just expecting gem to say she was fine on her own?

gem has never been happier to be so wrong about something in her life.

in all the time she's known scar, gem has never seen scar transfer into bed so fast—and he practically pulled her after him before she'd even got her shoes off. once gem crawled under the duvet, she and scar may as well have just become one body. it's so bizarre, how easily they can pick up where they left off, even after so much time, and when gem rests her head against scar's chest, it feels like home.

and- void, gem missed this so much. the way they fit against each other like they were made for each other, the feeling of scar's hand in her hair, the warmth in her stomach as she burrows under the duvet- it's the closest to perfect that gem thinks can exist. it feels as if she could close her eyes and drift off in an instant, she feels so safe.

scar buries his face in gem's hair. "I love you." he mumbles, and gem almost starts to cry again.

"I love you too." she holds scar tighter, voice wavering embarrassingly. "i’m sorry- i’m so sorry. it- for everything."

"i’m sorry too." scar whispers, sounding close to tears. "I shouldn't have- i’m so sorry gem." he presses a kiss to the top of gem's head.

gem's throat is tight, and she swallows a sob. "it- it's okay. I didn't- you didn’t mean it."

"neither did you." scar's voice is painfully soft, and gem blinks back tears. "it wasn't- I have to-" scar gives a little huff—the one he does when he's tripping over his words. "I- gem, I forgive you."

it hits her a moment later, like something melting in her chest, and the tears that had been threatening to spill over come clawing back up her throat. I forgive you.

gem is sobbing into scar's shoulder, and scar is holding her tight and he’s crying too, and she knows that if she asked why, he'd say that if she's crying then he's gonna cry too, and she's missed him so much. her chest aches with each breath, and she doesn’t care because he forgives her, and she doesn't deserve it, but scar thinks she does, and there's nothing in the world more important than that.

"you’re- you’re so important to me, gem." scar says, voice thick with tears, but gem can hear his smile—which only wants to make her cry more. "I couldn't- there was nothing that would have kept me from you. not even myself."

"I love you." gem is still crying, and she's smiling, and she's hugging scar, and there's nothing that could ruin this moment. "i’m- I could never-" she chokes on her words and dissolves into another sob, holding scar like a lifeline.

"if- if you keep crying, i’m not gonna be able to stop." scar says, hiccuping a weak laugh.

"that's- that's your fault." gem manages through sobs, half laughing. "I blame you."

scar pulls her closer, and gem melts into him, tension she didn't even know she was holding leaving her. "you're so wonderful." he says, and gem almost sobs.

"you’re not- i’m gonna keep crying if you say stuff like that." gem says, and scar is laughing, and she's a mess but she doesn’t care.

scar forgives her.

[virgil-upinthestars]

like a little prayer - chapter one

Pairing: Loki x Mobius, Deadpool x Wolverine

Words: 2,585

Summary: Mobius and Sylvie pull some strings to contact some of the only people who might be able to get to Loki, proposing a plan that could help them all.

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, somewhat insincere threats of violence, light shenanigans, angst, pining, gay bickering

header/ch 1

---

Into the sparkly sling ring portal, out onto a squeaky black marble floor. Wade’s forehead collided with it, which was less than courteous, and he made a mental note to ask Cassandra what the fuck if they ever met again, but he dearly hoped that would never happen. 

“Ugh, rude!” he groaned, getting his knees under him and grabbing Logan’s quite muscular arm to pull himself up. Logan promptly shoved him into what felt like a desk. 

“Hello,” said a dry, faintly raspy voice. “If you two could sit down and not knock over your drinks, that would be nice.”

Wade grabbed a chair, steadying himself and squinting at a frankly dumpy-looking middle-aged man in a brown suit. “’Scuse me?”

“We’re back,” Logan muttered, his eyes darting around the ceiling beyond the cubicle, and yep, that orange lighting was unmistakable. “She sent us back here. Why’d she do that?”

“Well, I’d assume it’s because you can go anywhere from here, but I’d like to hope it was because I asked nicely,” the man mused, sitting on the other side of the desk and pushing two paper coffee cups towards them. As per usual whenever someone else bought him coffee, Wade popped the top off to check the contents. Once he saw the whipped cream and sprinkles, he gave the drink an approving nod and lifted his mask to down half the contents.

Logan didn't touch his, as he apparently found much more joy in glaring at the man who had so graciously offered them caffeine after a fight. “Nicely?”

“Mm, yes,” The man took a sip of his own coffee, those eyes flicking between the two of them. “The TVA’s had a deal with Cassandra Nova, ever since a few of our operatives ended up in the Void. I’d be the first to admit that a large majority of the Void’s inhabitants probably don't deserve to be there, but unfortunately, that doesn't apply to everyone.” 

“Yeah, Nicepool definitely deserves to be down there," Wade snorted, wiping whipped cream off his face. "Not Mary Puppins, though, can we go get her?”

The man opened one of the orange files on his desk, and turned it around so they could see its contents. “Pyro. Decent kid, but he's taken a deal with your department head, Paradox, to kill Nova. Which I imagine went over fantastically.”

“Yeah,” Wade sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Remind me what this has to do with saving my universe?” Just to be nice, totally not because he felt guilty, he jabbed a thumb towards Logan. “Or fixing his?”

“Well, I've been watching the two of you for a bit, and . . . .” The man folded his fingers on the table. “I think you can help me.”

Immediately, Logan’s eye twitched. “Why should we?”

A smile just flickered on the other man’s face, and he looked up from Pyro’s file. Something about those eyes gave Wade pause, even though they were set in the face of what looked like a middle-aged dad. 

“Okay,” Wade sighed, and he decided that this guy looked like his name would probably be Phil. Or Kyle. Ooh, or John, or — “Owen. We’re on a bit of a mission right now, and unless you’re willing to help me save my universe from that Tom Wambsgans-looking guy — don’t get me wrong, I loved Succession, it was like watching a house full of sex offenders burn down, but —”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” the man said, closing Pyro's file and brushing it to the side. There was a hard light in his eyes, one that Wade recognized: desperation. “Yes, Paradox wants to destroy your timeline, but from what I'm guessing, Nova would be perfectly happy destroying all of them.”

“You people like your guesses,” Logan grumbled.

Wade sighed. “For the last time, peanut, it was an educated wish —”

“Call me that again, and I'll shove that double-whip diabetes bomb right up your —”

“Okay,” the man said loudly, now looking very much like a middle-aged dad. Possibly also a jet ski salesman. “I’ll just cut to the chase. Also, your coffee has Irish whiskey in it, so please do me a favor and drink it.”

“Really?” Logan muttered, lifting the drink. He took a hesitant sip, but it soon turned into chugging the whole drink in one go.

“Thank you,” the man sighed, then cleared his throat. “You two have been dealing with middle management this whole time.” His eyes flickered with a new sort of light, something like hope. “How would you like to go all the way to the top?”

---

Mobius M. Mobius had been having a very rough few months. First, he finally manages to catch a Loki, then fucks up by getting attached to him, then gets betrayed by him, which, honestly, what was he expecting — only for that Loki to come back, wide eyed and pleading with him. Then Sylvie went and committed some good old-fashioned murder, and the multiverse started falling apart, tearing Loki into pieces across space and time as he desperately tries to help, and eventually decides that the best way to solve it was apparently to go fuck himself off into oblivion without discussing it with any of them.  

Mobius could’ve killed him.

He also would've given anything to see him again.

He also didn't know whether Loki would feel the same, ‘I did it for you’ or not.

He also was about two inches away from ripping his own ears off so he didn't have to hear these two assholes keep going at each other in some kind of weird, extremely violent, seventy-two hour long foreplay. 

“So, it's a tree,” said Wade Wilson, holding his empty coffee cup like a drag queen as Mobius led them down the hall. Logan was trailing behind, silent for now, but still looking like he was debating whether to slam Wade against or through the nearest wall. “You fancy-pants time CIA bastards take orders from a tree?”

Mobius took a long breath. He could almost hear Loki snapping back that we used to take orders from three lizards who turned out to be robots, how’s the tree sound now?

It was making his heart ache.

“We don't take orders from the tree,” Mobius said, forcing himself to maintain an easy tone. “We protect it. It contains all timelines, all possibilities, branching out into infinity. We can't control it, it can't control us, we can only protect h—it. And if the tree were threatened, the fabric of space-time would start to unravel.”

“Oh, so that’s why you're open to stopping Tom Wambsgans from destroying my universe!” Wade laughed. “Finally, there's a threat big enough to the precious tree for you to acknowledge the fact that my whole life —”

“I didn't know about your timeline, okay?” Mobius sighed, shoving open a door marked NO ENTRY. He led them down a curving stairwell, to where Sylvie had agreed to meet him. “No one knew, until five minutes ago, when unsanctioned time-ripper activity was detected in your universe. B-15’s running through the normal channels to shut it down, but until then, I'm trying to arrange something that will help both of us.”

“Oh, both?” Wade said, tossing his empty cup into the abyss. He promptly sat on the railing and began to slide down it. “Do tell.”

“Yes,” Mobius said, gritting his teeth. The line between his thoughts and his words were quickly becoming blurred. “I get you to the guy at the top, you get him to sustain your world while we deal with Paradox, and then you get him to come the fuck out of his little self-imposed isolation hermit hole.”

Precious silence hung for a few seconds, only to be punctuated by a soft “ooh”.

“So,” Wade slid to Mobius’s side, somehow balancing like a goddamn French girl on the railing. “This guy at the top, huh? You two have a history?”

Mobius glanced back at Logan, who just snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who gave him coffee.”

“Couple of hand brushes?” Wade was saying, his voice needling into Mobius’s ear. “Lingering hugs? Old married couple banter? Maybe even a soft, gentle, unforgettable night on an office couch —”

“Like you two didn’t basically hate-fuck in that Odyssey!” Mobius snapped, making the white eyes of Wade’s mask go wide.

“Pervert,” he said at last. “That was a very private moment.”

“I will throw you down this stairwell,” Logan hissed, an honest-to-God vein popping out on his forehead. “Say another word, I fucking dare you — ”

“Fergalicious,”

Logan swung a fist towards Wade. Mobius barely had time to think the claws aren’t out, that’s an improvement before the Wolverine’s blow was stopped by a swirl of green light.

“Oh, my!” called a familiar voice. Mobius leaned over and caught sight of Sylvie on the landing below, her eyes fragile with a hopeless sort of amusement, like a man set for execution laughing because he had sixty-nine days to live. “This is them?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mobius called back, unable to hide the relief in his voice that he was now one step closer to getting these repressed disasters out of his sight. “Do you have it?”

“Of course I do,” she snorted, flicking He Who Remains’ TemPad out of her jacket pocket as she climbed the stairs towards them. “I held my end of the bargain. The real question is if they’ll hold theirs.” Her lips twitched slightly as Logan yelled for her to get your fucking magic off me, and directed his arm back to his side before releasing control. Her eyes flickered as she met Mobius’s gaze. “You really think this will work?”

“I hope so,” Mobius replied, forcing a smile to compensate for the slight shake in his voice. “I really hope so.”

“Right,” Sylvie muttered, turning the TemPad over in her hands as she surveyed the two men. “Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett. Gifted with extraordinary healing powers.”

Wade slid off the railing. “Among other things,”

“Good.” Sylvie’s eyes flashed. “We’ll be testing them today.”

“Hold on,” said Logan, the first time he’d really spoken without provocation. He shouldered his way past Wade to scowl at Mobius and Sylvie with equal force. “Whatever this is, I’m not doing it for free.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Mobius sighed, frantically running through a meager list of things the Wolverine might be willing to risk his life for. An overaged bottle of Jack Daniels probably wouldn’t count. Neither would another Irish coffee. Maybe —

“X-23,” Logan said, his voice brusque. “Laura. She’s in the Void. Get her out.”

Mobius blinked.

“Oh my God,” Wade whispered. “I knew the dad instinct was in there somewhere.”

“Shut up,” Logan snapped, before refocusing on them. “Get her out of there and I’ll do it.”

“Uh, sure,” Mobius glanced towards Sylvie, who gave an easy shrug. “Where, uh . . . do you want us to bring her here, or —”

“I don’t care.” Logan’s throat bobbed. “Take her to this idiot’s world if you want, just don’t take her to mine.”

“His is in danger, though —”

The man’s eyes hardened. “Well, it won’t be.”

For a moment, Wade was actually speechless. The Merc with a Mouth was staring at Logan like he’d just dropped out of the sky, white eyes of his mask wide and hands hanging listlessly in the air. 

“You got it,” Mobius said, pulling his TemPad out of his pocket. Ever since he’d come out of the Void himself, he’d tried to keep a closer eye on anyone who might be surviving down there. He hadn’t even been sure that X-23 was still alive until he’d caught word of her with these two, and now that she’d raided Nova’s place with her friends, they’d all be easy to find. “Sylvie, you wanna give them the speech?”

“Love to.” Sylvie held up the black and gold disc, shocking Wade out of his trance with a shiny thing. “This is a TemPad. With it, I’ll be sending the two of you straight to the trunk of the tree itself, where hopefully, you’ll be able to withstand the Gods-awful amount of temporal radiation long enough to get the attention of the annoying prick at the center. Sound good?”

“Ooh, temporal radiation!” Wade let out a whistle. “I’ve never experienced that one before. What does it do?”

Sylvie’s lip twitched, but there was no humor in her eyes. “Turn you into skin spaghetti.”

“Oh.”

“The levels around the tree would be very lethal to me or Mobius, but we’ve been hoping for a while that you two would be able to complete the job for us.” She twirled the disc in her fingers, and at a sharp look from Mobius, she rolled her eyes and continued. “And we’ll be sending this with you, for your way back.”

“Really?” Wade brightened, holding out a hand. “Yes, please — ”

“Not you.” Sylvie pointed at Logan. “You. You actually seem like the responsible type.”

“Oh, we are truly in catastrophic times,” Wade groaned, leaning back against the railing. “So, about this ‘annoying prick at the center’ —”

Mobius’s TemPad began to buzz. He flicked the notification away from the approximated map of the Void he’d been building, but then there was another alert, and then another, and the thing was nearly buzzing out of his hands. Over it all, highest priority, was a message from B-15.

If you don’t reappear sometime in the next thirty seconds, the whole multiverse is fucked.

Mobius’s heart shot into his throat as he scrolled through the hundreds of alerts, then dropped right down into his stomach.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“Mobius?” Tense worry spiked in Sylvie’s voice, nearly shocking him out of his haze. “Mobius, what’s happened —”

“It’s Cassandra Nova,” he choked out, fumbling up the stairs. “She’s — she’s heading for the Time-Ripper.” His heart pounded in his ears. “She’s — she’s going to —”

She’s going to kill him.

Sylvie hissed something in an old Asgardian tongue, flicking her TemPad and opening a door in front of him. “Get to the war room, I’ll make sure these idiots make it to the tree.”

“Just —” Mobius turned back to Wade and Logan, two men in bright primary-colored suits standing in a TVA stairwell, two men who were as likely to try and kill each other as they were to fuck, two men who were each certified mental disasters but as it stood, his only chance of ever seeing Loki again. 

He’d been watching them for more than a while. He’d gone looking for variants who could withstand the tree’s temporal radiation the second he’d gotten back to the TVA, since Sylvie had told him she could pinpoint the tree’s location, but he hadn’t been able to convince any to help him until now. Here were two men, just as desperate as he was, two men who were now looking back at him with that mirrored, last-ditch determination.

Because fuck it — if this didn’t work, nothing would. 

Mobius swallowed, managing to say, “Just — tell him I miss him, would you?”

If he’s even still alive when you reach him. If any of us are still alive.

Wade nodded. “You got it, Lightning McQueen.”

His lips twitched. “Mobius.”

“Oh!” The white eyes of his mask widened. “You’re Mobius! Which means the guy in the tree has to be —”

Mobius didn’t even care how Wade knew, he didn’t want to hear that name said out loud. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Instead, he turned and bolted up the stairs. 

Towards the one thing he could do.

header/ch 1

more here on ao3

[robotic-rin]

Why Wait For The Best When I Could Have You

(Beetlejuice x Reader)

Summary: In the light of recent notable events, you haven’t been quite sure how to be forthcoming with the family regarding your budding relationship with a certain demon. It doesn’t help that said demon isn’t known for his ability to keep secrets. Also, hopefully your mind isn’t too preoccupied making plans to soft launch your relationship, because Beetlejuice has had something on his mind lately that he’d really like to try out. It may or may not involve indulging his demonic instincts by hunting you for sport as foreplay. He’s lucky that he’s dating a monsterfucker.

Word Count: 24,092

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: even crazier demon sex this time, predator/prey dynamic, somewhat monster-y beetlejuice, temperature play, consensual possession, tentacle sex, copious amounts of biting, overstimulation, just a dash of breeding kink, oh we’re making this one HORNY-horny folks, porn with an unreasonable amount of plot, plot segments range from domestic fluff to hurt/comfort, more of beej’s mood ring hair being used to further my nefarious agendas, afab reader but with no gendered terms, tried to limit my use of (y/n) but it is in there

Author’s Note: ok so i saw the very final showing of beetlejuice on broadway and it did inspire me to write a sequel to my fic that was originally meant to be a one shot. seeing alex brightman in the flesh was absolutely bonkers, there will never be another beetlejuice in my mind (though i’ve since seen justin on tour who is beyond awesome in the role too! alex is just my personal fave). my brain is like a snowglobe and beej is just rattling around in there so i had to write something. this can kinda stand on its own but i’d recommend reading the first fic in the series before this (linking it right here). as usual, check the tags before reading, make sure you’re good with em, and hope y’all enjoy!

“You did WHAT?”

You feel the welcoming presence of immediate regret falling over you as Barbara shoots a glare at Adam following his outburst. Maybe I should’ve told Delia first instead.

Adam seems to recoil in embarrassment at his wife’s disapproving look. “That is to say, that’s just, um…surprising! That you would accept Beetlejuice’s…unique advances. You just didn’t seem the, er, type.” His eyes dart between you and Barbara as he fumbles for words. “Okay, I’m just making it worse. Barbara, please, help.”

Barbara seems more than willing to swoop in and try to save this conversation. “What Adam is trying to say is, we love Beetlejuice, of course, he’s like family! We just didn’t expect that you would take to him so quickly and…enthusiastically! He’s a bit of an acquired taste for most people, like…quinoa salad! I mean, between the constant inappropriate comments, and the way he, to be frank, smells like a lawnmower on the best of days.” She laughs, just a bit too forced to sound natural but you’ll be damned if she isn’t doing her best to keep things polite.

Adam nods fervently. “Exactly, Barbara! Like, we’ve both kissed the guy through strange extenuating circumstances in the past, but it’s not like it was enjoyable!” He earns a swift elbow to the ribs from Barbara after that one. He lets out a soft oof and slumps against the side of the old loveseat where he and Barbara are seated across from you in the attic.

Barbara quickly turns and reaches to gently grasp your hands in hers. “Sweetie, it’s not that we aren’t happy for you, and Beetlejuice too. We just know that he can be a bit…much, after awhile, even for us. That might be a lot to deal with 24/7. I mean, it’s one thing if you didn’t have options, but someone like you? We always imagined you maybe with someone more, say…put together! Literally, when it comes to that guy.”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your chair, absentmindedly picking at the vibrant red stitched cushioning. “What, are you guys trying to tell me I can do better?” Your eyes dart up from your fidgeting hands to scan their faces.

With barely a second’s pause, the two of them begin talking over each other with various overlapping shades of, “No, nono, not at all, no…”

Adam seems to be nervously waving his hands at nothing in an attempt to dispel your accusation as though it were fog. “Hey, you’re a grown up, whatever choices you make, we support you one hundred percent! You just took us off-guard, I’m sorry if we come across as rude. If you’re sure about accepting Beetlejuice’s romantic propositions, then Barbara and I are beyond happy for you!”

“Absolutely stoked, dude!” Barbara puts on her silly deep voice for comedic effect, still fully dedicated to keeping the conversation light despite the deep awkwardness that practically permeates the air around you.

“Um, you guys realize I’m the one who more or less initiated this, right? If anything, he accepted my…romantic gesture.” You hadn’t exactly told them the less-than-family-friendly way that your feelings had been unexpectedly revealed to Beetlejuice due to some lingering sense of dignity and privacy that hadn’t yet left you, but you do have to wonder how long that’ll stay secret considering your new lover’s absolute and utter lack of shame.

