doragonWrites

Writing blog where I plan to post shorter fics, mostly going to be x reader for my blorbos, dldr. I am transmasc and plan to fill the empty space for transmasc reader in most fandoms. My main blog is @doragonBoi

[doragonwrites]

Headcanons about dude with a person who actually has a steady job

Dude will bother you at work

it doesn't matter what kind of job you have; however he will be there all day if you work retail

no one can tell him that he's gotta leave bcs he will immediately pull the "I'm just shopping around"

your coworkers have seen him following you around the store for hours without so much as glancing at the shelves, no one wants to call him on it

I'm imaging him pulling up in his car on your lunch to "take you out for a bite"

do not get in his car. there are at least 4 things catastrophically wrong with it and unless you decide to fix it yourself it isn't getting done

accompanies you to a local sandwich shop or burger joint or whatever on your lunch after you refuse the ride to a better establishment

he will harass your coworkers

whether its because they've done something or he just feels like it you'll never know

will get massively upset if your coworkers tell him they're not allowed to tell him where you are when he asks

while dude has had very few actual jobs that weren't just a few times doing an odd job for someone or things he got fired from within a month he is quite good at memorizing and effectively taking on your schedule

if you have a swing schedule (like me) he is better at getting up and living around it than you are. the man is built for a constantly changing environment

dude will be constantly trying to touch you or do pda during your shift, no matter how much you tell him to cut it out. you will have to physically push him off you

if you want to relax when you get off this man has got you. he will try to get you to come to his trailer as often as possible, even getting your soap "so you can enjoy a shower there just like at your house" and making sure to acquire as many things as possible to help you relax

it doesn't matter what you do, dude will sit and watch you decompress for hours

i personally headcanon that dude would love self care but never do it himself, so if you like to do that as a for of destressing please include him he will be so happy

[doragonwrites]

It's Just a House Party, What Could Go Wrong?

Postal Doe x reader

You go to a house party, even though you don't like them, and Doe comes uninvited. She gives you one of the best party experiences you've had in a while and even offers to take you home, how nice.

Cws: implied drugging, implied kidnapping (these are both very light implications but still proceed with cautions), ambiguous ending, reader is a guy but it's only mentioned offhandedly like once, written in first person pov, written in less than an hour and only barely edited

Parties have never really been my thing; it’s too loud, too crowded, drunk people are constantly bumping into you a babbling on whenever they approach you, and worst of all you’re expected to get drunk as well. I’ve been to plenty. My mom was quite the partyer when I was a kid so as a teenager I started going to parties of my own.

Knowing what to expect has always helped. Plus, if I have a drink in hand people assume I'm getting drunk too – no one notices that I haven’t gone to refill it because they aren’t paying attention.

This one is no different, a house party like any other. Well, there’s that ginger chick everyone avoids. No one knows who invited her, or that’s what everyone says when she comes up, and for the most part people walk lighter in her vicinity. However, even the intrusion doesn’t stop the guests from enjoying themselves to the fullest.

I sit on the couch, talking to whoever approaches and keeping an eye on everything. When people are too drunk, I bring them water and snacks; when they get sad, I listen and try to lighten the mood; and when they try to do things they shouldn’t, I step in to resolve the situation. The host invited me directly – being the person who keeps everything running smoothly gets you a lot of invitations, even if you don’t want them.

The couch has become crowded, and people started sitting in front of it at some point. Most ask me why I don’t come to many parties; some bring up the tall ginger girl – they call her Doe or Postal Doe – a few pass around playstation controllers for rounds of some Mortal Kombat clone. My nice slice of the party is exactly where I plan to stay.

Someone leans against the back of the couch where I sit; “hey, I’m goin’ to the john. Watch my drink,” a woman says while thrusting a red solo cup into my face.

“Okay,” I comply, reaching my hand up to grab the cup. Everyone else has gone quiet, the game stopped mid round. With confusion I look up to see the ginger, Doe, leaning against the couch behind me. Her arms indent the cushions behind me as she puts her weight against it.

“I’ll be back,” she yells out as she straightens up to leave.

When she steps away the murmuring starts.

“That’s Postal Doe.”

“Why’d she give you her drink?”

“You think she’s up to something?”

“I’ve never seen her talk to someone without starting a fight.”

“You shouldn’t trust her.”

“She’s bad news.”

One after another the other guests chime in. They tell stories of her exploits – stealing, fighting, and otherwise being a nuisance to the town. I wonder how exaggerated they must be, most of them sound outright fake.

I take a sip of my drink and try to calm the atmosphere again; “she just wants me to hold her drink. A lot of girls ask me to,” pointedly I glance towards the women of the group.

The guys try to chime in only to be shut down by the women, who seem to have only just thought of that explanation.

“Do you know her,” a girl leaned against the arm of the couch opposite me asks.

I shake my head, “I don’t know any of you either.”

Things go back to normal after that. Some of the women switch places to sit closer to me until there is a wall between me and all the other men in the group. No one mentions it but they all give me sympathetic looks and caring pats.

After a while Doe returns, she takes her drink from me and sits on the arm of the couch next to me. “You could use another drink,” she says mildly. “Isn’t that still your first one?”

There’s a bite of judgement in her tone. Everyone around me chimes in that they haven’t seen me get one at all and slowly the crowd who gathered to join me turns against me.

“I’m still working on this one,” I defend; “with all the legwork I have to do to keep everything running I haven’t had the time.”

Doe laughs at that, a harsh bark. She gets up and stalks off towards the kitchen, her red hair with (color) highlights reflecting in the lights.

When I first saw her, she hadn’t dyed it yet; then a few weeks later she had those highlights. They match my hair perfectly, which some of the other guests have pointed out to me throughout the night.

“She never had dyed hair before,” someone chimes in now.

Some guy clears his throat a little, “yeah, she only did that after you moved to town.”

“I think it looks nice,” I tell the inside of my cup – trying to finish off the rest of my drink and drown out the implication of what they’re saying.

Doe returns with two drinks in hand. She thrusts one of them to me, “here. You deserve to get drunk more than these ingrates.” I’m starting to thank her when she hauls me up from the couch, “c’mon, some guys made a bonfire in the back.”

I’m dragged from the comfortable space I created – the others call out goodbyes and good lucks from their places. Doe is stronger than she looks, able to drag me through the crowded living room and kitchen with ease.

The cold air of the yard hits me before the darkness sets in. I’m dizzy from the sudden change, having been jostled around by other guests on the way out didn’t help.

We make our way to some lawn chairs around the fire. The few people who were out here find reasons they want to be inside – leaving one by one until it’s just me and Doe. There are fireflies blinking around the overgrown grass and the stars twinkle in the sky above.

“Why don’t you loosen up,” Doe asks; her tone is harsh, but the question feels more genuine. “I’ve seen you at a few parties, hell even at the bar, and you never have more than one drink. You just stand around and take care of everyone.”

I sigh, my eyes moving to the sky in an attempt to avoid hers; “I don’t like parties.”

There’s a beat of silence before she’s laughing again. This time there’s more humor in it – though it still feels mocking. “Then why do you go?”

Not going is more difficult, really. If you avoid too many people think you’re avoiding them or that you’re a prude; people leave you and all you can think when you look back is that you should have just gone to the party, you should have just had a few drinks, you should have just given in even if you hate being there. “It’s easier than not going.”

Doe throws her arm around me, face invading my vision – even sitting down she towers over me. “Well, let’s do some party things you like.”

I tilt my face to the side to look at her better, “like what?”

She stands and jerks me to my feet, “you like to dance.” It’s not a question.

My drink is lifted to my mouth, and I can’t tell if it’s of my own volition or if Doe’s hand gripping mine is the one leading it. After chugging it I set myself to the task, “we don’t have any music.”

As if on cue the speakers on the patio behind us spring to life. A terrible early 2000’s song booms out of them, fast and loud. We set our drinks down and Doe grabs both my hands pulling me along in a jerky off beat dance.

I’m certain we look like idiots – alone in someone’s backyard stumbling over ourselves and each other, but it is fun. The songs fade into one another, barely any difference between one and the next until somehow they’ve slowed and we end up leaning against one another swaying with the fire.

My body sags into Doe’s, all my muscles feel like they’re going to sleep in the crisp winter night. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps dancing with me as the rest of the party gets murkier in my mind.

By the time we’re done dancing the backyard is blurry. All the spinning and twisting and jerking must have really shaken me – the drink I chugged hitting my system like a ton of bricks. The next song cues up and we flop down on the ground.

I’m half laying with one of my elbows barely holding me up. The stars twinkle above me to another slow song and I feel like I’ve been dreaming for a while.

“Aw, are you gettin’ tired,” Doe coos with the same tone you would use for a toddler.

I laugh, even though she sounds like she’s insulting me; “yeah. It’s been a while since I cut loose like that.” The last time I had danced drunk was before the nightclub in town got shut down, something about bugs; a few of my girlfriends had invited me out and we ended up passed out in the Lucky Ganesh parking lot on the way home.