“YOU came onto HIM?” This time, it’s Barbara who accidentally lets an exclamation slip out, earning an exasperated facepalm from Adam. You distantly wonder if Lydia’s conversation will go worse than this.

***

“So, how badly did they take the news?”

“They didn’t take it badly.” You resist the urge to look over at the demon who is currently hanging upside down from the ceiling next to your bed in a very relaxed bat-like fashion. Instead, you busy yourself with folding your laundry in neat piles next to you on your sheets. Anything to keep your hands moving.

Beetlejuice lets out a small huff. “You know, you can’t look me in the eye when you’re lying. The laundry isn’t that interesting, and I am literally hanging upside down on nothing. I’m very look-at-able.”

Your eyes dart up to take in his inverted face, one eyebrow raised (or lowered, from your perspective) in challenge. Any intention of snarking back at him dissolves at seeing his cute little expression, clearly proud of his perception. Without answering, you slowly lean forward, take his head in your hands, and softly kiss his lips. It’s an odd sensation to kiss someone upside down, but the two of you make it work. He returns the gesture wholeheartedly and without hesitation, kissing you in a equally gentle manner, yet not forgetting to keep you on your toes by quickly nipping your lip at the end with a sharp fang. He may be sweet with you, but he’s still himself, through and through. Not that you’re complaining.

“That was nice,” he rumbles, from somewhere way in the back of his throat. “But…you can’t kiss me out of this conversation.”

“I mean, it seemed to be working for a minute there.”

He barks out a laugh before twisting his head right side up, the rest of his body following at a delay and landing on the floor below on both feet, like a cat. “It was a valiant effort, babes. But come on, was your conversation really that bad?”

You sigh and toss aside your unfolded clothing to leave a spot on the bed for him to sit, which he readily takes. “I mean, it’s not that it was bad, it’s just…” You struggle for the right words before slumping forwards in defeat. “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” he muses at your words, emotions uncharacteristically imperceptible for a moment. “Babes, you know I won’t be pissed at them for thinking you deserve better than me, right?”

Your eyes snap open in shock and flicker over to Beetlejuice, scanning his neutral expression. Your mouth opens to say something, to assure him, to defend the Maitlands, to say something to make him feel better, but you can’t find any words.

“‘S’okay, you don’t have to say anything. I already expected it.” Beetlejuice moves to put his hand under your chin, thumb coming up to stroke your jawline to cheek. “Honestly, I agree with those two losers. I know you care about me, how could I not when you’re always lovin’ on me and shit? But I still don’t really get why. It wasn’t just to have sex, you’ve stuck around way past getting your rocks off and even willingly gotten into all my emotional fuckery. I don’t understand why. I mean, come on, have you seen yourself? You could easily woo somebody successful who, like, knows how to cook you a meal without explosions, someone who knows how dishwashers actually work, someone who can talk for hours about books, or art, or music, or whatever it is that smart people like you talk about.” He pauses. “…Someone alive. Better than a pathetic demon who just barely got a hold on his emotions after centuries of existence, at least.”

Your heart sinks, and you raise your hand to rest on top of his own hand on your face. “You shouldn’t say such negative things about yourself, for real. I don’t think of you like that, and I’m not leaving you.” You take note of his whole frame subtly tensing at those last words. There’s the sore spot. “I promise.”

His eyes dart to the floor. “…I know.”

You briefly study his reserved features in profile before bringing your hand to his face and turning him to look at you. “I’m not leaving you.”

He meets your gaze shakily. “Okay.” It seems as if he’s holding his breath, despite the fact that he doesn’t have any biological need for air. You’ve noticed that he’ll sometimes make sounds that can only be achieved through intake or outtake of breath, and you wonder if he does it on purpose for dramatic effect or subconsciously to mirror you, like a habit or mannerism picked up from a loved one. But right now, he’s still as a rock.

“Okay,” you repeat back to him, hoping your words were of some comfort. “As for the Maitlands, it’s not like they were against it or anything. They’re just surprised, and they don’t understand yet. But they will over time. Once they see us together.” You squeeze his other hand reassuringly in his lap. “And so will everyone else.”

He quickly jumps back to life after his quiet moment. “Ohhhh fuck, I forgot we have to tell everybody else in this house too. I kinda just wanna rip off the bandaid and tongue kiss you at family movie night and never bring it up so we don’t have to talk about it with all of these dweebs.”

“You absolutely know that Lydia will say something about that.” He’s right that Charles and Delia may be too polite to mention an elephant in the room, but Lydia has certainly never had an issue with being outspoken even if it’s uncomfortable.

Beetlejuice groans, flopping back on the bed. “Yep, you’re totally right. That kid is too blunt for her own good sometimes. Honestly, I’m shocked she hasn’t noticed something going on between us yet, cuz we’d totally know it if she had.”

You flop back onto the bed next to him, ignoring the tower of folded clothes that your head knocks over in the process. “To be fair, it’s only been a little over a week since we…got together.” What a polite way of saying we fucked like rabbits.

“Hm, maybe so, but you can’t deny the rich sexual tension that we’ve had going on for waaayyy longer than that, doll.” He winks at you and sticks out his tongue to punctuate the statement.

You let out a pure belly laugh at his words, playfully nudging his shoulder with your own. “Dumbass.”

Beetlejuice’s grin widens. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” He nudges you back slightly harder, so of course you have to do the same in return to keep your honor intact. Before you know it, he’s on top of you, leaving you unsure if he teleported or simply moved positions very quickly. Cheeks already flushing at the precarious position, you try your best to fight back against him feebly, attempting to throw or push him off and finding no success. Beetlejuice, on the other hand, is just laughing childishly at your predicament as he easily swats away your hands that attempt to push him away.

“I don’t take it back,” you announce stubbornly, still trying to get any sort of leverage on the demon but finding none. He clearly outclasses you in both weight and strength, but you’re not one to let the odds deter you in this game.

“Oho, you’re gonna regret that.” The next time your hand moves to shove at him, Beetlejuice instead deftly catches and holds it by the wrist, immediately doing the same when you bring up your other hand to fight him off. After capturing both of your hands securely, he easily pushes them onto the bed on either side of your head, his nose inches from your own. With you effectively pinned to the bed, his eyes lock with yours in a half-lidded teasing gaze, smirk only growing wider as you squirm beneath him to no avail. “Aww, aren’t you so cute trying to get away from me?”

“This isn’t helping your case of not being an asshole.” If you can’t fight him off physically, you can at least be satisfied a bit by digging your heels into the dirt with your words. The more time you spend being silly with him, the more you understand the joy that he finds in pushing people’s buttons.

Beetlejuice doesn’t respond, and you know him well enough at this point to recognize this as his tell-tale warning sign of impending mischief. Wordlessly, he breaks the locked gaze that he had going with you to look down at the rest of your trapped form. Before you can think of a witty remark, he moves almost faster than you can perceive to press his lips to your neck and blows a raspberry against your skin. Taken completely off guard by this vicious attack, you let out a shriek and begin wiggling around to try and loosen yourself from his grasp, legs kicking but unable to aid you in your escape. He rewards your efforts with a sickly sweet smile and another attack.

“You-hu-hu dick!” Your insult only spreads his smile wider, which in turn makes you want to get out of his grip and launch a counter-attack even more.

“Wow, what a nasty little breather you are. Maybe if you took back your hurtful words, I’d stop.” He demonstrates his ruthlessness by giving you another raspberry right where your neck meets your collarbone, his scruffy beard tickling horribly against your skin and driving you wild. You’re unable to hide your laughter at this point, both at the sensations and his silly antics.

“F-fine! Fine! I take it back! You are NOT an asshole at all! Happy?”

He brings his head back up to brush noses with you, a self-satisfied and victorious grin plastered to his face. “Was that so hard?”

You wrinkle your nose at him as you struggle to catch your breath, trying not to show on your face the overwhelming fondness that is currently washing over you. He’s unspeakably cute above you, delighting in a silly little game, while simultaneously straddling you in a way that’s making it even harder to settle your racing heart. With nothing witty to say, you crane your head forward to lock lips with him again, savoring the sweetness of his joyful surprise. Kissing you does at least make him let go of your hands, his need to touch you outweighing his dedication to your game. Your hands come up to grab at his hair, their new favorite spot to rest, as your kisses intensify. Beetlejuice makes a low noise and slips his long tongue into your mouth, the still-odd but welcome intrusion making you groan lightly. Part of you hopes you never fully get used to the demon’s otherworldly qualities, hopes that the way your stomach flips in surprise at feeling sharp fangs graze against your lips never dulls. You move your lips back against him with this thought in mind.

Knock, knock, knock. The sound of a rapping at your closed but unlocked door immediately pulls the two of you apart, Beetlejuice wearing a sour face at the interruption.

“(Y/N)? Can I come in or what?” The easily recognizable voice of Lydia causes you to practically throw Beetlejuice off from on top of you, and he ungracefully falls off of the bed and onto his backside with a thump. You find yourself caught between mouthing “sorry”’s and waving him away from your bed and hopefully getting across the message to act natural.

“S-sure Lydia, come on in!” You try to straighten yourself out to look presentable and inconspicuous within the next few seconds, too preoccupied with smoothing over your clothes to even check to see what Beetlejuice is doing. Before you have another moment to prepare, the door swings open and in walks the goth teen that you’ve been sharing a house with for the past few months.

“Hey, Delia just wanted me to ask if you’d help with…what are you doing?” Lydia eyes you up from the doorway as you sit with your hands folded politely on your bed.

“Oh, you know, just folding clothes!” You speak in a tone that feels far too cheery coming out of your mouth, but it’s too late for a do-over.

“Uh-huh.” Lydia crosses her arms, her eyes wandering to the knocked-over tower of once-folded clothes next to you that have since become wildly strewn about during your scrap and ensuing makeout session with Beetlejuice. “You’re doing a pretty bad job at it.”

You mentally facepalm. “Ha, yeah, I guess I am…” Your voice trails off awkwardly and you pray for this conversation to be over.

Lydia raises an eyebrow, clearly picking up the odd atmosphere but hopefully not exactly sure where it’s coming from. “Alright.” Her eyes flit over to where you last saw Beetlejuice heading, and only now do you think to follow her gaze and see what he’s up to, to which you immediately wish you hadn’t. He’s floating multiple feet away from your bed, reclined in the air like he doesn’t have a care in the world, licking his finger and flipping through a book that is clearly upside down.

“Oh, hi Lyds! What’s up?” He does finger guns at her, the book still floating in place without his touch.

Lydia furrows her brow. “Dude, what’s wrong with your hair?” You snap back into reality with this statement as you realize that BJ’s hair is a gradient of light pink to a slightly darker fuchsia starting at his roots, probably not a color that anyone has really seen on him but you.

Beetlejuice’s face falls. “Uh. Well. You know.” He visibly struggles for words. “Romance novel. Heh.” He gestures to the book, which very prominently reads INTRO TO PHYSICS in bold letters across the front, not to mention the fact that it is still very much upside down.

Lydia nods as if that clears it all up. “Ahh, riiiight.” She turns back to you. “Anyways, Delia wanted me to ask if you’d help cut vegetables or whatever for dinner…”

You clasp your hands together as if nothing on this Earth could bring you more joy than slicing up some carrots for Delia. “Oh, of course! Tell her I’ll be right down, thanks for relaying the message!” You also do finger guns at her for no reason.

“Will do, weirdo.” She turns on her heels and shuts the door behind her without another word. You and Beetlejuice both let out a sigh of relief and you practically collapse back on the bed.

Beetlejuice floats over and collapses next to you, his body facing the opposite direction of yours. “Okay, so she definitely knows something is up.”

***

Those carrots never could’ve seen it coming, I chopped them up so well. You take a bite of the steaming hot home-cooked dinner that you lightly contributed to with satisfaction. The rest of the family eats at their usual seats at the table, conversing about whatever random topics to fill the silence between bites of food. Adam and Barbara have plates of food as well, despite not physically needing to eat. You figure it’s more of an etiquette thing with them. Beetlejuice also has his own plate, but it’s one of those children’s paper plates with an animal face on it, which is the only thing he is allowed to use ever since he proved that he cannot be trusted with the nice glass plates. You can feel his eyes on you as you eat. He’s possibly the least subtle person in the world, living or non.

“So yeah, I think I singed my eyebrows mostly off but I did get an A on my chemistry project, so it’s all cool,” Lydia concludes her story for the family, which you realize that you were accidentally zoned out for the majority of.

“Hey, careful, we don’t need any more ghosts around here!” Adam jokes, making a ribbing motion towards Lydia in the most over-the-top dad-like way.

Charles laughs through a bite of mashed potatoes. “Well, that’s certainly one way to pass a class! You’re absolutely your mother’s daughter, Lydia. You know, Emily pulled nearly that same trick when she was still in college. She’d be proud to know you’re carrying on the family legacy!”

Lydia smiles, a genuine smile that she doesn’t try to hide or diminish. “Heh, wow. That’s pretty awesome, dad.” She finishes the last bite of her meal and glances over at Beetlejuice. “Wow BJ, you haven’t even touched your slop yet.”

Beetlejuice jolts as he’s called out, and spares a look down at his plate. “Slop” is the right word for it, considering that he seems to have just poured all of his food into one big mixed-up pile like a nasty lunatic, the carrots indistinguishable from the meat and all of them lost in a sea of gravy together. Without a word, he unhinges his jaw like a snake and tosses the entire concoction down his gullet whole, swallowing everything (yes, including the plate itself) in one bite with an exaggerated gulp sound effect. He gives a thumbs up at Lydia with an unchanged blank expression, which doesn’t exactly do much to make him seem more normal.

Lydia makes a weird face at him. “Okay man, what gives? You’ve been acting weird as hell lately, and not your regular weird. You gonna let us in on what’s up or keep being all cagey?”

In your peripheral vision, you see the Maitlands immediately seem to decide that their plates just magically became the most interesting things in the room, and very worthy of their close scrutiny. You feel stuck between saying something to help out the petrified-looking demon across the table from you and staying silent to avoid further incriminating yourself.

Delia’s singsong voice breaks you from your trance. “Okay! I am uncomfortable with the energy at this dinner table and would like to move on…!” She clasps her hands together whimsically. “Now then, I have a new and exciting plan. Let’s clean up these dishes and all watch a m-“

“I slept with (Y/N).”

…Horror. That’s the only word that you can possibly use to describe your emotions in this exact moment. And from where you assume your soul is now floating outside of your body, you can see that you’re not alone, as Beetlejuice is currently the epicenter of horrified looks from everyone in the room. He slowly turns to look at you, his head seeming as though it should be making a pathetic creaking noise. His eyes are stretched so wide that they look like they could bulge out at any moment, looking dead ahead with his lips pulled tight into a long, flat line. Without a word being uttered from anyone at the table, he begins to sink into the floor. Literally. Beetlejuice slowly phases straight through the chair, into the floor, and out of sight. And just like that, he is gone. You distantly wonder if you should start cursing his name or if you’re just jealous that he has the ability to do that right about now.

Lydia finally pipes up. “Wow, you guys are shit at keeping secrets.”

***

After what you can confidently call the most awkward family conversation of your entire life, you finally make it back to your room and shut the door behind you, slumping against it in defeat. That was NOT how I originally wanted that conversation to go. I’m lucky that Lydia, Charles, and Delia were pretty chill about the whole deal, all things considered.

A rustling from your vintage armoire (perks of a pre-furnished room) snaps you back into reality. You take a tentative step towards the closed brown doors and press a hand to the old wood. The rustling stops abruptly.

“…Beetlejuice?” You call out softly, drumming your fingers against the door in a pseudo-knock. A small rustle answers you, and nothing more.

You move your fingers to lift the latch lock into its unlocked position and slowly creak both doors open. There, under your waterfall of hanging clothes, lies Beetlejuice: curled up in a little ball, hair a deep shade of purple, looking up at you with puffy dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, before you can even get a word out. “I’m stupid. Good for nothin’. I ruined your plan to tell everyone about us nicely.” You open your mouth, but he holds up a hand dramatically. “N-no need to say anything. I’ll go be a disappointment in someone else’s boudoir.” He materializes a small bindle over his shoulder and moves his hand up to snap himself somewhere else.

“Hey, wait, don’t go.” You gently grab his hand that he was about use to snap himself away, more of a symbolic gesture to stay than anything. “You’re not any of those things, and I don’t want you to leave.”

“I…” A look of slight surprise graces his forlorn face at both your words and touch. His earnest eyes seem to be searching your own for any sign of lies, and, finding none, he lowers his hand from your touch and disappears the bindle. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I really didn’t.” His voice has such a vulnerable touch to it, like a dog who had grown accustomed to being kicked and couldn’t find it in himself to expect any different. It truly breaks your heart to see, despite the lingering sense of embarrassment from dinner.

You sit outside of the large dresser, crossing your legs and leaning against its frame. “I know, bug. I’m not mad at you. I mean, I would’ve preferred maybe a softer phrasing if we had any control, but Lydia put you on the spot and we hadn’t even talked about how we would say it. It’s okay.” You bring your hand up to gently pet his hair, testing his reception to physical comfort right now. You get your answer when he leans into your hand with his entire head almost immediately.

“No kidding…kid had our number, babes. Or at least mine. But hey, least I didn’t say it like we bumped uglies or anything, I was pretty close and what I did say was all else I could think of right then. Mind couldn’t keep up with my mouth.” He lets out a labored sigh and smushes more of his face up against your hand like a particularly affectionate cat.

You give a small grin at his head bumps of love. “Yeah, well I have firsthand experience with how fast your mouth can be, so that checks out.”

A giggle that Beetlejuice couldn’t quite hold back slips out, a melodic sound to you. “Making sex jokes isn’t fair. You know I’ll always laugh at sex jokes.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I do know it.” You sit up on your haunches and lean in to lightly pepper his face with tiny kisses, only worsening the demon’s grip on his composure. The giggles that start to pour out of him uncontrollably are infectious, and you quickly find yourself unable to hold back your own. You continue your attack, enjoying the view as you watch tips of light pink begin to crawl up a few of his purple hair strands without his knowledge. After a good bit of shared laughter at your unrelenting kisses, Beetlejuice finally catches your mouth with his own. The feeling of his smile against your lips is sweeter than candy, and succeeds at making you forget all of your troubles for as long as it lasts. You suspect that he feels the same, considering that you are always, without fail, the first one to break away from every kiss due to your inconvenient need for oxygen. If it were up to him, you two might not ever come up for air.

When you pull back from him breathlessly, Beetlejuice’s eyes remain fixed on you, soft and almost perplexed as he searches for something unknowable in your expression. “Why do you love me back?” His voice comes out as a whisper despite the two of you being alone, as if he’s frightened what the walls of the home will think upon hearing his weakness.

“Oh, Beetlejuice…” You feel your loving gaze that remains locked onto him become tinged with layers of sadness, pitying the man who just can’t see himself the way you do. You reason that the best you can do is try to paint him a picture of your vision. “Where to even begin…? I can’t even say when or where I first fell in love with you, it’s like, I just realized one day that it had already happened to me without asking my permission. Yeah, I was really physically attracted to you, as we’re both well aware by now, but it’s more than that. I never wanted you to be just a hookup without anything past that.” Your hand finds its way to his own, an anchor to real life as you struggle to put your feelings to words in a way that will help him. “Beetlejuice, I love spending time with you. You’re the funniest person I know, and I’ve never had a dull moment with you. I could spend years watching bad movies and pranking the Maitlands with you and never get tired of your company. And, maybe my favorite thing about you is, try as you might sometimes, you can never actually hide how much you care about the people you love. I mean, you and Lydia squabble, but that kid is so important to you, I can see it. If she ever came home and said a teacher was picking on her, you’d probably go light their house on fire for being mean to your friend. That’s, like, the most attractive thing ever, if we’re being real here.” You’re blushing red hot at the earnest nature of your own words but do your best to keep your eyes from darting away bashfully. “Look, I…I wish I could say it better, so that you wouldn’t have to feel like you’re not good enough ever again. I wish I could fix things for you with pure strength of will, because I would be able to do it in a heartbeat. It kills me to know that you don’t always see yourself as worthwhile and lovable. I know you have stuff to work through, and honestly, so do I, but I wanna be with you to see it through. I’m all in, baby, you’re never getting rid of me. And I really do love you, so, so much.”