I don’t have time to miss it too much before Doe lifts me up again, “let me take you home.”

I don’t argue as she carries me back through the house to the front door; my legs doing their best to shuffle along without being able to hold my weight. Barely awake, I hear the group from the couch call out to me before I stumble down the front steps. After I almost eat shit on the concrete walkway, Doe picks me up and I’m barely aware as we make our way to a beat-up car.

It’s rusted through in places, none of the doors match, and when I’m set down I can feel the springs of the seat dig into my body. I don’t mind though, after all tonight’s been great.

I do my best to give directions but after a few turns all I can manage is sounds against my uncooperative mouth. Even so, Doe still turns and drives on. This feels different than the way to my house; that’s a left when we should have a right now, we go straight for too long when I know there are more turns, and the road curves in ways mine doesn’t.

That doesn’t matter now. I’m almost asleep and Doe hasn’t done anything wrong.

As long as I don’t wake up in a parking lot it’ll all be fine.

[doragonwrites]

Goretober/Kinktober Day 2: Burns + FWB

Description: One of Beetlejuice's pranks ends with you getting injured, he does his best to help you.

CW: 2nd-degree burns, improper wound care (don't put anything except for cool water on fresh burns, especially if you blister), smut, oral (reader recieving), vaguely described genitals (dick and hole used sparingly), written from a transmasc pov, Beetlejuice is spelled Betelgeuse like the star

Walking into my house has become one of the most hazardous things I do every day. Since Betelgeuse decided I was fun to haunt, he's usually waiting for me by the time I get home from work ready to play some kind of practical joke or prank on me. Bumps, scrapes, and cuts are so normal that everyone has started calling me clumsy. Bee seemingly not understanding how easy it is to injure living people constantly puts me in threatening situations without a second thought.

When nothing happens upon me opening the door, I gingerly step into the apartment. I take off my shoes and start to slowly make my way towards the kitchen, eyes darting frantically around me.

“Bug,” I call tentatively through the empty space, “I’m home.”

The silence is oppressive; nothing so much as moves in response to me. The calm of an empty house does nothing to ease my nerves.

I start working on dinner, not able to let the prickling fear stop me from living. A large pot of water is boiling on the stove-top, one of my hands on a handle while I dump spaghetti noodles into it with the other. Suddenly, a face springs up from the surface, disfigured and oozing green puss.

A gasp rips through my body as I tense up. My hand jolts sending the pot off the stove and water spilling down the front of me.

I’m burning, from just above my belly button all the way down my legs. After a few seconds of shock, I’m ripping my clothes off; the drenched layers clinging tightly to my skin.

Harsh laughter booms from Betelgeuse’s non-corporeal form, his hair the most vibrant, electric green. “You’re excited tonight, huh?” He barks out between laughs.

I stand in shock for a few seconds, staring down at my body as it turns red and blisters start to rise. Realization hits me like a truck; I spilled boiling water on myself.

I already have the aloe in my hands when I register the quiet – leaf ripped haphazardly from the plant; fingers jammed roughly into the open stump to rip it in half and get at the gunk. I don’t have the time to think about it as I scrape the clear goo from inside the leaf and slather it over my now split skin.

The salve makes the burn less horrible, slightly easing the tingling pain wherever I manage to slather it. I stand in my window – completely naked and getting visibly more disfigured by the second – ripping chunk after chunk from the succulents to treat more and more of the damaged area.

After a few minutes, there’s a thick layer over the entire front of my lower body and I’m contemplating whether I need to get medical attention. I’m still burning up under the cool gel; my mind racing to think of anything that could ease the pain without wasting all the work I just did.

I could probably fit in the fridge if I pulled some stuff out.

I turn on my heel, spotting Bj staring silently from the kitchen. He’s a shade in the otherwise bright room; body tinged a dark purple seemingly melting and oozing black from his pores. His eyes are pools of whatever liquid he’s leaking, looking straight at me. He shrinks down the moment my eyes land on him and continues to get smaller with every step I take. A few bright shocks of yellow start to crop up in his hair.

The light breeze of moving would feel nice if not for the painful push and pull against the blistering skin of my hips. Swelling pushes back against the movement; the restricted motion causing me to stumble a couple times.

I catch myself on the counter a few steps into the kitchen, breathing hard against the effort to walk just across the room. Leaning forward onto the solid surface I think about my options. I definitely won't be able to drive like this, much less get to the car.

Suddenly, something ice cold presses lightly against my thighs. The contact makes me jump, goosebumps sprouting up around it. The contact starts to pull away almost as suddenly as it got there. In a panic at the idea of losing the icy cold contact I grasp whatever it is and push it roughly into my skin.

There’s some shuffling behind me and I realize I’m gripping Betelgeuse’s hands so hard it would hurt a living person. “Are you gonna be ok,” he whispers.

I turn around in his grip, the hands falling away from my skin as soon as I start to shift. The white stripes of Bee’s suit are deep purple, black goo dripped in various places as he melted into a vaguely humanoid puddle on the ground. The ghoul looks pathetic like this. I sigh, “yeah. It’ll hurt for a while, and I might have to go to the doctor.”

At the word doctor Bj fell further into himself, despondently repeating it to himself. His hands slowly come up to my burns again. I groan as he traces the swollen welts with his icy cold fingers.

My reaction emboldens him. Bee presses his hands more firmly and runs them over me; the chill lingers wherever they’ve touched.

“This is good,” I lightly encourage. “Cold is good.”

The ghost perks up a little at the praise, leaning forward into me. His face presses into my lower belly, the melty surface not nearly as rough as it usually is. My hands come to the back of his head, gripping his hair hard and shoving him against me more firmly. He pushes forward into me, hands roaming from my ankles to my hips, a few more joining them. The force shoves me back against the counter.

Bj starts to kiss my stomach, muttering into the tingling skin and smudging the aloe gel around where it sits. At the edge of the burn, the red harsh against the normal color of my skin, he licks a stripe of my skin.

I gasp; his tongue is colder than the outside of his body. “Did you eat the aloe,” I chuckle breathlessly.

Betelgeuse looks up at me, face covered in the mysterious black fluid and gooey aloe. His dark brown eyes stare into me, no longer the bottomless pits I saw earlier, and his mouth works against something like he’s chewing. I laugh at the view, my favorite little scavenger kneeling in front of me eating something that he probably thinks is inedible to living humans.

I run my fingers through his hair, lovingly caressing the surprisingly soft and extremely greasy strands. “How’s it taste, Bug,” I ask, still hurting but distracted by the deliciously chilly touch.

He nuzzles the space where my leg meets my abdomen, “like a plant.” The chill of his breath brushes against me, sending shivers through my body.

The hands running along my thighs rub slightly closer to the inside of them; a motion that sends a thrill through me. My legs falter under the building weight of arousal. One of my hands shoots to the counter behind me, gripping the surface to keep myself stable.

Bj takes a deep breath, shooting a thrill through me with the knowledge that he hadn’t been breathing up until that moment. The inhale is followed by a way too long sigh, blowing cold air along my body as he moves his face to my crotch, inhaling again once his nose is nestled firmly in my pubes. His mouth opens and he exhales against my sex, breath fanning the excited skin.

“You always smell so good after work,” he mutters into me, lips brushing against me deliciously.

I bite back against a moan, not wanting to encourage him too much when I know I should be in the car on the way to an emergency doctor’s visit right now. The too many hands running around my body and breath against me make my head spin.

Betelgeuse pushes further into my body, mouth falling open against me. His tongue lolls out, long and cold. Bee groans into me as he starts to lap up along my body, growing slicker with sweat and arousal by the second. I thrust forward against the light friction, the swelling in my joints making the motion jerky and nearly sending me tumbling into Bj.

Cold palms press into my upper body out of nowhere. I look down at Bee, slightly confused at the clear view down to his hair, worms of his regular green and magenta working their way from his scalp.

Seemingly sensing my gaze, Bj angled his face to look up at me – his eyes honeyed hazel sharply contrasted against the snakelike pupils cutting them in half. His cheeks pull upward, sharp teeth exposed by his smile. My eyes snap shut, the thought of those teeth digging into my flesh sending thrills through my nerves and pushing my hips against his hold in a desperate attempt to be closer to them.

I whine, body searching for pleasure and the relief of his corpse cold body against mine. Taking the cue, Bee pushes himself back against me; his tongue dipping down to tease the outer edges of my hole while the flats of his teeth rub against my dick. All the invisible hands keep me in place, forcing me to take what he gives and nothing more.

Everything is so overwhelming, shaking hard against the sensations and grasping for anything sturdy. My legs have given out fully.

Betelgeuse pushes the tip of his tongue into me, pressing hard against the over sensitized area. My body fights, twitching and thrashing against all the feelings. Sounds tumble out of me – groans, moans, cracking animalistic yells, broken half words, and a string of “please, please, please.” Each escalation in my reactions spurs him on, repeating the learned motions from our previous trysts.