When you finally can savor your breath again after talking for so long without much pause and really take Beetlejuice in, you see two dark eyes looking back at you through a stream of tears. While one hand is still holding onto yours, the other is pressed up against his mouth tightly by his palm, as though to keep any sounds locked deep inside of him. Even so, he can’t quite stop a small sob from shaking his body, then another.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you attempt to soothe, craning your head to rest against his side, your chin grazing his lap as you look up at him. A more intimate touch, but not domineering and overwhelming, you hope.

Beetlejuice lets go of your hand to wipe at his eyes frantically, trying to clear away tears as more just keep flowing out of him. Now that he’s let one sob slip through, he seems to have fully lost his control as his body is wracked by more and more against his will. “I-I’m sorry, sorry…”

“Please don’t be.” You keep your head pressed against his side in a way that you hope is comforting to him. For a few moments, the two of you just sit there without speaking. You, praying that what you said was worded correctly, and Beetlejuice, trying and failing to stifle his weeping for so long and so hard that it eventually just dissolves into quiet hiccups.

After a bit of silence, Beetlejuice finally seems to calm down. “Wow, that was really embarrassing.” He speaks still lower than usual, but closer to his normal register.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry, that was supposed to make you feel better,” you sigh, bringing your head back up to be level with him (more like a bit below him, as the armoire’s bottom shelf is slightly above the ground level where you sit).

“No, s’okay. I think that was good for me to hear from you, probably. It was just…a lot. ‘Specially for someone who tries to avoid dealing with emotional crap as much as possible.” He turns to look at you, really look at you, for the first time since he broke down crying. “N-not saying what you said to me was crap! Not at all, don’t get me wrong. Just kinda…overwhelming, getting told so much good stuff about me at one time. Not used to it, kinda freaked me out in the moment. Buncha criticism at once, sure, that’s an average Tuesday, but that’s different.”

You smile lightly at his words, taking note of the purple beginning to fade from his hair and being replaced with his usual green, in addition to streaks of light pink. “I meant everything I said, y’know. Those are just a few of the reasons that you’re stuck with me, I could give you a list triple that size if I had some ample prep time and a better grasp on flowery love language.”

“Heh, you are too cute. C’mere.” Beetlejuice grabs your entire torso clumsily by wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up and into the armoire, crashing your entire body against his lounging form. The two of you go from fully separated to tangled together in a tight space very quickly, leaving you to yelp in surprise as you try to adjust your positioning without much room to do so. The fact that the bottom portion of the armoire has a lip that comes up a few inches in front of where the doors close is all that separates you from losing your balance and falling right out. Kind of a miracle we’re not breaking right through this! Not sure if that’s demon magic or if this old thing is just sturdy as hell.

Try as you might, your legs being all tangled up and too long for the space keeps you from properly lifting yourself off of him for more than a second. “Well, I’m right here now, bug. Better?” As if to punctuate this, you lose your bracing and drop yourself with a thunk back onto his chest, which shakes below you with laughter at your predicament.

“Oh yeah babes, nice to see you still can’t keep yourself off of me.” Beetlejuice snickers, but does help your slippery ass out by pushing your chest backwards a bit, making you sit up more securely and straddle him on your knees.

You look down at him from your improved vantage point, taking in his mischievous little expression and wondering how long that’s been plastered on his face. “And just what are you thinking about right now?”

He meets your questioning eyes, sly smile only growing. “Oh, nothing. Just that I’ve never had sex in a boudoir before.”

“Baby, I can barely fit in here with you, I have no idea how sex could even take place in here.” As you speak, you also become aware of the clothing hanging just above your head, and do giggle to yourself at the idea of repeatedly smacking your head against a pair of pants in this scenario.

“Well that’s ‘cuz you’re not using your imagination, my love.” You feel his hands move down to grope at your ass as he teasingly enunciates your little pet name. “It’s fine though, it is a little shallow for two in here.” With that, he poofs the two of you onto your own bed, and you sprawl out gratefully on top of him, stretching your cramped limbs out.

“Sorry bug, my human body can’t be contorted that way for very long like yours can.” Your joints pop in relief as you go full starfish on top of your demon boyfriend, snuggling your head up against his chest. “I’ll do anything else you want, as long as I’m not smushed into a box to fuck.”

“Anything?” The tone in his voice makes it seem like his ears have perked up at your words in extreme interest.

You lift your head off of his chest to look him in the eye, a playful glint in your own. “Ah, it sounds to me like you might already have an idea here.”

Beetlejuice’s eyes quickly dart away, his cheeks flushed pink. “Ah, I mean- not, y’know, necessarily per se…” His defensive mumbles fade into unintelligible hums as he twiddles his fingers nervously.

“You’re cute when you’re shy.” You bump your forehead against his, forcing him to look at you since your eyes are mere inches from his own. “Y’know, it’s just about the only time you don’t have a clever comeback.” The mumbles that he makes in response only prove your point and make you giggle, pulling your head back and rolling over to lay next to him. “But really, BJ, you can tell me. You know I won’t laugh or think you’re weird….er than usual.”

He fidgets with the fabric of the sheets beneath him. “I know you won’t, I just…” He falls silent, seeming at war with himself over what to do. Being this coy about matters of sex is extremely odd for Beetlejuice, which of course, only piques your interest on what he could be so hesitant about even more.

You place your hand on his bicep, wishing that he’d ditched the classic striped suit before the conversation started so you could feel his cool skin underneath. “Hey, I know I’ve mostly taken the lead the few times we’ve had sex since getting together, but it doesn’t have to be that way every time. You know I’m willing to try different stuff if it’s with you. The real question is, what do you want to do?”

“I mean- I just like whatever you like, you know th-“

“Beetlejuice.” His eyes finally flick back over to make contact with yours, the power of you saying his full name is enough to get his attention on you and his mind out of his own thoughts a little. Your eyes soften at his hesitance. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Your thoughts matter to me. Promise.”

He seems to visibly soothe under your reassurances, though his face is still a bit twisted up. “I just- I mean, I guess I’ve always wanted to…” He drapes an open palm over his red-hot face, ever the drama queen.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe try, like, I dunno…hunting you down like a demon would and fucking you ‘til you forget your own name…” He chances a single glance at you through his fingers. “Something like that?” His words were spoken at about three times his normal speed, but you made sure not to miss a single syllable of that confession.

“Oh? Is that so?” You drag your words out in a sweet tone, relishing the way that he peeks at you from behind his strategically draped hand. “You wanna give me the full haunted house demon treatment before fucking me?”

Beetlejuice sits fully up, no longer able to stay reclined back on the bed or hide his enthusiasm as he talks. “Yes, yes, God yes, please, I h-haven’t thought of anything else in so long…! I wanna use my powers on you too, y’know, only if you’d be okay with that…” The floodgates have opened, and his eyes peer down at you with a vicious mix of lust and approval-seeking.

You meet his gaze with a half-lidded smile, sitting up to mirror his position. “Abso-fucking-lutely. Okay, don’t even say too much now, I’ve just decided I want you to completely surprise me on this.”

Uncertainty shrouds his expression. “You’re really okay with being scared by me, like that?”

You grin at his concern for you, internally cooing over how cute he’s being about such a lewd idea. “Baby, I hope I feel more scared than I’ve ever been before and powerless against such a big, scary demon, too. I know you respect me and wouldn’t cross any boundary that I didn’t want crossed, especially since we just the other day talked about the specifics in that department. We can use the same stoplight safeword setup as we have before, that seemed to work pretty well. So, think you can do that for me? Make me feel like I’m at the mercy of some terrifying ghost haunting my house before making me cum my brains out?”

He suppresses a groan, from far deep down in his chest. “Fuck, y-yeah, I think I can do that. Y’know, as a favor to your horny self, of course. Since you asked and all.”

You let out a giggle at his antics. “What, are you trying to tell me that it doesn’t make you horny to think about? That doesn’t sound like the Beej I know. I’m pretty sure you were at half-mast yesterday when I was just washing a zucchini in the kitchen.”

He grumbles defensively, crossing his arms but leaning in to push his shoulder into yours. “Well, try not to wash it so sluttily next time, I dunno…” His eyes dart away in embarrassment at being called out. “And hey, just a warning, but you might not be able to keep up with me if I go all-out. Remember when I told you that demons have a refractory period of like, 3.5 seconds? I wasn’t exaggerating, for once. So don’t be afraid to tell me when your little mortal body can’t take anymore.”

You have the ill-advised gall to laugh at this. “I’m not too worried about it. I’ve never had trouble keeping up with your needy ass before, so I think I’ll survive.”

Beetlejuice shrugs at your nonchalance. “Hm, if you say so. Just remember that I said it later.” He leans forward to rest his chin on his hands, as though he were preparing to gossip in bed with you. “Now, the real question is, when are we gonna get freak-ay? We do not have the amount of privacy that I’m sure you’ll want for this sorta event very often in this crowded-ass house.”

You lean forward to mirror his pose, both of you now looking like girls sharing secrets at a sleepover. “Well, I happen to know that everyone is planning to go out all day tomorrow. Including the Maitlands for once, since Lydia found out that they can possess objects and tag along for outside adventures Annabelle-style last month. Which I’d say, works out great for a human that will be home alone in the evening with the whole house to themself, eerily quiet and empty. Sure hope nothing happens.” Your demon’s pupils quickly become big round pools of inky blackness that engulf the surrounding brown iris as you say this, his body clearly giving away his interest in this idea. You flash him a knowing smirk, feeling the urge to be mean and tease him just a bit more than you should rear its head. “Think you can be patient enough to wait for it, or do you need me to give you a quick blowjob now to tide you over? I mean, I’m gonna make you wait either way, but I think I’d like to hear you ask nicely for it. Just for fun.”

As you finish speaking, Beetlejuice’s entire posture shifts in a way that you’ve never seen before. You swear that he looks slightly taller after adjusting himself to look directly at you, eyes narrowed but pupils still overtaking all of the surrounding color, fully locked on to your smaller form. “Oh-ho, my sweet, foolish little breather. I’d be more worried about yourself for the time being if I were you.” His self-satisfied smile shows off his fangs, looking even pointier than usual pressed against his bottom lip. “Now, I know you said you wanna be surprised, but I will say just one thing.” He brings a clawed hand to your cheek, stroking the soft skin gently, as though you were made of porcelain. “Make sure that tomorrow night, you’re wearing clothes that you don’t mind being ripped to shreds.” His words, spoken at a deep and salacious growl that is new to you, send a spark from the top of your spine that travels down through your entire lower body. Your visible shiver causes Beetlejuice’s slight smile to become a full grin at your reaction, and you nearly miss the intertwined streak of red and fuchsia swiftly sear its way through his hair.

You struggle to find the words to respond, his ability to turn the tables so quick has left you utterly reeling. “Uh, yeah, I can- I can do that.” And we’ve barely even begun. Maybe I really have bitten off more than I can chew.

“Good,” Beetlejuice purrs, stroking your face with claws that seem to be growing sharper by the second against your cheek. He runs them under your jawline by their tips, little pinpricks that tickle but also threaten to break the skin if he were to apply any pressure. “Oh, and uh, one more thing, my love.”

You can’t help you gulp that escapes you as his thumb and forefinger grab hold of your chin and hold you in place. “Y-yes?”

Anticipation dances behind his pretty brown eyes forebodingly. “If you run and hide from me, you’d better not let me catch you.” And just like that, it’s as though you blinked and he disappeared from your sight in an instant.

***

You adjust yourself on the living room sofa, flipping through TV channels absentmindedly. You have certainly not forgotten what Beetlejuice said to you before disappearing. On top of that, he’s made you a hyper-vigilant mess by not showing up again for the rest of the previous night and into this evening, the longest that you’ve gone without at least a pop-in visit from him since getting together. Everyone else was still gone for the day, having a lovely time out on the town, you assume. They had all said how bad they felt for leaving you behind on a family fun day, but you had fibbed a bit and told them not to worry since you were too busy with work to plan a full day out right now. Work, indeed.

A loud clap of thunder interrupts your thoughts, making you jump in surprise before sighing in relief. Hope the family isn’t getting rained out of their fun, whatever they’re doing out there. The wind is whistling outside as rain whips itself across the house with no signs of stopping. The pounding of the rain against the rooftops was creating a nice dull melody that you would to relax to, that is, if you were capable of relaxing right now. You wonder whether Beetlejuice might have any kind of influence over the weather or if the universe was just on his side for tonight. You’d by lying if you said you weren’t on edge, feeling like you’ve been standing on the edge of a precarious cliff as soon as the family left the house. He must know that you’ve been home alone for hours now, and yet he still hasn’t appeared. Unless, of course, he’s hiding in the house right now, invisible to your human eyes whenever and wherever he wants to be. As far as you know, he could be standing inches away from you, and you would be none the wiser until he chose to make himself known.

You vaguely regret the fact that you’d bent to your impulses and teased at making him wait for sex, for a multitude of reasons. A pent-up and horny Beetlejuice is an unpredictable Beetlejuice, especially when you throw in the fact that you asked him to be as rough and monstrous as possible tonight into the mix. Dread isn’t exactly the right word for what you feel, but it isn’t quite as small and easily explainable an emotion as mere anticipation either. You want him to appear more than anything, and yet all of the hair on your arms stands on end when you imagine what he’ll do when he does show up. You’ve been frustratingly wet for hours at the idea of it, unable to focus on anything else, but you haven’t touched yourself out of fear of him silently watching to see if you succumb to your own desire again, needy and impatient and desperate all because of him. The last thing he needs is such a monumental ego boost. If his goal is to play mind games and get inside my head, it’s working. You bitterly admire the restraint he’s displaying that you never would’ve imagined in a million years that he possessed.

Suddenly, another boom of thunder shakes the house, taking the lights and TV out with it and drenching you in darkness. A power outage. Awesome. Okay, stay calm. You feel around the couch cushions for your phone, but it’s nowhere to be found. Shit, I must’ve left my phone upstairs, so no dice on that flashlight for now… You quickly brainstorm an option that doesn’t feature you having to crawl up a staircase in complete darkness. Oh wait, I think Delia left some candles downstairs the other day after a long terrace meditation session! Standing up and trying to keep your balance as your eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light overtaking the house, you try to remember where the candles were last being stored. I think I saw them last when Delia was putting them in that kitchen drawer by the sink…I think.

Unsteadily, you step away from the couch and proceed in the direction of the kitchen. You’re starting to be able to make out general shapes of items in your path, but the darkness is so all-consuming that it can be hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. You tiptoe around what could be a chair or just a dark shadow in the shape of one, taking care to reach out and touch the doorway to the kitchen with the delicate tips of your fingers before gently creaking it open. It makes far more sound in the process of opening than you would like, which you proceed to feel silly about worrying over considering that Beetlejuice is most likely not even here if he hasn’t made himself known yet. You feel you can pretty confidently conclude that he wouldn’t have this much patience, not when you’re so clearly right out in the open and defenseless.

With the door full and loudly open, you slip through and into the main kitchen area. Feeling around for the correct cabinet, you finally reach the one you were hunting for and pull the drawer out slowly. Using mostly touch, you feel around inside for the distinct texture of the long wax candle that Delia was holding in your memory, your hand skittering around the menagerie of unseeable items until your fingers finally graze its smooth surface. Your feeling of success is immediately extinguished when you hear a dull thud from the living room through the door, like the sound of something heavy being placed on the floor just a bit too quickly. At this noise, your hair immediately stands on end and you shrink towards the ground on instinct. You can’t quite see through the door at the angle you’re at, but you keep your eyes glued on the doorframe anyway. After a few moments of only utter silence following, you slowly rise back to full height. Maybe I am on edge enough to be imagining things. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard a phantom sound while I’m home alone that turned out to be nothing.

Steeling your nerves, you return your hands to the drawer to feel around for a candle lighter, keeping your body faced towards the doorway and your back facing nothing but an empty corner. The rain continues to pound against the house, lessening your sharp hearing abilities a bit with its unyielding dull roar. It’s taking you longer to find the lighter now, considering how you’re attempting to be careful to not disturb the various items in the drawer so as to make the least amount of sound possible. But the mixture of being unable to find the lighter and being on high alert from the random noise is making your heart race, and making you increasingly sloppy in your work of rustling around the drawer. You’re actually beginning to pant as you try to quicken the speed of your hands, ears ringing as you search fruitlessly for this godforsaken lighter and become only worse and worse at the task. You swear you see something move in the kitchen out of the corner of your eye, but nothing has come through the door and all of the shadows feel as though they’re closing in and grabbing at you, so you ignore your mind’s alarm bells and begin rifling through the drawer with reckless abandon. You feel as though you’re reaching a breaking point of some sort when finally, finally, you feel the cool plastic of the lighter beneath your touch. You let a shaky breath out, grasping the lighter and clicking in the button to produce a small flame.

Just as the flame sparks to life, lighting up your world just that small but significant bit, you feel your stomach drop in a way that tells you something is deeply, deeply wrong. It’s an old gut feeling, one so ancient and instinctual that it feels utterly impossible to ignore. The flame goes out, despite you still holding the button down. Before you have a chance to truly take this emotion in, you feel an unnatural chill that starts at your neck and runs all the way down your spine. You reach up to cover your neck reflexively, only for the same sensation to hit your fingers and the exposed bits of neck around it, closer and more intense. It’s only now that you realize what exactly is causing this chill against you. Breath. Cold, inhuman breath. A flat, unconvincing charade of your own breathing, carving a space for itself in the uncanny valley due to how incorrect it feels. Not only is it cold, but the breaths don’t have proper breaks between them, and they shift from being far too short to far too long to ever pass as natural. You realize upon this consideration that you’ve been frozen for more time than you meant to be, and quickly whip your body around to come face-to-face with the source of this “breathing.” But when you turn around, you’re merely greeted by empty air, same as it was before. Except that now, you feel the same breath on your neck from behind you again, causing you to once again try to turn fast enough to catch the source. And again, you fail.

Suddenly, you see a ripple in the shadows in front of you and feel a pressure push itself against your body. You scream on impulse at the contact and jump backwards, dropping your wax candle and accidentally knocking a bowl that had been left on the kitchen counter to the floor in the process, where it shatters on impact. With no time to react, you feel yourself pushed up against the same wall you had fearfully jumped towards by the same heavy force as before. You’re rendered completely immobile in seconds, some invisible, freezing cold strength holding you in place against the wall. Your arms are pinned up by your head, with most of the presence being on your torso to keep you in place. On top of the otherworldly force, you feel phantom hands begin to travel all over your body, too many to count. Over your throat, your chest, your legs, your ass. Scratching down your arms, you can barely see in the darkness as small red marks appear on them out of thin air. Without any warning, you feel something wet that you cannot see make contact with your exposed collarbone and drag its way up your neck, deliciously slow, as though you were being savored. At the same time, something sharp digs into both of your thighs at once, five little pinpricks of that grace the underside of each leg as they are lifted up and into the air, dangling uselessly. You can’t tell if blood is being drawn, but it hurts enough that you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Hurts so good. Hurts so good.

“B-Beetlejuice…” Your breathy moan pierces the otherwise silent room, and the wet appendage is pulled away from your throat slowly and deliberately. The pinpricks are lifted from your thighs and your feet come back to rest on the ground.

The shadows once again ripple, but this time, you can finally see him there, inches away from your face. His usually soft and pleasant features are so sharp and monstrous upon his self-reveal that it makes you jump a bit just to see him. He’s tall, unmistakably taller than his usual height, and looming over you with the hunched posture of a recently-transformed werewolf, some creature who was all bent out of its natural shape. Everything otherworldly about him is exaggerated, you notice, as your eyes rake over his fangs, which have become long enough to look like they could seriously do some damage in addition to his other usually-normal teeth looking sharp enough to hurt you as well. His claws are filed into sharp points, his tongue appears to have developed a fork at the tip on top of its impressive length, and his pupils have completely shifted into small black slits. A bright lightning strike pours through the large kitchen window and lights up the house for but a second to reveal his changed form more clearly to you, the black and white stripes covering his form reminding you of the hypnotically beautiful warning markings of a venomous creature. In the momentary flash, his eyes, mere inches away from yours, reflect back the light and shine bright white like the eyes of some nocturnal animal. The expression in those eyes is wild and feral, and while you’ve certainly seen Beetlejuice’s expression full of desperation and lust, this is the first time that you’ve felt like he’s ready to pounce and take whatever he wants from you. Not to mention the mixture of red and fuchsia lighting up his hair even in this darkness, a combination that you’ve never seen overtake him before.

“Mmm, I could cum from your delicious screams alone,” his voice rasps next to your ear, having an additional deep growl to his every word that you’re certain only a demon could produce, his usual tone mixing with something darker layered beneath it. It rumbles against your skin and causes another shiver to shoot up your spine, making your entire body shudder under his hold. He gives a look that you can assume is deep satisfaction with himself, pressing his face to your neck and inhaling deeply. “Gimme a color, babes.”

You gulp, not prepared to force words out of your dry throat. “G-green.”

You feel him smile against your skin. “Good. You tell me if that changes.” He pulls his head back to really take you in. You must look like a wreck, eyes clouded over with terror and desire, already clearly a horny mess from hours of waiting. Whatever state you’re in, it must please Beetlejuice to see, as he can’t seem to stop raking his eyes up and down your figure. “Okay, you want monster, how about this…I’m gonna give you ten seconds to decide whether you’re gonna run and hide like prey, or stand here and take it like a champ. Your call, but I will say this: if you can successfully hide from me, I’ll make it worth your while. This night can still become all about you, I can put all my focus into getting you off like a good little demon. But, if you decide to run, and I catch you, I’m gonna use you. I’m gonna make you get me off again and again and again, and I’m gonna keep fucking you like my own little personal toy ‘til I’ve used every last little bit of you up. However long that takes.” There’s no hiding the bulge that rubs up against your thigh as he lays out this last part of the agreement. “So. Deal?”

Your mouth runs dry at his proposal, but not out of distaste, or any true fear. It’s something much more entrancing that holds you in place, warmth pooling between your legs before you finally speak, your voice sounding far less stable than you’d like. “Deal.”

A devilish smirk makes its way across Beetlejuice’s features, and he puts his hand out to shake on it. Even when he’s taking charge, it seems he can’t help but still be at least a little bit of a dork about it. You reach out to take his offered hand and he squeezes your own with more force than necessary before moving both of your hands up and down emphatically. Satisfied, he lets you go for the moment. “Your ten seconds begin now.”

It’s not even a question when you tear off towards the living room, through the kitchen door which swings aimlessly behind you due to the rush of your swift exit. Behind you, you can hear harsh laughter growing distant as you run. Your eyes quickly search your surroundings as you sprint carefully across the length of the dining room (at least, as much as you can safely sprint in this darkness). The house has only so many rooms, but is quite spread out and full of potential objects to conceal yourself behind, or under. The problem is, you have mere seconds to get into place and your brain is currently mixed up in a swirling whirlpool of arousal and pure prey drive that is greatly affecting your ability to locate a proper hiding space. You have no idea if it’s been one second or nine seconds by the time you reach the couch that you had been sitting on not too long ago, and hopelessly try not to lose yourself to panic as you scan the room at light speed. Both the Deetz and Maitland families kept the house fairly free of unnecessary clutter, which on any other day, would be a perk to living in their shared house. Not so much when a demon is hunting you.

Just as you’re starting to get overwhelmed by the feeling that you’ve lost before you’ve even begun, you notice that there’s a small space between one of the living room sofa chairs and the wall that would probably be just big enough for you to squeeze behind. Having no other option readily available, you practically hurl yourself into the crevice. You harshly smack your right forearm on the armrest of the cushioned chair on the way down but pay it no mind, draping a blanket that had been sitting on the lap of the chair to hang slightly over your head so as to better conceal yourself. Just as you finish adjusting your hiding place, you hear the door to the kitchen slam with terrifying power.

“Oho, my little breather, don’t you know that the quickest way to get a predator to chase you is to run?” His voice is ice cold yet tinged with a bit of humor, but whatever the joke is, you’re clearly not in on it. He’s laughed at you plenty before, but it’s usually benign and lightly teasing, not the hissing, cruel laughter that seems to encircle and taunt you now. You hear footsteps begin to fall, loud stomps that seem to echo through the room and make it difficult to pinpoint which direction he’s headed. That is, until they start to head distinctly closer.

You try to calm your breathing, which is still heavy and labored due to your mad dash from the kitchen. Your racing heart certainly isn’t doing you any favors in this regard, only adding to your stifled gasps for air. You put a hand over your own mouth, doing your best to quiet your stupid human noises as the sound of your demon’s footsteps grow closer and closer. Even as you do, you feel your lungs greedily pleading for more air than you can currently offer, and breathing through your nose does little to quiet your body’s demands. As you sit in your makeshift nest like a quail trying not to startle and take flight, the realization dawns on you much too late that you have been fighting a losing battle. This wasn’t a fair deal, it was a game, and this game was clearly stacked in his favor. You should’ve know you can’t hide from a demon in his own house, not when he hadn’t even put a time limit on the deal! You mentally berate yourself for being so foolish, getting tricked into playing a game that could never be won. Or maybe he didn’t really trick you; maybe on some level, you knew you wanted to lose to him, before losing yourself in him. A deal with a devil you were destined to regret from the start. These thoughts buzz around your mind incessantly, feeling louder than your heartbeat and heavy breathing combined.

A feral growl snaps you from your mind’s tangent, so close to your hiding spot and yet not quite on top of it yet. “It’s no use, I can smell you.” You heard him audibly sniff the air. “Hmm, you smell like fear, the fear of someone who knows just how outmatched and, well, how fucked they really are, but it’s all mixed up with the smell of your lust. I’d never mistake that combination in a million human lifetimes. So sweet, so perfect, you’re making me drool here, doll…”

Your treacherous heart quickens at his words, and you pray that he can’t hear it pounding away in your chest. You’re internally pleading for the pouring rain outside to mask any smaller sounds that you make, but you don’t count on any favors from the universe today.

“Hmm…” You can hear the smile in his voice, and the implications of this worry you greatly. “You know, you act like you’re so mature and unknowable compared to me, but I can read you like a book. I can smell how wet you are for me, how much you’ve been absolutely gagging for it since last night. Y’know, I’m kinda shocked you didn’t just fingerblast yourself on the couch like a needy little whore after I made you wait so long. I know you wanted to. Bet you couldn’t think about anything else all night.”

You feel your face completely flush, biting down on the hand that you’ve been using for covering your mouth to keep from making any sound. He thinks he can get me to break by his words alone, but he’s wrong. I’m not going down that easily. After speaking, you notice that his stomping footsteps have halted, as though he’s standing frozen with his ears pricked up to listen for you to falter. You hold steady, difficult as it is. Without warning, a loud CRASH rings out, making you jolt in place. For a moment, your brain registers it as a thunderclap, before quickly realizing that Beetlejuice had in fact violently flipped over some large piece of furniture in the living room, uprooting it in his search for you. Or just to frighten you. Take your pick.

“I’m starting to get impatient with you, little bird,” he snarls, pacing around the large room and forcefully pushing away seemingly anything that finds itself in his path. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’ll be when I eventually catch you. And I will catch you. You can’t hide from a demon for very long.” As he speaks, you hear another sound ever so faintly, but one that immediately makes you press your thighs together painfully. The unmistakable sound of Beetlejuice roughly pumping his own cock. It’s increasingly evident that he might be getting off on this even more than you are, which is quite a feat.

You suppress a pleasurable shudder, as well as the desire to join him. Your thighs rub together in a sad attempt to find friction, instead just making you feel more like a desperate caged animal. You hear him let out a small moan from across the room, and can’t help the way that your breath hitches in your throat before coming out as the smallest whine, barely crossing the threshold of your parted lips against your will before you hurriedly clamp your mouth down around it. Even so, you hear Beetlejuice’s various noises immediately stop all at once, before he begins stalking in your direction again. Every footstep that falls on the floor feels as though it’s signaling your end, a dark shadow creeping closer that is just barely visible on the ground and wall to your side, outside of the chair and blanket’s cover. In a surprising moment of clarity, you realize that he will find you within seconds and that you, at this very moment alone, have a jumpstart on choosing whether to fight, flight, or freeze your way out of this situation. Freezing won’t do you any good, and there’s no way you can overpower him, so you resolve to flee to a different part of the house the moment that he spots you. You hope that you can take him by surprise and make him pause long enough to make it out of eyesight and into another hiding spot. It’s not much, but it’s really all you can think of right now.

Before you can make any other considerations, it happens. The chair that was protectively in front of you one moment is completely gone in the next, tossed aside recklessly without even being touched. You’re metaphorically naked to the open air, and without so much as sparing a glance at your monster, you leap away from the wall as though you were shot out of a cannon and sprint full force towards the nearby staircase. You hear a sound of surprise behind you but don’t dare to look back, reaching out to grab onto the handrail before you begin bounding up the stairs, taking two at a time. As you reach the first platform and prepare to turn the corner to climb higher, you hear a loud SLAM that shakes the entire house around you. You turn your head towards the sound on instinct, and see in your peripheral vision that Beetlejuice just rammed his entire body sideways and shoulders-first into the wall at the bottom of the stairs due to how fast and recklessly he was pursuing you, like an animal that forgets to control its speed during a hunt and overshoots its leap. Within the blink of an eye, he’s crouched at the bottom of the stairs in a posture that strikes your fleeing brain as odd, before he begins crawling up the stairs on all fours at alarming speeds, bounding upwards and coming right at you. You swiftly round the corner to the higher set of stairs as he scrambles upwards, but you can tell he’s gaining on you at a pace that makes your stomach drop.

You haul yourself up the last few stairs and into the hallway that most of the bedrooms connect to. It’s a long, narrow hall with multiple doors branching off of it and an impressively tall, lovely gothic window at the end of the hall that stretches nearly from floor to ceiling and beautifully frames the rain, which is still pouring down torrentially outside and running down the glass in thick racing streams. You distantly recognize that your plan to get out of his sight and hide will not be panning out, so you quickly pivot to a new, much worse plan: get to your room and lock the door. Certainly, that will keep the monster out.

With no time to lose, you book it towards your closed door at the very end of the hallway, placed just to the right of the large window. You try to ignore the sound of an inbound demon close behind you, your feet carrying you as fast as they’re able. The hallway seems to stretch unnaturally long in front of you, and you wonder if this is one of Beetlejuice’s illusions or if your brain is just playing tricks on you in your escape. You’re trapped running endlessly as the rain in front of you buffets itself against the window, as though it too was trying to come in and attack you, until finally, your outstretched hand makes contact with your doorknob and moves to turn the knob. It jiggles rigidly against your twisting hand. Locked.

In that moment, you feel clawed hands grab your shoulders and force you down to the ground. You land solidly but not painfully, your face being firmly pushed up against the impeccably clean wood flooring. You struggle against Beetlejuice, but he answers by pressing his entire body against your backside forcefully. Your torso fully pinned down, you instinctively kick your legs and try to bend your arms backwards in an attempt to grab or push him off. Your hand finds his own arm that is braced against the floor, fruitlessly grabbing onto and pulling at it to offset his balance, but finding out very quickly just how strong he truly is. After letting you exert yourself trying to push and pull his arms with both hands, he grabs both of your wrists in one swift motion and holds them both behind your back, trapping you fully in place as you feel his hard cock press up against your ass through your clothes. A mean cackle rings out behind you, where you cannot see. You feel his cold breath wrap itself around your ear.

“Aw, aren’t you so cute trying to get away from me? But what’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone in the dark? Aren’t you worried that something in here might eat you alive?” His voice and breath are making your head spin, and Beetlejuice only adds to your dizziness when he decides to flip you over without warning to look at him. The large window looms high above his figure, the low light from the storm giving you just enough natural light to see details in his face now. The gleeful madness in his eyes makes your hips twitch uselessly, pinned under his full weight as he moves to better straddle you. Though he still has his usual clothes on, his cock is out and fully erect against your thigh, already wet with precum from when he was shamelessly touching himself during the hunt. “Although, you might like the thought of a demon eating you alive more than you’d care to admit, hm? You wouldn’t have agreed to my game otherwise.”

You let out a quiet groan as his hands crawl up to the hem of your shirt collar, and before you can register what he’s doing, his claws are shredding the entire shirt from top to bottom in one swift motion. The fabric tears with a salaciously loud ripping sound, revealing your chest underneath, and Beetlejuice responds by quickly bringing his mouth to your newly-exposed skin. He keeps slowly sliding the fabric off of you bit by bit with his claws, until it’s completely off of your body and his teeth begin to bite down on your collarbone. You gasp and writhe against him, shaking as his sharp teeth tease at breaking the skin of your tender flesh. He alternates between soft nibbles at your throat to harsher bites where your neck and shoulders meet, keeping you on your toes as he ravishes your half-naked body. You feel his hand come up to play with your nipples, pinching and rolling them under his clawed fingers in a way that makes your back arch under him. Noticing your reaction, he moves his head down and sticks his forked tongue out to slowly drag it across your other nipple. After all of this buildup, you feel as though you’re already on the edge before he’s even taken your shorts off.

“F-fuck, Beetlejuice…” You reach your hand up to become tangled in his messy hair as usual, until his own hand catches yours by the wrist right before you can touch him.

“Watch it with my name tonight, babes,” he hisses. There’s a darkness shrouding his face right now since he’s facing away from the low light of the stormy window, his hungry expression sparking a hurricane of its own in you. “And don’t think you can try your usual tricks and turn me into your bitch again. You were mean to me and lost my game, so now you’re my bitch tonight.” He leans down to purr his next words into the side of your neck. “How’s that feel?” Before you can answer, he’s biting into the soft flesh, tongue peeking out to get a taste of your skin, and possibly a few drops of blood.

You practically mewl at his ministrations, a deeply humiliating sound that you didn’t even know you could make. If that’s a sign of what’s to come tonight, I don’t know whether to be excited or scared. I feel like I’m learning to do both at the same time really well, though.

Beetlejuice pauses his lapping at your neck to flash you a smug, knowing look. “Already need it that bad, babes? You’re so cute. Want me to go ahead make you cum for me right now?” His voice still has that unearthly quality to it, a low undertone beneath his words that turns you on more than you’d care to admit as it rumbles through your entire body and sends bursts of electricity up your spine.

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?” His eyes glimmer with joyful control. Fast learner.

“Please,” you choke out, grinding your hips upwards to try and find friction against his towering form.

Beetlejuice puts a finger up to his lips in mock thought. “Hmm, lemme think about it…uh, no.” He laughs at whatever expression immediately takes over your face at these words. “I really enjoyed hearing you ask nicely though!” If his cruel laughter isn’t enough, his cock rubbing against your thigh makes it all too obvious how much he’s reveling in being able to turn your own words against you.

“Y-you’re a dick…” You can barely spit the words out without your voice wavering and betraying your true feelings.

His eyes narrow at you, smile unchanged. “Oh-ho, am I now? And what if I left you tied up without touching you for hours on end, just a pent-up, whining mess, stuck here with nothing to fill you up? If I’m a dick now, what would I be then?” He looks up with faux thoughtfulness. “Hm, well, I guess I’d be whatever you are, since that’s basically what you did to me.” His word delivery is sharp enough to cut, but you can read his tone well enough to tell that he’s not genuinely angry about the whole situation, he wouldn’t be so willing to play with you if he was. Definitely sexually frustrated enough to add some fire to his words, though.

“Do you want me to say sorry? Because I’m not sorry.” Pushing your luck with Beetlejuice is like an extreme sport to you at this point.

The demon chuckles darkly. “Give it time.” Moving on quickly, he stands up above you, clothes suddenly vanished from his body in the blink of an eye. “Up, my little marionette.”

With a slight flick of his fingers, your body is pulled up into a kneeling position in front of where he stands. It feels as if your body is being held taut by invisible strings, the position not fully uncomfortable, but not quite how you’d settle yourself if you were in control here. Clearly, you are not.

Beetlejuice coos at you, as much as he’s able to with his warped voice. “Aww, not what you were expecting? Did you think I was just gonna fuck you right away after all that? Somebody forgot about my promises to use them for myself if I caught them.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you had the self control to actually do any- use me…!” If you could slap a hand over your mouth, you would. You settle for snapping your jaw shut immediately, a bewildered expression surely plastered on your face. Your cheeks burn hot as you realize what you just said, or rather, what you were made to say. If the breathy tone that was sorely missing your own personal inflection on the words didn’t tip you off, Beej’s shit-eating grin above you would have. Not only do you not have control of your body, but your voice is his to play with as well.

“What’s that, my little breather? You really want me to use you?” His voice takes on another tone, one of somebody playing pretend, like how someone would pretend to talk to a toy in a game. It doesn’t talk long to realize that you’re essentially reduced to a living, breathing doll for him in this moment. Demeaning as it is, you shamefully clock that you’re weirdly into it, but you wouldn’t share this with him right now even if you could.

Your feel your mouth twist with words that come as a surprise to you upon leaving your lips yet again. “Yes, oh, please use me, BJ…! You’re so sexy, so handsome, such a big, strong demon…I wanna make you cum so many times that I lose count, I wanna be yours to use forever, I don’t even care if I get to cum at all, I don’t deserve to for being so mean to you!” Your hands run down your sides seductively of their own accord as your mouth finishes its speaking. It feels a bit silly to do, but you don’t really have much say in it at the moment, and Beetlejuice doesn’t seem to care if it’s a bit over-the-top from the way drool is currently pooling at the corners of his mouth. None of the words that you moaned out really belonged to you, but you kinda like that you can say such obscene things and just blame it on him later. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t onboard with most of them already, aside from that last statement.

Beetlejuice laughs, licking his lips with a forked tongue. “Aw, aren’t you just a good little toy?” He takes a step towards you, his dick bobbing at eye level in front of you, seemingly a bit larger than usual and…is that ribbing? Yes, you definitely aren’t mistaken, his cock has ridges crawling up all sides, swirling around in mesmerizing patterns that reach up to his swollen head. Some jut out like small, dull spikes, while others are more like closely-placed ribbed lines that remind you of a winding path. Your eyes widen at the discovery as your head leans in expectantly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was you or him that initiated that movement. To test your level of control, you try to roll your shoulders experimentally, and they obey without issue. With this, you can confidently conclude that you at least have a bit of influence over your upper half, though your legs are still forced firmly into a kneeling position.

Before you can do anything yourself with this discovery, his hand reaches out to grab a fistful of your hair and your heart rate immediately quickens in your chest. His grip is forceful but meticulous as he pulls your head forward even more, claws scratching at your scalp in a way that makes you heartbeat drop to the space between your thighs. His impatient guidance makes his neediness apparent, and you grin up at him through your eyelashes. Before he can say anything about how long you’re taking, you open your mouth and lean in to slowly lick his cock from base to tip, selfishly drinking in the shudder that you’re able to pull from him. Even when he’s supposed to be your monster, you can still find your own little ways of asserting dominance. Beetlejuice always runs chilly, but his cock feels even more so than usual, to the point where you would describe it as actively cold, though not enough to be uncomfortable. The ridges feel strange but not unpleasant against your tongue as you go in for another taste, and you shiver to think about how they would feel inside of your wet cunt. You move to mouth and kiss at his length teasingly, purposefully not giving him all of the stimulation he so clearly wants right away.

The grip on your hair tightens to the point of stinging. “If you’re not gonna do it right, I can just do it myself,” he hisses, panting above you with a poisonous glare aimed down at you below. You hardly have time to register how pretty he looks when he’s mad before he’s changed his position and begins fucking into your mouth at an absolutely brutal pace. Your eyes shoot open in shock as his hand holds your head securely in place by a fistful of hair, forcing you to breathe through your nose as he thrusts in and out of your mouth. It’s desperate, and frustrated, and monstrous. It’s exactly what he promised you. The extra size and new textures make his dick feel even more thick than usual in your mouth, and you marvel at the fact that you’re even able to fit as much of it inside as you currently are. Your eyes water as you try to suppress your gag reflex when he hits the back of your throat once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, it’s too much to fight and you gag, causing him to pause mid-thrust and look down at you quizzically. “Too much for you already, babes?” His voice is far too cheery for your taste, and his imposing form leers over you with bemused intrigue.

You tightly shake your head no, mouth too full at the moment to say any words even if your brain was capable of forming them.

Beetlejuice barks out a laugh, lightning pouring through the window to momentarily frame his facial features, all crinkled in amusement. “Ah, this is why I love you, doll. You just don’t know when to quit.” He pulls his cock from your mouth with an emphatic pop and you instead feel the unseeable pull of your limbs by his influence once again. Except, this time, he has a hold on all of you but your mouth and eyes. “But y’know, anything you can do, I can do better.”

Your body lurches forward without your permission, your right hand wrapping itself around the base of Beetlejuice’s cock and beginning to pump up and down his entire length. Meanwhile, your left hand chooses to come up to cup his balls, fondling and massaging at a separate pace. It might’ve been difficult to keep each hand’s motion and pace straight, if not for the fact that you were currently being possessed by a demon to do it. It was not unlike being asked to pat your head and rub your stomach, except that you don’t actually have to put any work into it at all and also you are having sex. Your mental comparisons are interrupted by your head positioning itself over his cock, lips parting to take him in and promptly closing to form a vacuum seal around him. Once your mouth is on him, you feel the pull of your demon’s power begin to bob your head up and down as much of his length as you’re able. Your hands continue their work, but your right hand pumps only the area between the base of his shaft and the lowest point that your lips can reach. Your ministrations continue at a fast and unwavering speed, and if your brain wasn’t completely overtaken by lust, you would be impressed with how efficiently he’s been able to turn you into his perfect little blowjob machine. You can feel that this is a persuasive but breakable possession, and it’s endearing to know that he left you an out so you could break his tether to you if you needed to. But deep down, you know you won’t be testing that ability out right now, not when he’s making such pretty noises above you.

Your eyes, maybe one of the only things still under your easy control, flit up to look at him as your mouth and hands continue their work. Beetlejuice looks down at you through lidded eyes, his concentration obviously torn between possessing you and getting his cock worked so thoroughly. His hair is a messy fire on his head, all red and fuchsia twisted together like a beautiful mixing of watercolors on a soft, shaggy canvas. He lets out an unsteady exhale above you, obviously very close, but trying to hide his usual whines and whimpers that would signal he was approaching the edge. Instead, he opts for a shaky moan from deep within his chest, unable to hold back as he begins to thrust up into your mouth to meet your lips as they come down. Just as it’s all starting to become a bit overwhelming, he shudders above you with a muffled high-pitched sound, and your movements become sloppy and ungraceful all at once as he finishes in your mouth. You could move off of his cock if you wanted to, but instead, you stay in place and greedily catch as much of his cum in your mouth as you can, shivering at how surprisingly cold it feels as you swallow it down your throat. It shouldn’t have been that shocking considering how extra chilly his dick had been, but you’re still taken aback by the temperature as you suck him dry, the slight sweetness still ever-present. Eventually, his dick stops twitching, and the demon above you seems to be quietly coming back down after his orgasm before he erupts into a guttural growl.

“Not enough, not enough,” Beetlejuice snarls, partially to himself and partially at you. “You made me wait so goddamn long, now it’s still not enough.” He squeezes his eyes shut and rakes a clawed hand through his hair, pushing it back from his furrowed brow as he vigorously shakes his head back and forth in frustration, growling and murmuring to himself. You hold yourself very still, watching silently as he seems to argue with himself about something internally. After a moment of thought, his eyelids flutter open again and he slowly turns his gaze onto you. His dark brown eyes look to be on the verge of crazed, the slits of his pupils moving down from meeting your own eyes to leer at your half-naked body. You manage to catch the way his pupils blow out wide as he continues to undress you with his eyes, despite the darkness making him seem very much like a moving shadow whenever the lightning outside pauses. Despite having cum just moments ago, he has the look of a ravenous man staring at a feast.

You sit back on your haunches, looking up at his pretty face with mock innocence. “Not enough, huh? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Beetlejuice can’t hide his grin at your insolence. “Patience, little bird. There’s really no need to goad me on, I’m not nearly done playing with you yet.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the irony of him telling you to be patient, ignoring the fact that your stomach is currently filled with butterflies at his words. His strings of control now fully dissipated, he steps forward with a renewed power and looks you over with a fanged smirk. He looks for a moment as though he wants to say something, but instead, he moves to crouch down to your level and crashes his lips against yours. The kiss rocks you to your core, all tongue and teeth on his end, which you do your best to imitate. In the end, it’s only more clear how horribly outmatched you currently are, his strength and demonic features easily overpowering your pathetic human body. As he shoves his forked tongue into your mouth roughly, you are struck by the chilling realization that every time you’ve been taking control up until now, it’s only because Beetlejuice has been letting you. The thought is enough to make you clench tightly around nothing, aching with desire.

After he’s satisfied with the kiss, he pulls back from your lips and reaches down to grab your legs by the calves, pulling them out from under you in one swift motion and making you fall backwards onto your butt with an undignified thump. He settles himself between your legs, grabbing the soft skin on the inner sides of your knees and spreading them wide to make room for his larger form. He continues to spread so far that you can feel your hamstrings stretching, a dull but satisfying ache in your muscles as they tighten at their limit. Once he’s carved a space for himself, Beetlejuice slowly begins to crawl his hands upwards from where they rest by your knees along your inner thighs, his claws lightly skating across your sensitive skin. You squirm and giggle lightly at the sensation, simultaneously too much and not enough. He finally reaches the bottom of your shorts and, wasting no time, shreds through the fabric as if it were tissue paper. The pieces of what used to be your shorts fall pathetically from your body, no longer recognizable anything but scraps anymore. As they fall off, you recognize with surprise that your underwear was also fully ripped off of you in the same movement, fluttering down to the floor in tattered pieces and leaving you fully naked.

Beetlejuice’s monstrous persona drops ever so slightly as he can’t quite hide the sheepish expression that finds its way onto his face. “Oh, oops? Overshot that. Hope those weren’t your favorite pair or anything.” He gets over his moment with a devious chuckle and is quickly back to studying your fully exposed body, all spread out in front of him and ready to be devoured. “Gotta make sure you’re ready to take me, strictly business here, y’know. Try not to moan like a bitch in heat too much. ‘S embarrassing for you.” As he’s speaking, you watch Beetlejuice lift his right hand and slowly retract the claws of his index and middle finger until they’re completely gone, only his regular short black nails where the claws once were. Without leaving you any time to make a snarky comment, he’s plunging them into your entrance.

“Ah…!” You keen as you finally receive the stimulation you’ve been craving all night, even if it is so much all at once. When the shock of him pressing into you quickly fades, it’s only immediately replaced by another, even more jarring shock: his fingers are ice cold inside of you. You yelp, unsure whether to pull away or beg him to push them farther inside. His unnaturally chilly fingers are curling against your walls, making your hips stutter and eyes squeeze shut as you try to steady yourself from the sensory overload.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” he coos with a sickly sweet smile, sticking a third finger inside of your pussy. You arch your back and whine desperately in response. “You look kinda conflicted there, babes…too cold for you?”

You wrestle for control of your words. “N-no,” you eventually spit out at him. It’s a sad attempt at lying to a very perceptive demon.

Beetlejuice grins. “You’re a stubborn little breather, aren’t you?” He keeps rubbing against the spot that has you seeing stars like he owns it. “That, or you’re just a freak who gets off on everything I do. Because I honestly did this to be an asshole, but you are definitely liking it way more than I expected. I can see it in your cute little face.” You tighten around his fingers as he speaks. “Heh, and that too.”

“Fuck off…” It’s a new kind of embarrassing to have Beetlejuice call you a freak for getting off on something, but honestly, that just gets you off even more, proving his point. You rock your hips up to meet him, unable to hold back your little gasps as you do. You’re trapped between pleasure and pain, the cold refusing to ebb as he continues fingering you roughly. You squirm helplessly under the seemingly endless barrage of conflicting sensations.

His left hand is suddenly on your lower belly, pressing down to keep you in place. “Quit fuckin’ moving, or I’m gonna tie you down,” he growls, not letting up on his pace as he chastises you.

“Hold me down yourself,” you moan, and the words are out before you even get a chance to think. Those were definitely your own words, though.

The demon’s eyes light up immediately. “Ohh, I see, you want me to hold you down and fingerfuck you ‘til you beg for mercy? Well, if that’s what you want.”

He’s behind you in the blink of an eye, erection fully hard once again if the way it presses up against your naked back is any indication. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and lifts them up and back to wrap around his neck, still bound together tightly. It’s almost a romantic pose, with your body reclined back against his and your arms holding his head close to your body, his nose pressed into your neck and beard prickling against it as well. His free hand snakes around your waist to press your torso even closer against him before returning his fingers to your dripping cunt. The freezing pleasure returns, a feeling you had been dreading and felt so empty without. He’s pumping his fingers into you at the same quick pace, picking up right where he left off. He presses into your clit with his thumb, chuckling darkly at the cry you let out as he starts rubbing teasing circles into it.

“G-gonna cum…” Your humiliating whimpers only seem to encourage him into moving faster.

“Yeah? You close? I bet you are. You’ve been so wet all night…I could smell it, got all mixed up in my head, wanted to pin you down and take you so bad for hours…” Beetlejuice’s chin is resting on your shoulder, and his long tongue slips out to slither down at your neck and to your chest again. It’s like a prehensile appendage with how it moves and wraps itself around your nipples, but with such a light ghost of a touch against your hard buds that it causes goosebumps to spread themselves across your entire chest. You’d be defiantly squirming against him if not for the fact that your body was being held completely immobile by the demon. His wrist and strong forearm press insistently against your stomach and pubic region, keeping you locked in place with his otherworldly strength. Instead, you just allow the needy sounds to pour out of your mouth, unable to focus on anything besides how utterly and deliciously trapped you are and how fast your orgasm is approaching due to his dexterous fingers. You feel yourself cresting that final hill before he sends you crashing over the peak, your body attempting to fuck yourself down onto his fingers even harder despite your trappings. You can’t see him as your orgasm rocks your body, but you hear him hmph approvingly behind you and can easily imagine the smarmy look on his face at how much he can make you come undone with his hands alone.

You’re still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Beetlejuice swiftly disappears from behind you and reappears with his head between your legs, giving you no time to react before his mouth is between your legs, licking and sucking loudly. You squeal at the pleasure flooding your senses again so soon and squeeze your legs together involuntarily in reaction.

Beetlejuice lifts his head a bit with a hazy smile. “Sorry babes, couldn’t help myself. Just needed a little taste…” You whine as he sucks at your clit forcefully to punctuate his words before pulling his body back up to kneel in front of you. “But I do think you’re just about ready for me after that.”

“Please…” you muster, your head swimming with pleasure. You’re not even completely sure what you’re begging for, but your demon seems to enjoy it.

“Aren’t you so good for me, my little breather? Even when I’m using you for myself, so adorable…” He grabs your chin with his thumb and the forefinger that was pumping inside of you moments ago, appraising whatever expression is plastered on your face and holding your head in place. “It’s not gonna make me be any nicer to you, but it’ll probably make me fill you up faster.” Wasting no time, he pulls back from your face and begins to line his cock up with your entrance.

His words make you realize how quickly Beetlejuice was able to get you to roll over and play nice for him. It’s truthfully embarrassing the speed at which you folded, especially after the multiple times that you’ve teased him now for doing the exact same thing. Maybe he’s right, you’re more like him than you thought. This line of thought passing into your mind reignites your defiant spirit almost instantly.

“Y’know, for all that talk, you kinda suck at being mean to me.” It’s hard to keep the corners of your lips from being pulled upwards when he slowly tilts his head at your words in disbelief. “The meanest thing you could think to do is make me cum my brains out around your somewhat-chilly fingers. Kinda sweet for an evil demon, that’s all. Can’t bring yourself to do any worse?”

Beetlejuice’s cute expression of positive bewilderment begins melting into one of resolve mixed with pure, carnal desire. “You make such terrible decisions sometimes, it’s so fuckin’ hot.” He punctuates this statement by thrusting his cock up into you, stealing the next witty retort from your lips and leaving only a breathy gasp in its absence. It’s an intense stretch over his morphed length, and even after being worked open by his fingers, the sudden penetration is more than enough to shut you up as you adjust. He grabs your neck, firmly enough to tilt your head as he pleases. “I’m gonna eat you alive, little bird.”

You meet his blazing-hot gaze readily. “Promise?”

Beetlejuice grins as he chooses for once to let his actions do the talking, his only response being to start fucking into you at a quick and steady pace. His cock is clearly bigger than usual, but still fits without issue after the first stretch. You note that it’s the texture that makes the experience just as unique and fantastic as you’d hoped, his ridges rubbing against your walls as though they were designed to pleasure you specifically (and for all you know, this could be absolutely true). The cold remains a common factor throughout the encounter, and one that you certainly don’t hate, despite its initial purpose. The cold spreads out from your core to crawl all over your body, reminding you just how much influence he has over you. It’s all so strange and wonderful and it’s having no trouble in making you see stars already.

Your back is pressed firmly against the floor, giving you another beautiful view of Beetlejuice framed in front of the tall window as he sets a rhythm with his motions. Lightning highlights the outline of his frame every few seconds, visibly straining as he tries to give you more without losing himself in you completely. You try to take a second and memorize how pretty his face is in this moment, really commit everything here to memory. The way his eyebrows knit together as he works at opening you up, biting at his lip with sharp fangs that you assume must hurt, but he gives no indication if it does. The hand that was lightly gripping at your throat loses its solid grip as his fingers stretch out and stroke down your neck, his palm spreading wide and coming to rest directly above your heart, claws resting along the length of your collarbone. Every thrust into you, every touch of his hands on your warm skin, it’s all so maddening and cruel and perfect all at once.

His eyes peek open slightly and flit to your face, lids still half-covering the pools of dark brown. “Quit lookin’ at me all sweet like that, you’re the one who said you wanted rough mean monster sex.”

“Sorry,” you breathe, averting your eyes from his lovely visage to get back into character but unable to hide the way the corners of your lips curl up fondly.

“You’d better be.” He huffs with a smirk, before putting the charm back on. “Now, you said you could keep up with a demon, so let’s see if you were right or if I can make a liar outta you tonight.” He practically spits the word “liar,” clearly both something you should be ashamed of being and something that you desperately want him to prove that you were when you said that. He moves both of his hands down to your hips for leverage, grabbing onto the skin so forcefully that you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. With you secure in his grasp, he’s holding your lower half steady so he can keep you perfectly in place while he fucks you, an anchor to you for your monster.

Still riding off the high of your recent first orgasm, you can feel your second building already at an exponential rate. You gasp as your walls clench around him, tightening around his cock as it keeps brushing against just the right spot inside of you, the ridges doing everything right for you. Before you know it, you’re already cumming around his dick, the squelches of him continuing to fuck you through your orgasm sounding utterly obscene with how wet you are for him. You ride it out with small moans and praises pouring from your lips, until the fountain of your words begins to run dry as he continues to fuck you at the same unwavering pace.

“You just came again? Okay, well, I haven’t cum again yet, so you can just be fuckin’ patient.” You feel that dawning horror that you’ve been waiting so long for wash over you as you realize that he does not in fact plan on giving you any semblance of a break here. Instead, he grabs both of your thighs and pushes them up to fold back on top of your body, removing the obstacle for him and ending with you opening yourself even wider for him.

“B-Beetlejuice,” you gasp, the overstimulation beginning to take hold as the last of your previous orgasm ebbs away, causing you to shudder and twitch involuntarily as he refuses to let up in his motions. “I’m so- FUCK!” Your words are unable to leave your tongue as his mouth begins biting at your neck insistently. His mouth moves with no rhythm compared to his thrusts, all wild instinct with no discernible pattern as he kisses and bites from your collarbone to your jawline, savoring the taste of you and the sounds you make at the overwhelming, overlapping sensations.

“You say something, babes? Couldn’t quite hear ya…” He switches it up by nibbling along your throat before ending his trail with a harsh bite to the side of your neck. “Were you gonna say that I was right and that I’m too much for your little human body to handle?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his teeth on you. “Shit, I take it back, you really are evil.” He would be the one to make sex into a competition. A game, your mind chimes in to correct you. Always the games with him. You have been quite the fan of his rigged games tonight, why change your tune now when he’s ruining you so well? “Don’t you dare stop.”

Your words make him chuckle and become only rougher in his movements. “Gonna fill you up,” Beetlejuice pants as his teeth graze the tip of your ear, clearly on the edge himself. “Gonna cum inside you ‘til you can’t take anymore. Bet you’d like that. Bet you wanna have my cum dripping out of your needy little cunt for days.” Your answer comes out as nothing more than a strangled, horny sound, but it seems to get your agreement across as the demon grins wildly, his thrusts becoming erratic as his eyes are flooded with pure desire looking down at you. His head falls to rest on your shoulder as he continues, and you can feel him mouthing something into your skin, but it takes a few moments before you can make out what he’s saying, faint as a whispered prayer. “Mine, mine, mine.” He punctuates each word with a forceful thrust, your heart somehow finding a way to race even faster at this realization. His final utterance of the word is choked into a shaky moan halfway through, his predictably yet still shockingly cold cum filling you to the brim in the best way. It’s way more than you expected, pumping inside of you at high speeds and completely filling you with him. If your mind were a bit sharper right now, you’d probably marvel at just how much there is, you can tell just by feel the practically obscene amounts that are leaking out of your entrance and onto the floor. You close your eyes for a moment to try and bring yourself back to Earth. Your muscles burn with exertion, and you can’t stop the full-body tremors that keep wracking your smaller frame. Not that you have enough energy to even attempt to suppress them.

You don’t have more than a moment’s rest before you feel something cool and slightly wet rubbing against your leg, and you crack open your eyes and see a thick, black and white appendage prodding at you. The striped extremity crawls over your body slowly, caressing your outer thigh before stretching itself over you to pet at your inner thigh as well, wrapping you up in its grasp. You can only think to respond with a perplexed gaze at the thing before looking up at Beetlejuice inquisitively.

He looks all too proud of himself above you, the appendage clearly sprouting from him, more specifically, somewhere behind him…his back perhaps, but it’s hard to tell in this lighting. “Hey, I’ve never shown you my tentacles, have I? At least, I haven’t shown you what they can really do…” When your gaze looks back down, two more tentacles have joined the first, stroking and caressing at your slick flesh.

“B-Beetlejuice, it’s too much, I don’t know if I can…” Your body is simultaneously crying out for rest yet also desperately vying for the attention of the tentacles as they rub themselves over your form teasingly.

He actually has the gall to snicker. “Oh come on now, you can take much more than that, don’t be a quitter. Unless…you’re really admitting you can’t keep up with me? That you’re not as unaffected as you might make yourself out to be? That you were wrong and are now in over your little head?” He pokes you in the center of your forehead to emphasize his teasing in the most annoying way possible.

As though immediately possessed by a different sort of force, you feel a second wind rushing into your entire body, filling you with a new, stubborn resolve. “In your dreams, hellspawn.” You meet his eyes obstinately, hoping that your demeanor portrays yourself as less dazed and fucked-out-of-your-mind than you really are right now. In the end, your competitiveness will always win.

He chuckles, looking rather unfazed by your sharp response. “Still got that much of a fighting spirit, huh? Bet I can break that.”

At his command, three more tentacles emerge from behind him and move towards your reclined body. With six of them visible to you now, they move almost hypnotically as they stroke at your skin, all six moving as if of their own free will as they each take to a different task. You feel two wrap around each of your calves, and one more secures your wrists together. They pull you up to sit on your haunches, the cool wood flooring below starting to feel less pleasant than it did when he first caught you and pressed you against it. Your arms are pulled up and over your head, and you simply let them pull your limbs wherever they see fit without fight. You’re perched as though about to ride an invisible dick, and the position makes you very aware of how gravity is causing more of his cum to slowly drip out of you, mixed with your own wetness. The remaining three tentacles prod at your stretched torso, two settling to rub your nipples gently while the other one crawls down toward your hips. You keen at the contact, watching the slick appendages delicately rub over your chest and wondering exactly how much direct control Beetlejuice has over them versus how much they’re piloted by just subconscious desire without direction. Your eyes flicker up to take him in for the first time since being restrained, and his expression is one of a man watching a most riveting show, cartoonish tongue lolling slightly out of his involuntary smile at your current predicament. He’s crouched across from you in a similar yet freer position, mirroring your body but leaning forward to really take it all in. You feel the free tentacle begin to snake its way to your stomach, sending a thrill up your spine as it strokes down, down, down, until it’s right where you need it. You whimper wordlessly at the contact, mind swirling with sensation.

“God, I’m so happy you’re the kind of sick degenerate that’s into this,” Beetlejuice breathes, making you shivers as he tugs at his half-hard cock shamelessly. Despite being well-aware of what BJ told you about demon sex drives, it’s sort of blowing your mind to see him so immediately ready to go like this, again and again, acting as though everything before was nothing more than warm-up. Damn. No wonder he is the way that he is.

Taking you out of your thoughts is the tentacle giving attention to the space between your thighs, its stark black-and-white surface contrasting with your skin beneath it even in the window’s dim light. The tentacles holding your legs spread them wider to make room, and the appendage responds by bringing its tip up to your clit, pressing in gently but with enough pressure to have your body at full attention. Just when you think you’re spent, he’s got you bucking your hips under his touch again, desperate for more of his attention. Beetlejuice seems more than pleased with your reaction.

“I-I can’t believe you’ve held out on me so long,” you gasp, the tentacle dragging itself torturously slow as it traces up and down from your clit to your opening. “I mean, it’s only been like, a week, but that’s practically 1000 years in terms of your patience.” The tentacles stroking your nipples instead tug at them abruptly, swiftly putting you back in your place with a shaky whimper.

Beetlejuice looks at you with half-lidded eyes and a dumb smile. “Aww, I’m so glad to hear ya like ‘em. I didn’t wanna freak you out too soon, but I should’ve known you’d be enough of a whore to just bend over and let me take you however I wanted to.” You keen as you feel the tentacle on your clit move to your entrance, all wet with some nondescript substance that might’ve grossed you out if he showed it to you in any other context. There’s hardly even a stretch compared to his cock as it pushes into you, but it still reaches exactly where it needs to with how dextrous and long it is. “You wanted to be chased. You wanted to be caught. And yeah, I know you wanted to be used. How could you not, when you take it sooooo well?” His lovely purring words rattle around in your head as the tentacle inside of you pumps itself into your clenched core, rubbing exactly where it knows you want it to and making you grit your teeth as though about to go mad. “God, you’re so perfect. Look so fuckin’ pretty right now, don’t know what I did to deserve you. I won’t let you down, I’m gonna milk every orgasm you have out of you and not gonna stop ‘til you’re absolutely ruined, babes. You’re gonna regret asking me to be meaner to you.”

You whine miserably at his words, his own excitement and arousal only amplifying yours. You hump against the tentacle as it keeps up its regular pace, riding it like a cock as much as you can with your arms and legs restrained. Taking another glance at Beetlejuice, you notice that another tentacle had sprouted from his back when you were lost in his words and came down to rest on his own dick, curling itself around the length from base to tip and moving itself up and down rapidly, getting him off as he leans back and watches you intently. You grind yourself down onto the tentacle inside of you harder at this, getting off to the image of him being caressed by his own tentacles just as much as he is for you. He notices you reacting in this way and flashes you a grin, the unmistakable grin of someone who’s all too happy to be ogled. Damn exhibitionist. He then lets out a very familiar whimper, sharply contrasting his dominant front from a moment ago. You could recognize that specific sound anywhere.

“Are you fucking yourself in the ass with your own tentacles?” Your voice is strained, but the tone is somewhere between incredulous and amused.

His whimper melts into a breathy moan, his teeth snapping off the end of the sound by clicking together into a satisfied grin. “You know me so well, doll.” Sure enough, Beetlejuice leans forward and arches his back from where he had been resting on his haunches in front of you, and you can see another tentacle placed behind him that is thrusting up into his ass at a steady speed, the first tentacle continuing to pump his cock at a breakneck pace.

The mere sight of Beetlejuice getting so thoroughly worked by his own tentacles as your own stimulation refuses to let up is pleasurable enough to make you clench tightly around the appendage, your legs shaking as you cum around it and get roughly fucked through your orgasm. You feel your ears ringing as this one rolls out of you in waves, feeling so good and yet so, so much. It takes its time running through your entire body, but as it begins to ebb, you whine as you realize that the tentacles aren’t letting up. They continue to perform their motions like a dutiful machine, rubbing at your nipples, fucking up into your thoroughly used pussy, holding you perfectly in place despite your squirming. You’re still completely open to the appendages, no way to even curl up and hide yourself from their touches.

“Beetlejuice…” you practically sob, overstimulation causing your entire body to shake as the tentacle rubs itself against your g-spot, prodding at you for more as if it doesn’t understand why you’re so spent.

From your position, you can see the demon laugh at your predicament. “Aw, poor little thing. You’ve got about one more in you before you totally break, I bet.” You choke out an anguished sound at his cooing words, plus the fact that the pace of the tentacles hasn’t let up in the slightest, and he regards you with a raised brow. “Color?”

You take in a shuddering breath, knowing that you could easily end things here with a single word. But goddamnit, you are not giving him the satisfaction. You’ll go until exhaustion forcibly takes you if you must, your pride demands it. “Green.”

The unbearably overwhelming sensations are immediately made worth it by the utterly flabbergasted look that crosses your demon’s face, eyes widening as he receives an answer that he clearly didn’t expect. It’s quickly replaced by an impressed little smirk, all lust and pride and amusement wrapped into one sharp smile. “Heh, yep, that’s the breather I fell for. You’re too much of a stubborn little glutton for punishment to quit, just like me. Well, lucky for you, that’s in no short supply right now.” He moves toward you from where he had been leaned back on his haunches, and it’s immediately clear by the spattering of glowing green on his stomach that he himself has cum at least once under the tentacle that continues rubbing at his cock, and you feel a slight twinge of regret that you didn’t get to see his debauched expression as he came. To lift your spirits, you silently file away the idea of having him tied up and forced to cum over and over by his own tentacles while you get to watch as a fun idea for later. For now, Beetlejuice moves up to watch you closer, bringing his body right in front of your trapped form as the tentacles keep working the both of you.

You squirm as much as the restraints and your energy levels allow under his gaze. He’s watching your face intently, as though trying to see something in your slack-jawed expression. Then, you’re tilting backwards, as if doing a trust fall that you have no choice but to trust in as your body leans backwards, knees spread apart but still firmly on the floor as your back stretches tightly. Another tentacle comes to support your neck and back as you continue to be coaxed backwards by your restraints, until your knees lift ever so slightly off of the ground and you’re practically being cradled in a tentacle hammock with your limbs still restrained, but as comfortable as they can be in this situation.

“What a perfect little present all wrapped up for me after that long chase…” Beetlejuice briefly surveys the situation, his patience clearly maxed out by now but perception still sharp as ever as he scans you for any reaction. He must find whatever he’s looking for, because you see only a joyful flash of teeth before he’s biting your inner thigh and ripping more pitiful sounds from your tired throat against your will.

You flinch and whimper a bit at the sudden piercing pain, but you couldn’t move away if you wanted to. In all honesty, you probably couldn’t bring yourself to move even if you weren’t being restrained, not at this point. Another bite to your thigh, slightly gentler and closer to where you need his mouth. You dare a glance down at him and immediately find yourself trying to stifle your tremors and trembling, his firm grasp on you as intoxicating as the image of a demon looking so absolutely possessive between your thighs, in every sense of the word.

His smile is as all-consuming as ever. “And I think I’ll get a better taste of my prey now, heh.” His tongue is pressed against your clit within the second, the entire length of it slipping out of his mouth for nothing more than to rile you up. He knows it will; it did so well the first time, and every time after, and it unsurprisingly works like a charm today too. He laps at you hungrily, his long tongue having already proven itself to be perfect for eating you out. The fact that it now has a perfect little fork at the end only adds to the experience. You’ve simply had to make peace with the fact that his demonic features have completely ruined you for anyone else, and you can’t bring yourself to be upset about that at all. Not right now, when his forked tongue is stroking up and down your clit at the perfect pace, your trapped hands grabbing at the tentacles beneath them for stability as though they were bedsheets. They only tremble and continue to ooze even more as you grip them, a strange but clear sign of pleasure if Beetlejuice’s rumbling groans weren’t obvious enough.

He allows his tongue to wander between your clit and your entrance, and it’s so long that it can reach both spots at once when pressed up against you. He lets a whiny moan slip out as he keeps up the pace. “Fuck…I can taste myself in you…hey, you’re welcome for being so delicious…” Of course he’s still finding a way to brag, even with his mouth busy. You wouldn’t be shocked if he figured out a way to continue working your clit while also tongue fucking you, and then gloat how talented he is at getting you off without changing his pace at all. He’s a talented multitasker, clearly.

You’d normally have a much more eloquent comeback to his boasting comments, but you’re honestly shocked at how much Beetlejuice has absolutely fucked you out of your mind by now. You can barely string together a complete thought, let alone speak a coherent sentence. You feel like you’ve been thoroughly used up, in the best way. From the moment he offered you that deal, you wanted to be defiled by a monster until you’re nothing but a fucked-out little plaything for him to use as he pleases, and he has more than honored that wish. The combination of this thought and the maddening feeling of him lapping at your overstimulated clit is enough to somehow bring you back to the edge again, whining as your muscles tense one final time.

Your body language does not go unnoticed by your monster. “Aw, you gonna cum?” You let out a pathetic whine in response, and he snorts. “Yeah, you would be cumming again. Slut.” He pauses his ministrations to look you in the eye from below, intense lust clouding his pretty eyes. “Say my name, beautiful.”

You practically keen at the sudden denial of stimulation, but do your best to abide. “Beetlejuice…” Your voice is a sinful moan, more shameless and explicit than you’ve ever heard from within yourself. You can’t even bring yourself to feel ashamed or self-conscious about it with how fast Beetlejuice grabs your hips with his sharp claws and thrusts his cock back into you, clearly on the precipice again himself. A few quick, deep thrusts is all it takes for him to be once again filling you up with his load, shaking as he pumps you full of it as though afraid you’d lost too much after the first time he thoroughly bred your cunt. The combination of being so perfectly full of his cum again, the image of the demon holding onto you with both hands and tentacles from above as he finds release, and the feeling of being so completely claimed by the feral monster inside of you is enough to push you over the edge. Your final orgasm tears through you recklessly, just as wild and destructive as the last to your exhausted human body. Waves of tingly pleasure rush through every nerve in your body, clenching and relaxing your muscles as the feeling ebbs and flows throughout your form. Time stands still for you, and you can barely register Beetlejuice pulling out beyond the sensations still rolling through you. As it starts to dissipate, your ears are ringing again and- oh, you can’t see. That’s probably not good. You blink harshly, feeling as though you’re in the aftermath of some kind of explosion to throw off your senses this majorly.

After a few moments of muffled blackness and awful ringing sound, you see bright rays of reality begin to peek through as your body adjusts back to normal. You see a fuzzy image above you, towering over your frame in a way that feels more concerned than menacing, and as the picture begins to clear, you notice the figure’s mouth moving. Your mind returning, you attempt to focus in on what he could be trying to say to you with such a worried little face. Luckily, the world’s sound begins to fade back in as he continues to speak quickly.

“-ey? Hey? C’mon babes, you with me? You’re freakin’ me the fuck out right now, talk to me so I know you’re not heading into the light, please.”

“I’m good,” you murmur, still feeling a bit overwhelmed in coming back to Earth after everything. The tentacles have disappeared in however long it took for your vision to return, and Beetlejuice looks decidedly less monster-y than he did moments ago. The red has all but vanished from his hair, leaving a dusting of dark pink fading into a lighter gradient, with slight yellow streaks of nervousness, and he looks significantly less big and sharp overall as his nervous eyes flicker over your form that sits on the floor below.

Beetlejuice leans down to hold your head to his chest. “Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ (Y/N)! You were supposed to say something if it got to be too much!” He pulls back to swiftly look you over. “Gonna give me a heart attack when I’m already dead over here. Jeez.”

You giggle, too exhausted to fully laugh at his antics. “I’m fine, wasn’t too much. A little overwhelming near the end maybe, but I really liked it.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah, that much I could tell. You freaked me out though, I thought I might’ve accidentally factory reset you from fuckin’ ya too rough or something.”

You wave your hand dramatically in a dismissive fashion as you move to sit up, your stomach and thighs shaking with the effort as though you had just finished a particularly brutal set of sit-ups. Well, that’s one way to get in a core workout. “I mean, I’m the one who wanted to try and hold my own against a supernatural being at full power so bad. Dumb mortal physical limitations getting in my way.” You hmph at the idea of human limits, before leaning forward to place your hand on Beetlejuice’s own. “But you did great baby, that was everything I could’ve wanted when you first pitched that idea. I hope it was everything you wanted, too.”

Beetlejuice’s expression softens as he looks at your hand on his own. “Yeah, I had a great time too. Clearly.” His eyes dart down to your utterly spent body almost sheepishly before returning to your own eyes, a shine of strong affection behind his gaze as he speaks in a much more delicate tone. “I really love you a lot. Thanks for bein’ the way you are.” With that, he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, a far cry from the roughness that he embodied minutes ago. It’s so tender that his lips only end up lightly grazing your own, and the feeling of his soft lips moving like a whisper on you is the sweetest of kind thank you’s.

“Anything for my sweet little demon,” you breathe, reveling in the mere closeness of him in this ultra-affectionate state.

Beetlejuice shoots you a cute smile before leaning down to pick up your exhausted body as though it weighs nothing to him. “Oh, and if it’s any consolation, you totally earned bragging rights for lasting that long in the sack. I honestly thought you’d tap out after, like, two rounds, and then we’d cuddle.” He tosses and hoists you up into a more secure position in his arms before he starts walking toward your door.

You grab onto the flesh of his shoulders to steady yourself. “What can I stay? l have a strong force of will when I’m with you.” With just a look from the demon, your previously locked door swings open without a care, and he carries you right into your dark room. You whip around and shoot him an inquisitive look. “Wait, was that you before? The lock?”

“Oh, is it that surprising that I outwitted you?” He moves to bite your shoulder teasingly, now more playful than menacing but still with enough teeth to command your attention.

“Ah…a little.”

One of the hands currently wrapped under your legs slides up to pinch your ass, causing you to yelp and Beetlejuice to laugh. “You may be hot shit in your own mind, but never forget that you’re easy prey to a demon like me, babes.”

***

“Delia-uhhhhhh, when’s the popcorn gonna be ready?” Beetlejuice languishes about on the sofa in front of the TV with no shame, flopping his arms over the side to look towards the kitchen.

You roll your eyes from where you stand behind the couch, then move to swat at his dangling arms playfully. “Don’t be a nuisance unless you’re gonna help, hellspawn.”

A somewhat-frazzled redheaded figure appears in the open doorway to the kitchen. “Now, Beetlejuice, if life is a bank, then patience is a virtue that’s worth investing some of your spare change into!”

He slumps. “You should know metaphors and me don’t mix by now. Oh, and could you please horrifically burn the next bag for me? I like it crispy crunchy.”

“Ugh, and make the whole house stink again? I don’t think so,” Lydia retorts, finding her place on the adjacent single-seater couch and getting cozy, her gothy PJs still keeping her aesthetic together even before bed.

“I don’t expect you to understand fine cuisine, Lyds,” he huffs, crossing his arms petulantly and slouching down into his seat further, making his legs reach all the way to the other end of the couch.

You laugh and lace your finger through his hair from above gently. “Quit taking up a whole sofa by yourself and come help me put snacks into cute little bowls for everyone.”

Like a switch flipped, he’s immediately on his feet and following behind you obediently, his previous body language evaporated. “Coming, dear…!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a bewildered expression from Lydia and could swear you hear her mutter, “Demon whisperer…” to herself in a tone that reads as half-accusatory and half-awestruck as you walk into the kitchen.

As you enter the room, you see Delia at the far side of the long counter furiously stirring a bowl filled with some snack that she must’ve quickly whipped up. “Oh, if you two could just put the popcorn and chips into some of the big sharing bowls while I finish this vegan cheese dip, that would help!”

“Sure can do, Delia,” you respond, opening the high cabinet closest to the door to grab the giant cartoon print snack bowls that everyone likes to use. You hand one off to Beetlejuice and keep one for yourself. “You handle the chips, bug.”

“I wanted to do the popcorn,” he argues back, putting on his brattiest tone.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near the popcorn. I know you.” You shoot him a faux mean look, and he doesn’t even try to hide the smile that spreads across his face. You ignore your desire to give him a kiss and instead, as you hear the popping slowing down on the popcorn within the microwave, open the door and trade it out for another bag. After pressing start, you open the top of the finished bag and pour it into your bowl, which is bright fuchsia and decorated with little cherries. You find your eyes strangely glued to it as you pour.

“It’s better when it’s blackened. That’s how you truly unlock the…complex flavor profile. See, I told you, I really have been watching those cooking shows on TV and learning valuable new things about the art of le chef.” The bag of chips on the counter lift up and begin pouring themselves into his bowl without Beetlejuice so much as looking back at them. Instead, he’s looking right at you as you pour the hot snack in the bowl, the tantalizing smell filling up the whole room. “Something really awesome about your bowl there that I’m not seeing?”

You manage to tear your eyes away from the bowl to look at him, suddenly realizing with mild embarrassment what it had been subconsciously reminding you of that had you so enraptured. “Uh, well, I can’t ever look at this pretty shade of fuchsia in a normal context the same way ever again, so I guess you kinda Pavlov’s dog’d me.” It’s hard to hide the laughter bubbling up in your lowered voice, having to hear yourself admit to something so…ridiculous.

Beetlejuice, on the other hand, seems to view this as much more of a personal victory than a weird observation on your part. He snickers to himself before leaning in close to you flirtatiously. “Oh, babes, I really am living rent-free in that head of yours, huh? I knew I was good, but I didn’t know I was ‘make you think of getting dicked down when you’re making snacks’ good…”

“Behave.” You shoot daggers at him with your sharp gaze, and can’t help but feel like you’re giving him exactly the reaction he wants out of you. Dating Beetlejuice openly hasn’t changed too much of the dynamic, aside from you having to keep him and his lack of a filter on a short leash if you wanted to maintain your remaining shred of dignity.

The demon returns your gaze with his own unconvincingly innocent look. “I’m behaving, I’m a good boy, see? I poured the chips nicely and everything.” The whininess in his voice is going to make you insane, you know it. He then looks over your shoulder at the counter. “Oh hey, I think your popcorn’s done now.”

You whip your head around and are smacked in the face with the horrible smell of burning popcorn. “Oh shit!” You pull the microwave door open as fast as you can, but when you grab the bag and pull it open by the corners, the little puffs are burnt to a completely unsalvageable degree.

Beetlejuice gasps. “Babes, did you make this one just for me…?” He dramatically places a hand over where his heart would be. “Thank you!” He plants a quick but rough kiss on your lips before grabbing the bag and pouring it into his own personal striped bowl that appeared out of seemingly nowhere. You, on the other hand, are left reeling from the kiss and only able to wonder if he had been distracting you on purpose.

Delia makes a sound of disgust from the other end of the kitchen, and you look over to see her taking the dip out of the oven with a scrunched-up face. “Oh God, it smells awful in here! Tell me you didn’t put Beetlejuice in charge of the popcorn.”

Beetlejuice practically cackles. “Nope, my sweet little meatsack did this allllllll on their own.” With that, he proudly takes his personal bowl out with him to the living room, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces.

Feeling utterly duped, you grab the half-full bowl of popcorn and follow him out of the kitchen. By now, though Charles has gone past you to the kitchen to help Delia, Adam and Barbara have joined Lydia in finding a comfy spot on one of the many chairs (the family reached a point where they really had to invest in more seating after getting such a full house). Their attention is on the TV mounted above the fireplace as Adam swipes through a variety of potential movies to watch, at least, until the two of you arrive.

Lydia plugs her nose. “Gross, why’d you let him burn it, dude?”

Beetlejuice laughs and pipes in for you. “Hey, nobody can resist the power of the B-Man! Not even this one.” He tosses a piece of charcoal-colored popcorn into his mouth for emphasis.

You roll your eyes and offer Lydia a defeated shrug before settling onto the nearby loveseat, placing the big popcorn bowl on the coffee table in front of the TV. “I tried, kid. Unfortunately, he is still an absolute pest even if you happen to be in a relationship.”

Beetlejuice crosses his arms proudly, his bowl hanging in midair where he left it. “Oh, you want pest? Good, I needed a seat anyway.” He immediately plops down in your lap, laying his entire form on top of your reclined body.

“Crushing…me….!” You try to push back against his back unsuccessfully, finding him firmly planted on top of you. “There’s an empty seat right next to me you dummy!” It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be, but ghost or not, he is certainly a big boy.

He slides around to sit in your lap sideways, his legs resting on the empty loveseat space but all of his weight still perfectly balanced on your lap. “Is this better, schnookums? Honeybunny? Light of my death?” He bats his eyelashes at you sweetly. He is not being sweet.

“You two need to get a room,” Lydia says, looking even more disgusted than she was with the burnt popcorn smell.

“We have one, it’s upstairs,” Beetlejuice counters.

“I have one,” you correct him.

“Babes, what’s yours is mine, remember?”

You promptly shift your lap and dump him onto the seat next to you unceremoniously. He lands with the amount of grace that you’d expect.

“Alright everyone, the dip is ready!” Delia’s singsong voice rings out as she and Charles bring in the rest of the food from the kitchen, and Delia plops the dip onto the coffee table by the chips. “I got the recipe online!” She says this fact like it’s a fun little surprise for everyone, as she likes to do.

“That’s great, and I think we got the movie all ready too,” Barbara says, and receives a thumbs up of confirmation from Adam.

With this, everybody finds a comfortable spot to sit as the movie begins playing, the studio logos rolling on the screen first. Charles and Delia on one couch, Lydia sitting in a strange lounging position on her soft chair, Adam and Barbara snuggling close on one loveseat, and you and Beetlejuice together on the other. You’re lucky that the television is so large, everyone’s already packed in enough as it is.

Beetlejuice scoots closer to you, and this time, he genuinely is being sweet. He looks up at you with those big brown eyes before snuggling his head against your shoulder affectionately. You reach your arm around his body to hold him closer, bringing your hand up to run your fingers through his hair, always its favorite place to be. He sighs contentedly next to you, his eyes closing in bliss for a moment before they reopen to watch what’s happening on the TV, unwilling to miss a thing. His light but comforting weight pressing against you is like your own personal weighted blanket, immediately making you relax all of the muscles in your body with his mere close presence. Your own gaze lingers on his pretty features for a moment longer, before getting the distinct feeling that someone is watching you. Looking up, you see everyone watching the movie, aside from Adam and Barbara, who are cuddled together and subtly peeking over at you two of you. At getting caught, they shoot you identical sheepish grins, all endearing and full of fondness in the way their eyes crinkle at you and your demon. You can’t help but give them a coy smile back before you all return your attention to the screen, holding the ones that you love close in your heart and arms.

Author’s Note: WOW. HOW DID THIS END UP SO LONG. this absolutely CLEARS my longest fic record by a fuckton of words. i have no idea, this started as a little blurb when i saw beetlejuice in nyc and then i saw it again on tour and my bff inspired me to continue it and helped with some beta reading (shout-out! go read his fics of beej & others at wretched-devil, they’re absolutely lovely) and things just kinda spiraled outta control. this fic had my studious ass on bad dragon looking up monster cock references, it was so serious to me. welp, hope it was fun for y’all too, thanks for reading!!

[vinegarjello]

one of my favorite scenes from “The Rehabilitation of Death” by @bamsara

i love this fic sm rrrrargh

[methoughtsphantom]

plot bunnies about an idea i don’t have enough motivation juice to write. red hood identity reveal variety

smol jason

So, Red Hood reclutantly working alongside the Bat to take down a child trafficking ring when he is hit with a de-aging spell. It even isn’t the first time Batman encountered the end of this particular spell so he already knows the victim would have no recollection of their memories, so he protects the now child (he guessing 11 estimate age) and guides him through the panic of not being able to take off the Red Hood helmet. the one that canonically has a bomb in it (cause older Jason is a dramatic bitchTM) so like, Batman catches the child’s prying fingers and takes them away from the latches because Hood has implied the existence of a bomb and that’s enough for dread to set in his gut. Bruce gently coaxes the child to let him confirm this with a device he takes out of his belt and raises it eye level to the kid’s head. It beeps. And B feels the ground sweep out under him. Because indeed this child has a bomb to his head. (and he’s suddenly hearing another bomb go off in the distance and a warehouse and —)

anyways, B ends up taking (read kidnapping) this twelve year old to the Batcave so they can pry off the helmet and I can only picture the ANGST because this is Jason and Bruce each unaware of who the other is. Jason still lives in the streets in his mind according to him and well, according to B, he’s dead. So they start bonding, kinda awkwardly at first cuz of the helmet’s voice modulator, but Jay at that age (at any rlly) was a spitfire and like he genuinely makes B forget this is a crime lord for a second (kinda difficult to that when the kid is stuck in the helmet) but whatever. I can only see Jason being his cautious self but kinda being at ends here because he kinda does need Batman’s help to get this thing off him, so he can only, just like narrow his eyes when the Bat approaches him for a blood sample. (“Need to check for magic residue, lad.”)

(Jason’s only allows this because he has a knife he found in the clothes he’d was drowning in earlier)

As u can guess, Bruce was obviously lying and wanted to run the blood sample to see if it matched any from his database (as the Red Hood has also implied that they have met before)

Anyways Bruce just gets the alert that the blood reading was finished almost at the same time they can pry the helmet off, and because he got a little attached, he just wants to see the face of this lively if wary teenager that has the same name as his (dead) son. (he managed to pry it from him earlier, how, i dunno) It’s literally Bruce’s martyr and huge guilt-complex that goes like ‘ah yes let me see the face of a child that was failed so throughly by the people who should’ve taken care of him’. So they pry off the helmet and then Bruce feels like he’s been doused by cold water. it’s like he’s staring at the ghost of his dead son again, the image completed with ruffled hair, slightly upturned lips and blue guarded eyes that look up to him with recognition but not recognition.

Bruce immediately hardens, shuts down any hope he can feel rushing in and desperately tries to close the dam and let his confusion and rage turn into anguish. “Who are you?”

The boy—the imposter quickly tracks the 180 demeanor change and immediately goes defensive. A painfully familiar scowl appears in his face.

“I’m Jason, I already told you that, what, your old age catching up to you?”

Batman stalks closer and then the boy’s taking two steps back for every one the Bat takes. He tracks the loose outline of a hand closing in tightly around the hilt of a knife in the boy wearing his son’s face and he can only think how dare he.

“Lies! You’re not my son! Who are you?”

Heart in throat, Jason struggles to keep distance between him and the towering black shadow that’s so angry he can sense it in his very bones. He doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t.

“I-I my name’s Jason. Jason Todd. My father is Willis Todd, not—not, Batman.”

And there’s that for the little snippet. Sorry this is so disjointed😭. After that’s just the mental image of Dick cutting in with Zatanna trailing closely behind him and being all “Hey I got your message about a de-aging spell and—“ and just stopping at the scene.

Because that’s Batman towering over a clearly scared kid. Said kid using the distraction to try and stab Batman. The action clearly enraging Batman—that doesn’t make any sense?! B would never— Dick immediately sprints into action and steps in between the two.

like Dick just giving his back to the kid and not seeing. Batman clearly shaking his head in denial and snarling, treating the kid like his crime lord self and Dick not understanding. Having to receive help from Zatanna to get the kid the hell out of here (but like where would they even take him? The manor??)

Zatanna just takes them to the other side of the cave and takes note of the teenager. How he has a dead grip on a red helmet and his gaze is stuck upon it.

Meanwhile Dick has to physically restrain Batman from going after the kid and he raises his voice just enough to demand what the hell is happening?? Why is there a kid in the Batcave? …Batman??? Report. As he is demanding answers Dick had slowly loosen his grip on his dad only to now found him staring at his gauntlet’s data hologram.

The information displayed? 99.98% Match confirmed to Jason Peter Todd.

So as this is clearly pure angst, I want Jason to lash out, sticking only to Zatanna only to realize she’s the magic user that’ll quote on quote will return him back to normal.

Jason is just like on really uneven ground here, even though he doesn’t think he’s ready to retur. But then Batman is just like “Jaylad” … “Jay…” and taking off his cowl and reaching up to him and looking at him like he knows him, like he’s something fragile and precious. Which is sooo fucking jarring you can understand. Jason internally is all what the fuck

Jason just wants them to back off. Jason is an overwhelmed bean. He looks up to Nightwing for help but the man is also mirroring the Bat, domino off and eyes suspiciously bright.

Zatanna is literally the only person in the room not emotionally compromised. She’s with Jay in the ??? train.

Suddenly she looks down and there’s the little boy whose eyes are pleading in helpless confusion. Eyes practically conveying the question you can return me back to normal right?? he pointedly doesn’t rip his eyes from hers as Zatanna puts a hand on his shoulder, pretending she doesn’t notice how he trembles and wordlessly asks if he’s sure.

cut scene

Bruce interrupts because information overload and he can’t compartmentalize this is too important and he and Dick stop Zatanna to which she too is ?? because that was literally what she was called for here. Dick is no help.

Dick is torn.

[coveted-covey]

Word count: 1,063

You really don’t know when it started.

He’s always been the same, and you’ve always been the same, except that you can’t help but feel that something changed lately.

You stare at your childhood friend of 10 years. Cove’s eyes are crinkled, waving his hands animatedly as he tells a story about his volunteer shift just earlier this afternoon.

“And then the team leader fell on his butt the exact moment the wave came in!” He slaps his knee in glee, laughing out loud as he relives the funny moment. You couldn’t help but share his  mirth, laughing along. “We were all stifling our laughter, I swear–” 

Cove’s iconic eyebrows were downturned as he heaved in laughter. This could easily be one of the best sceneries you’ve ever been blessed to witness, you caught yourself thinking.

His laughter slowly dies down into softer chuckles, then he fixes his gaze onto you. “Why are you staring so much? Is there something on my face?”

“H-whu?” You broke out of your daydreaming, eyes immediately flicking onto the ocean. You feel your cheeks and ears burn in embarrassment. “No, no. Don’t worry about it!” You waved your hands dismissively, hoping that he does not grill you about getting caught staring at him.

You could still feel his eyes burning into you, and you desperately hope that the ground opens up right at that moment to swallow you and shame whole.

“Um, hey! D-do you wanna start walking home now?” You stammer, looking anywhere but him. You stood up from the swing you were sitting on, immediately taking steps away from the playground before Cove even gets a word in.

Long strides turn into heavy jogs behind you and you try to keep a straight face as you walk-run from the scene of unbearable shame. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks once he catches up, which did not take too long considering his skyscraper height.

You try not to gulp a huge lungfuls of air in succession. “Yep, I am!” You hold the air you inhaled, not able to breathe it out right away. You walk side by side with you stuck in that reverie, and you could feel his gaze every now and then, concern etching onto his features.

You were trying to steady your breathing when your lungs and diaphragm finally gave out, making you hiccup. The seagreen-haired boy beside you flinched. “Seriously, [Name]. What’s going on–” He reached out to grab your arm, wavy eyebrows furrowed. 

You feel your eyes burning in mortification. Good God…

As much as you could, you try to swallow air and relax your diaphragm. “I’m alright, really–” Another hiccup. “Darn it!”

You glare at the ground, arms rigid at your sides. This is literally the worst moment to do this.

“I…”

Your best friend waits for you patiently, trying to calm you down by rubbing your arms gently. After a few beats of you not continuing, he sighs softly. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Tears finally well up and fall to your feet. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” you whisper in the smallest voice he’s ever heard you in.

You almost sob when he slowly retracts his hands from you, falling at his sides. You scowl at the ground some more, self-hatred boiling the longer he does not respond. That’s it. Ten years, ruined. Just like that. Stupid, stupid [Name]!

Your hiccup breaks him out of his own pondering. “[Name]...”

“I’m so sorry…” you whimper, shoulders starting to shake in hurt and humiliation. You bring your hands to your face, attempting to wipe away the tears that keep on flowing.

Cove frowns and steps closer to you. He wordlessly holds you in his arms, letting you stain his shirt with your tears. Despite the shame, you let yourself grasp onto him, pouring your heart out in sobs and hiccups as Cove rubs his hand on your back. 

He breathes out a sigh then whispers softly, “Why are you upset that you confessed to me?”

“Because!” you start, whining. “I ruined our friendship! And despite me doing that I’m still shameless enough to let you comfort me!”

Cove’s chuckle shakes you both. “You silly goose.” His arms tighten around you and you feel a soft pressure on your temple. “Would it ruin our friendship if I feel the same way?” He laughs again. “Ah, I guess it checks out. Because the obvious progression from friendship is–”

“Hang on,” you pull away a bit, arms still around his waist. “You…” Another hiccup. “You feel the same way?”

The face you always love to look at blooms red, his lips wobbly. “Well… Yeah…” He scratches his neck bashfully. “I’ve always meant to tell you but you beat me into it. And what’s more, you were so upset that you made the confession. What would a guy think?”

A laugh startles out of you. “Oh my God. All these tears, and for what?” You laugh at the silly situation you found yourselves in. “Does this mean we’re dating?” You lean your forehead onto his chest.

“Only if you want to,” came the reply, hints of a smirk obvious in his voice

“Okay, then. Since you asked so nicely,” you teased, looking up at him.

He laughs at your banter, then uses his thumbs to gently wipe away your tears. “Will you let us graduate from being childhood best friends and finally be boyfriend-girlfriend, ending my once-thought-to-be one-sided pining of 10 years?”

You slap his chest lightly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You share a laugh, letting go of each other’s hug, but your hands automatically reaching for each other as you walk up the hill.

~*~

.

.

.

“Guess what?” Liz bursts into your room after 2 knocks on your door.

“Hmm?” You look up from your phone.

“Mom, Ma, and I saw something very rom-comy just a few minutes before you got home. Unlucky you didn’t see it! Best rom-com of the year, not gonna lie!”

“What?”

“Oh yeah, there was this teenage couple, probably childhood friends, who were crying and holding each other on the street. It was almost sweet if it wasn’t so cringe, granted that I know the two of them–” she teased.

“Oh my God, Liz?!”

Your older sister just cackles and slams your door close as you try to throw a pillow at her.

fic by @coveted-covey (2023).

[imminent-danger-came]

You Wanted To Make Him Proud

Summary: Red Son and MK have a conversation (turned kinda argument) about expectations and legacy. You gotta give Red Son credit for trying

Word Count: 2,460

Red Son grumbled his way out of the water, absolutely and utterly drenched. 

No Dragon Girl, he had said. I don’t want to have a splash fight, I want to have a peaceful wade in the water without your meddling . You’ve already soaked me once -

Of course, the moment he had said that a devilish grin appeared on her face, and it was over. Suddenly, there was an ancient family sword summoned and a green transparent dragon’s tail sending a wave in his direction. As if that was even fair—Red Son used fire magic, he was out of his element, literally.

Mei would be happy to learn she remained the most annoying person Red Son knew, and he was at a beach full of annoying people.

He huffed, glaring at the Dragon Horse Girl all the way to his family, spot in the sand. He reached into his bag, shuffling the contents around until he found what he was looking for—a purple towel with the Demon Bull Family crest displayed on its center.

At least the Noodle Boy hadn’t ganged up on him with Mei. If that had happened, Red Son doubted he would have even made it out of the water—which was both lucky and strange. Where had the Noodle Boy gone? Off to tend to his sunburn, perhaps?

the rest is on AO3 babyyyyy

[styck-figure]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Animator vs. Animation (Short Films - Becker) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Chosen One & The Dark Lord (Animator vs. Animation) Characters: The Chosen One (Animator vs. Animation), The Dark Lord (Animator vs. Animation) Additional Tags: Introspection, It's ALWAYS introspection when I write Chosen, Stars Series: Part 8 of Styckfics Summary:

Chosen didn't like looking up.

Don't get them wrong; it wasn't like they were actually physically or psychologically averse to looking in a certain direction. That would be stupid. Hell, right now, as they leaned against the door to their bedroom, they were facing the ceiling, head tilted upwards. They didn’t quite care about that.

It was just when they were outside, the giant skies of monitors… unnerved them at times.

[n7punk]

As Many Lives As It Takes (To Be With You) - Interlude: Three Years Ago

This is an interlude/short companion fic for As Many Lives As It Takes (To Be With You), my Nine Lives AU. It's set three years before the main fic.

Main fic on AO3. Pairing: Catradora. Chapters: 3/? (probably 8-ish total). Word count: currently 17k. Rating: T.

---

Interlude Summary: At nineteen, Catra finally accepts help, even if opening up to Scorpia feels like it might kill her. At least it wouldn't stick. Word count: 3.7k. Intended Order: After Chapter 3 (after Chapter 2 is fine too). Notes: This is "skippable" considering it wasn’t in the original outline, but I wrote it on a whim and liked it, so have it over here. The real chapter four will be back in present day and up in a day or two. (Reblogs are off because I don't want this further removed from the context of the original fic, where it won't make sense).

---

Interlude: Three Years Ago

It’s warm by the stove, far warmer than Catra has been since the summer gave way to fall and then winter. Sometimes she curses Bright Moon for having a full season’s cycle. Other times she knows that it’s better than the constant heat or cold some other places have to deal with. The rain from being off the coast is a lot to contend with, though.

Catra stays on the opposite side of town from Bright Moon Bay if she can help it — the last thing she needs is to drown, again — but the tropical storm that blew in took the rain to her. Absently, she reaches up and scrunches her hand into her short hair. For being a pixie cut, it holds a lot of moisture, and water runs down her fingers. It’s worse than her clothes sometimes, especially right now when she has at least changed out of her top. She feels uncomfortable in the loose uniform shirt she is wearing over the pants she wrung out in the bathroom and then put back on, but it’s nice to have something dry on.

Catra huddles closer to the stove, hoping its warmth can work into her bones before the scorpioni slowly moving around the kitchen decides she’s done and heads home. Catra isn’t eager to go back out into the rain, but any time away from the downpour is worth it. It has to be for her to come inside like this. It always makes her feel cagey. She has stayed in shelters before, but they scare her, maybe even more than this small kitchen filled with the smell of baking does. Shelters felt like a place where people would look for her. No one would ever picture Catra of all people here, bedraggled on the floor of a small kitchen filled with cutesy pink things.

“Scorpia! Anyone come in yet?” Rose says, brightly, looking up from whatever she is brewing on one of the freestanding stovetops. Catra flinches as the younger of the women becomes visible, shuffling through the open doorway to the shop. No, they haven’t. Catra’s hearing is on overdrive trying to find the threats that surely must be lurking under the stacks of teacups. No one who had anywhere to go would be stupid enough to be out in this weather. Scorpia shakes her head, throwing her mom a smile.

“I put a notecard on the counter to yell to the back in case someone does come and we don’t hear them, but I doubt anyone is out.” Well, that’s the first smart thing Scorpia has said. “We should probably head out if there’s a lull. Otherwise I think we might end up stormed in. Mom’ll be so worried.” Make that two things, even if this one makes her ears pin back. Heading out means sending Catra out.

It will be miserable, but at least she’ll be out in the open again. Safe. She guesses. Nowhere feels safe with this storm all around them.

Rose sighs.

“We can once I finish prepping things for tomorrow. I don’t think it’s going to let up. If it looks like it’s about to get worse, then we should head home, but for now let’s just wait it out,” she agrees. Scorpia nods, her whole body bouncing with the motion.

Adora used to do that, Catra’s mind reminds her. Traitor.

As if she can hear her, Scorpia turns her attention on Catra. Catra shrinks back despite how she hates showing fear. She just wants to ball up here and sleep forever. Lay down a blanket and it would be perfect. No one would be stupid enough to let some random homeless person sleep in their family shop — she can’t believe Scorpia even came out to the alley when the storm started and invited her in, much less that she accepted — but it’s a nice fantasy.

She’s only entertaining it because she hates being wet. It reminds her of-

Fuck, does she have no options that don’t tug at one of her traumas? Outside is open and “safe” — except for how it’s definitely fucking not, even on an average day — being indoors is being trapped, being in the rain is drowning again, and she’s left with nothing. At least the stove is warm. Scorpia doesn’t take her tail tightly wrapping around her ankles for the hint that it is and shuffles closer. She stays out of striking distance even with her stinger, but Catra feels a growl rising in her throat and quickly looks away.

She’s only proving that they should tell her to go, but instead Scorpia just sits down on the floor with her for some reason.

“Quite the storm, huh? Like being inside a washing machine. Just woooosh,” Scorpia seems to mime clothes spinning around in a washing cycle by circling her pincers in front of her. Something in Catra feels warm. The stove is working, then. She grunts an acknowledgment. Speaking words is risky. She has learned to spit teeth at any who approach her, but she has to hold her tongue when someone is there to help. It stings her pride, but she wouldn’t have made it this long if she hadn’t learned to take some kindness. Scorpia gave her more of it than she deserved already when she let her in. The least she can do is not snap at her.

And listen to her ramble, apparently, because she goes, “Oh, this one time…” and then she’s off telling the story of how they got stuck in an awful storm like this while driving between towns and thought their car was going to get swept away. Catra grunts occasionally and shuffles to readjust her position so the other side of her can get more warmth before something she can’t feel starts getting burned. Scorpia’s story peters out around the time Catra is readjusting her arm, maneuvering it with her left hand and tucking it into her lap a couple of different ways before she finds something that she thinks works.

She can feel Scorpia staring. She can even see it out of her periphery. It doesn’t feel predatory or anything, like she’s cataloguing her weakness, but Catra still pulls her lip back to show her fangs. She doesn’t know why she bothers when Scorpia’s stinger could take her out before she even got close enough to land a hit, but Scorpia raises her pincers in surrender.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude! It’s not my business. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do? I don’t know if a sling would help or…” She trails off, already looking around the kitchen as if she will magically see a medical station appear. Catra finally speaks just because she thinks Scorpia is five seconds away from standing and rushing around to find something. Tracking her all over the restaurant again is going to start wearing on her nerves.

“It’s paralyzed. Nothing is going to make it better,” Catra grits back. She can tell Rose is listening, even if she isn’t looking at her. Rose seems just as nice as her daughter, but they could both be deceiving her. Catra is almost sold on Scorpia. Rose… Well, Rose doesn’t directly remind her of anyone she already trusts, so she’s on thin ice. That might as well be the Catra equivalent of a golden pedestal, though.

“A sling could keep it from getting in the way!” Scorpia pipes up, like Catra hasn’t thought of that. She has tried, once or twice, with an improvised scarf or something. It actually just puts her arm in the way and makes her feel more helplessness. It certainly makes her look it.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt, anyway,” she mutters back. Except when people touch it, she doesn’t add. That doesn’t happen a lot unless someone happens to bump into her, so it might as well not be weakness. She shifts to tuck in her arm a little more, like hiding it from view will change the subject. Scorpia just keeps looking at her.

“If you want to talk about it-” Catra growls, “-not that I’m asking! We’re going to be here a while is all, and… I get the feeling you’ve never talked about it. Talking about things usually makes me feel better. Sometimes my roommate will just sit and listen to me while I unload and it helps a lot even without her talking back or even looking at me,” Scorpia hurries to placate her before losing the plot. Catra grumbles, tucking her face down into her arms. Yeah, she doesn’t think talking is going to be anything like that for her.

She doesn’t usually even acknowledge it’s paralyzed. She has had to say it a few times, but the closest she has ever come to addressing anything that happened was when she ran into her old classmate, and even thinking about that makes her throat tight. The way he looked at her- How is she ever supposed to tell someone what happened when she’s just opening herself up to that? Scorpia isn’t looking at her with sick fascination, though. Her eyes are just big and soft, like A-

“I fell,” Catra replies, cutting that thought off before it can finish. Watching Scorpia light up when she realizes that she’s telling her and then her expression fall as she remembers what they’re talking about is kind of funny. Scorpia always seems so open and warm. The light in her heart felt near blinding the first few weeks that Catra ran into her. Okay, maybe she just reminded her of someone and it felt like someone pulling her ribs out of her chest when she looked at her.

“That’s, uh, quite the fall. I’m really sorry about that, Wildcat,” Scorpia says. Catra feels something that might be a trill rise in her chest and swallows it down, tucking in a little tighter. She didn’t realize she was starting to uncurl. It’s just a stupid nickname, she doesn’t know why it makes her feel anything. It isn’t even a nickname, just what Scorpia started calling her when Catra wouldn’t give her a name at first. She knows it now, and her moms use it, but Scorpia still calls her Wildcat. No matter what, Scorpia keeps trying.

She doesn’t know why. Catra knows their family helps out other people who come around here – that’s how she found out about them in the first place – and yet Scorpia latched onto her for some reason and seems determined to fix her. Maybe she’s the most broken person that comes around. Maybe Scorpia isn’t used to people not immediately loving her. Maybe Catra is just her age. For some reason, she keeps trying to get Catra to open up to her.

I get the feeling you’ve never talked about it before. Is that all it takes? To look at her, see she’s alone, and want to fix that? Why? She has been alone for years. No one has ever really tried to help before. Give her a few dollars here, let her sneak into the bathrooms there, but in general, she has been by herself. Not that she has ever asked for help, but why would she do that? They wouldn’t give it to her.

Most people wouldn’t, anyway. Most people wouldn’t get hissed and snarled at and still come running to the back door to hand out food and try to make small talk while claws were flashed at them. Not that Catra ever raised her hand in a real threat at Scorpia, but she has certainly prepped her claws when Scorpia looked like she might get closer or got too chummy. Catra doesn’t know why she’s still trying, still being nice when Catra has never shown that kind of grace back. Adora’s mom used to talk about putting back out into the world what you wanted to be given. Catra has only ever given back what she got.

And right now, she isn’t even doing that. She wraps her tail tightly around herself and runs her fingers down her arm. Her fur is completely dry there. She probably showed it to the oven too long.

“I can’t feel it except when other people touch it. And then it just hurts,” Catra murmurs. She doesn’t know why. She just told Scorpia how to hurt her with explicit instructions, but all Scorpia does is nod with a sympathetic look on her face.

“Is that… normal for paralysis? Is that what phantom pain is?” Scorpia asks. Catra actually laughs, a dark chuckle that feels foreign in her chest. Yeah, big Adora energ-

She clears her throat.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s just a me thing,” she replies. Scorpia looks concerned and it makes Catra’s chest hurt, but for once, it kind of feels good? She’s used to hollowness, or angry buzzing, or bitter regret, but this feels more like stepping outside for the first time on a cold night, a shock to her system and tightness in her lungs. Eventually the numbness sets in, but in this moment? It feels good.

There’s a warm oven right next to her. Frostbite doesn’t have to creep into her fingers.

“That doesn’t sound good. When was the last time you saw a doctor? I know it’s probably hard to, but there has to be a free clinic or something, right?” Scorpia asks. Catra snorts, her hand still on her arm. She squeezes. She doesn’t really know why. It’s lax beneath her fingers, no muscles flexing to harden it.

“Never,” she replies. Rose stops pretending to be busy, freezing as Scorpia’s jaw drops. Suddenly self-conscious, Catra hunches her shoulders. “I was- I was homeless right after- Actually because of-” She cuts off. She doesn’t owe them an explanation. So why does she feel like she should have one? Why are tears burning at the back of her eyes?

She doesn’t want a doctor. She knows this. Any time she gets near a medical professional, it’s dangerous and panics her. How much could they suspect this long after the fall, though, when everything would be healed over? When she can just tell them whatever she wants about what happened? They wouldn’t be able to help, she always tells herself, and she’s right, but the fantasy of someone being able to is so alluring. A fantasy of being cared for, and things getting better, and more warm ovens while she’s at it.

“I- You need to. I know you probably can’t afford it, but it can’t be that expensive, right? Just for an appointment?” Scorpia asks, twisting around to look at her mom as she asks. Her mom turns around and looks just as stressed. Catra’s throat tightens. No. No, she can’t even let them suggest spending their money on something that would never help.

“No. Once it’s paralyzed there’s nothing you can really do. Any money I’ve ever had has been better served going towards food, or new clothes, or a room for the night. Things that keep me alive,” Catra replies, shaking her head. Food, clothes, things they’ve already done for her. They don’t need to do more.

She isn’t expecting Rose to turn to her, looking like she is about to cry.

“You’re so young. How did this happen to you?” she asks, her tone distraught enough for Catra to know it isn’t a real question, just internal horror making itself known, but still her mouth opens and closes a few times.

There are tears in her eyes. That realization is the last wall crumbling down as she buries her face in her knees and allows herself to cry for the first time in a long, long time.

--

Catra hasn’t really been in a car in the last three years. Scorpia doesn’t question it when she curls up in the backseat, dripping again from the rain that came down on them as they made the run from the shop to the car. Catra is still wearing the employee t-shirt, her bag that never leaves her side on the floor of the car beside her. Rose said her clothes were still soaked and Scorpia could just wash the shirt and bring it back when it was time.

Catra isn’t sure when is going to be the time. She isn’t sure where they’re going really, or how long she’s supposed to stay there, or how long she’s going to stay there, but she’s so exhausted that she just couldn’t fight it or find a reason to say no when Scorpia offered for her to stay with her while she got herself sorted out. She thinks the offer is a few days, with the condition that she actually do something about improving her life.

She isn’t sure where to start. She isn’t sure she’s ready to start. But she is sure she’s tired of this. If she walks away from this opportunity, she isn’t likely to ever get another one, or at least not one as kind as this. She doesn’t know there could be someone kinder after she cried on their floor for two hours and unloaded horrific shit on them as she went through what she could – first the fall, and then the homelessness, and then further back with the “near” drowning, and by then they got the picture but they still flinched when she mentioned the window, and Rose was crying as hard as she was when she talked about Weaver.

She doesn’t know why they let her do that. She depressed them, she knows, but instead of telling her it was time to go, they started workshopping solutions together, looking at her for input and approval while she just sat there, stunned.

Her toe claws flex against the floor of the car and she watches them almost snag on the car mats. She doesn’t trust this, but she has lived every day of the last three years in fear anyway. Might as well be indoors while she stews in her discomfort, right? As long as they’re willing to offer it. If this can last just long enough for her to get in a program or something like they suggested, maybe she can get somewhere that she trusts is safe. She’s scared to exist again, but she keeps telling herself it has been three years. She has the paralysis to show as “proof” of injury from the accident. She can sell this lie. She had it half-formed in her mind already, from times when she has had to brush up against the story before, but she put together something coherent on the floor of that shop, she thinks.

They offered her a home, so apparently it was good enough. She just has to hope that whatever government employee gets saddled with her case thinks so too.

She tenses when they finally park. Scorpia’s apartment block is pretty big, but nondescript. She can’t really tell what it’s going to be like from the lobby or hallway, but when Scorpia opens the door for her, the apartment is in good shape. Nothing fancy or expensive except maybe the TV, but nothing is broken or stained at first glance, and they have enough furniture to fill out the space. The couch looks like it will probably be the most comfortable place she has slept since last winter, so she doesn’t really care what Scorpia’s roommate is like as long as she doesn’t try to make her leave.

“Entrapta! We’re home! I brought a friend,” Scorpia calls, her booming voice forcing Catra to pin her ears back. Friend is a bit of a stretch, but it seems to interest Entrapta enough for her to emerge from down the hall after a few moments. She cocks her head as Scorpia busies herself with closing the door and putting away her shoes. Catra considers waving and ends up grimacing instead as she drops her bag from her shoulder and cautiously bends to set it beside where Scorpia put her shoes. The thing is filthy.

Catra straightens up and leaps in the air when she turns around and finds the girl with pigtails right behind her. She hisses, her tail shot straight out and her fur fluffing up, but Entrapta doesn’t even look at Catra’s claws snapping out and her left hand stiffening into an attack position, she just bends way too close to inspect Catra’s arm, which obviously swung as she moved.

“Fascinating! How long has it been like that? Can you feel it?” Entrapta asks, pulling a fucking wrench out of her pocket. Scorpia steps up beside Catra on her left, waving her pincers a little frantically.

“Entrapta, you can’t ask that! It’s rude!” Scorpia tries to stop her. Entrapta looks up, blinking at her. Scorpia throws Catra an apologetic look. “Sorry, she really doesn’t mean anything by it, she just doesn’t interact with a lot of people-”

Then Entrapta touches Catra’s arm. She screams into her teeth, buckling until one of Scorpia’s pincers catches her on her left side and she manages to stumble onto her feet again. Entrapta watches her with fascination.

It isn’t a great first meeting.

[robotic-rin]

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Relationship: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14,000

Summary: Ford hated to say he was struggling to keep up the pace on the portal, but he was. Between working himself to exhaustion and reckoning with unresolved post-karaoke night feelings, how could anyone expect him to focus on writing equations? Noticing his distraction, his enigmatic muse offers to help him out, but Bill only does favors for humans if he knows he’s going to get something out of it as well.

Or: Ford wants to be studied like a scientific experiment, Bill wants to be worshipped like a god.

Main Tags: Triangle Bill Cipher, Pre-Portal Incident (Gravity Falls), Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, Praise Kink, Consensual Possession, Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Mirror Sex, Overstimulation, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Degradation, Possessive Behavior, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Psychological Smut, Manipulative Bill Cipher

[sapphirebones-ao3]

warning buzz

read on ao3

Rating: Explicit

Chapter 1/2

Summary:

"Can I kiss you?"

She raises an eyebrow at him, "You didn't ask when we were in the hospital."

"Well– That-That was different, this is different." He brings his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, averting his eyes for just a second before bringing them back. "Sorry- I just-"

"Yes."

He blinks and his eyes widen, "Yeah?"

Scully tilts her head to the side and brings a hand to his cheek, careful not to bump into his injured arm. "Yes, Mulder. You can kiss me."

“So Scully, any New Year's resolutions?" Mulder looks down at her in the elevator, the new millennium just welcomed with a kiss. Scully presses the button to the parking garage and crosses her arms, "A few," she says, and stares back up at him "how about you?"

"C'mon Scully, don't leave me hanging!" he makes a show of waving his cast around as much as possible and wiggles his eyebrows at her, she cracks a smile but makes no move to speak. "Fine, guess I'll go first," he pouts, "my first New Year's resolution is to buy you a drink!" he winks at her as the elevator doors open and skips out, dangling the car keys in his good hand.

"Mulder, you can't drink on painkillers!" Scully calls after him, "And I'm driving, you've had enough excitement for one night." she runs up to the car door and snatches the keys from Mulder's hand, shooing him off to the passenger side and getting into the driver's seat.

“So why my birthday? Not going by dog years anymore?” she quips, glancing at him and putting the keys in the ignition.

“I’ve decided I need to come back to the human realm, Scully, dogs and zombies just aren’t as compelling to me anymore.” he shudders, thinking about the zombies he’d fought off just a couple hours prior.

“Wow, it’s a New Year’s miracle, Fox Mulder admitting he doesn’t find zombies interesting.” Scully chuckles, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel as the car pulls out of the garage.

“You can have that admission only if you give me one of yours! You still haven’t told me your resolution, Agent Scully.” he pokes at her shoulder over the console and turns himself towards her, listening with rapt attention.

Scully sighs and drives in silence for a couple of seconds, and Mulder can almost hear the gears turning in her brain before she speaks “I want to be more open this year, and before you say anything regarding aliens–” she flicks her eyes to him and half-heartedly glares, “–I mean emotionally.” her lips purse in thought before she continues. “I haven’t let myself experience much lately, I want to be more honest about what I feel.” He sees her clench the steering wheel tighter for a moment before turning to look at him, “Does that make sense?”

“Scully, you’re the most honest person I know. I think if you got any more honest they’d finally arrest me.” he says, quirking a smile at her. “In all seriousness, I think I understand what you mean, it’s hard for me too sometimes.” He briefly squeezes her elbow and leans back into his seat, thinking about just how much he wants to tell her. The new millennium may not have ended the world, but it’s definitely eroded his patience, will he wait for the next one to finally tell her how he feels? The kiss felt like a good start, but she might just chalk it up to a New Year’s tradition, and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to survive another seven years for the next.

Despite Mulder’s mind racing the whole way there, the two of them do fall into a comfortable silence, occasionally humming along to the radio as Scully drives them to his apartment.

---

Some cheesy romcom plays on the TV set in front of them, her head on his shoulder as they both nurse a beer, Scully having finally given in to his pleas to have a drink and celebrate the new year. After a while, she feels him shift above her and feels him staring. Tilting her head up to meet his gaze she sighs, "What is it, Mulder?" he’s looking at her with an unreadable expression, something twinkling there in the dim light of his living room.

"Can I kiss you?"

She slowly raises an eyebrow at him and brings the beer to her lips, "You didn't ask when we were in the hospital."

"Well– That– That was different. This is different." He brings his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, averting his eyes while she sets the beer down before bringing them back to her. "Sorry- I just-"

"Yes."

He blinks and his eyes widen, "Yeah?"

Scully tilts her head to the side and brings a hand to his cheek, careful not to bump into his injured arm. "Yes, Mulder. You can kiss me."

And so he does, he tilts his own head down and brings his lips to hers in a small, chaste, kiss. Almost reminiscent of the one they shared in the hospital lobby, except this time he pulls back and watches her face, as her eyes open slowly and her thumb strokes his stubble.

"Can I kiss you again?" he whispers, and she chuckles and leans into him once more.

This time, she opens her mouth to his and they explore each other slowly. Mulder runs his tongue along Scully's teeth, her lips pillowy around his, he brushes against her own tongue and it ignites something within her. She brings her other hand to his face and smashes herself into the kiss, her tongue running along his palate, then pulling back and along his plush lower lip. He sits in a daze, mouth open, as she nips at his stubble and along his jaw and then returns to his mouth, she finds his tongue and sucks. A groan makes its way out of his throat and send a bolt of arousal down, down, down.

"Scu– Scully..." He says, barely catching his breath as he pulls back and raises his hand to the one on his cheek. They look at each other, eyes half lidded and mouths wet. "I appreciate the enthusiasm but I uh- That- That uh-"

"Too much?" She drops the hand that Mulder isn't holding and looks up at him, smiling with her gums on display.

"No– I just–" he smiles and squeezes her hand, bringing it down to the couch, palm up, so he can hold it. "I want you, Scully."

He goes to lean in again but freezes, as if just now realizing the implications. Gripping Scully's hand tighter, he snaps his eyes up to hers as he stutters "I– I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Scully sighs and brings her other hand on top of theirs. "You remember what I said in the car?" He nods, listening. "I said I wanted to be more honest, and that means being honest even when it scares me. You scare me, Mulder."

His face twists into a frown and he sighs, pulling his hand away, "You could've said no. I wouldn't have pushed."

She doesn't let his hand get far before grasping it tightly in between her own and looking up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Listen to me, Mulder. You're not listening."

She brings his hand up to her lips and places a kiss on his knuckles, "What I mean is, I'm scared if I let myself hope, then it'll all go to hell. I'm scared you'll find some other piece of the truth and go out to chase it, only this time you won't come back." She looks up at him again and he sees tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"I couldn't live with that. I couldn't live with having you like this–" She gestures between them "–just to have you taken away from me again. I wouldn't survive it." Her head drops down to her chest and she breathes shakily.

Mulder pulls her close and kisses the top of her head, his lips resting in the soft strands, he cradles her against his chest with his one good arm, “Scully…” he breathes, “I hope you know that I would never leave you, not on purpose.” he strokes her back and feels the rise and fall of her chest against his own, their breaths and the soft murmur of the TV the only sounds in the room. “I’m scared too, if that’s any consolation.” he whispers, “The amount of times you’ve had something happen because of me…” his words trail off as he speaks them into her hair, and she lifts her head up and plants a soft kiss to his cheek.

“None of that was your fault, Mulder. I chose to stay with the X-files, to stay with you.” she plants her hands on his shoulders and moves into his lap, bringing herself almost eye-level with him. “I want to try this, Mulder. I don’t want to run away anymore.”

“Scully I– Are you sure? Me?” his eyes are wide and searching, roaming over her face to try to find any trace of uncertainty, “You could have anyone you want, anything– God, Scully, you deserve so much.” He sees a twinge of anger flash in Scully’s eyes and her gaze hardens, her hands come up to cup his jaw and she runs her fingers through the hair at his temples, it feels possessive, as if she’s making sure he won’t run away.

“Mulder, we’ve had so much taken from us, don’t we both deserve this?” her thumbs lightly scrape through his five-o’-clock shadow, her eyes following the sound, “What if what I want– Who I want, is you?” she whispers.

He closes his eyes and chuckles lightly, breathing through his nose, “Scully? Are we sure there are no bees around this time?”

The only noise in the apartment now is the bubbling of the fish tank, the movie having ended long ago, the soft glow of the TV illuminating their faces on the couch.

“Not that I can hear.” Scully whispers.

“Then, Scully, can I kiss you again? Or I guess, again– again?”

“Please.”

[uwudonoodle]

I've officially joined AO3! My username is the same as here on Tumblr, Uwudonoodle. Now I can read all your fics that are only for registered users.