I cum hard against the ghoul; his movements slowing and becoming more loving. Bee gently caresses me and coos sweet sounding words against my skin – I’m too far out of it to make out any of the words, not even sure they’re in English.

With my head still spinning, the burning everywhere Bee isn’t touching cements the severity of my injury. “I’m gonna call Delia,” I say between gasping breaths, “there’s no way I’m gonna be able to drive myself to the doctor.”

At the word doctor, Bee freezes for just a moment – his mutterings completely stopping even as he continues his motions.

[doragonwrites]

Day 1 of Goretober/Kinktober: Vomit

An: This isn't great, I wrote it very vaguely in like a day. It's more of a character piece/what if than anything else. Not actually a lot of gore but it is about Dean drinking and later vomiting up blood so be warned. I'm using @lifeonthemurdersim 's Goretober/Kinktober prompt lists for my October writing

Description: Dean came back from purgatory alone, Benny didn't make it through. Or at least that's what Dean thought, but soon he realizes why he came back different. (I will neither confirm not deny if Benny actually came through w Dean as I find both interpretations fun in this context)

The trip from purgatory had been harder than Dean thought it would be. His body felt like it was being torn apart, worse than anything he experienced in Hell. Though he wasn’t hungry like he was when Castiel pulled him from the pit, Dean was thirstier than ever; nothing seemed to help.

Something felt off for weeks, lights were brighter, sounds were louder, he felt constantly dizzy like he hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe Purgatory does things to you, things you can’t come back from.

Dean would think about Benny often during these confusing days. They had been so sure he would be able to hitch a ride back with Dean. There was no proof, but they didn’t have proof Dean could make it back either; it was easy to believe when all you could do was move towards a goal.

Hunting had taken on the same sort of manic rush he had felt there. Sam didn’t understand anything about Dean’s situation, didn’t understand how hard Dean had fought to get out. For fuck’s sake, Sam gave up on springing Dean months ago.

They split up the moment Dean figured out the situation.

After a shifter hunt, he stays at the scene longer than he should have; something about the smell of the blood. It was like something came over him. Dean leaned down to the lifeless form on the floor, pressing his face against the wound. His heart was pounding, blood thrumming hard through his veins; the dizziness got worse, he was just seconds from the eye of a storm. He opened his mouth, the iron taste of blood seeping sweet and delicious into him; the moment Dean tasted it he was gone, gulping and sucking at the gash in a frenzy.

All the lore about purgatory is strange, cryptic, and entirely wrong if not terribly vague. The only thing any of the books got right was it being the afterlife for monsters. No human had gone before him, no one had made it back. With no leads Dean took to experimenting however he could; something’s gotta give eventually.

Everything felt clearer after that; the blurry, too bright lights crisping up at the edges; the sounds that overwhelmed him becoming more distinct, less jumbled; and the dizziness leaving his body completely. Dean felt on top of the world for about ten seconds, then his stomach turned and he doubled over, retching onto the floor. The blood tasted harsh on its way back up – nothing like the delicious elixir he drank – and left long dark stains along the edges of his mouth.

The thirst had become a cycle, weeks of feeling worse and worse until he would give in. Every time it happened Dean would end up surrounded by it later - sometimes seconds, sometimes hours. Chunks of whatever food he had managed the night it happened nearly indistinguishable from the lumps of coagulation.

He was shaking, breath ragged as he tried to push down each round of gagging. Dean couldn’t believe what he had done; each bout of vomiting cleared his mind until he was struck with a thought, what if Benny did make it through. The overwhelming feelings he'd been having started to sound like a vampire who just turned when Dean thought about it.

By the time Dean’s stomach was empty, a lake of dark blood had taken shape around him. He had to get Benny out.

On these days he would talk to Benny. No one answered, of course; the jokes and little quandaries about life made it more manageable. From philosophical speeches ad-libbed to little observations about the porn Dean had been watching in his free time, no topic was off limits. It reminded him of when he was just barely an adult, Sammy still a teenager trapped with their dad; they would lay in bed at night, just talking about whatever came to mind. He had those sorts of conversations with Benny by the side of a fire that never seemed to actually make them any warmer. Dean always thought about his baby brother when he had these talks.

Letting Sam see him like this, an addict constantly in the state of withdrawal but unable to consume the substance he craved, that would truly be torture.

In the frantic search for some way to get Benny his own body, Dean finds something. A spell to alchemize a body, minus soul, out of everyday household things. This was the most promising thing he had so far, if he could get Benny’s soul into a brand new and unoccupied body then it would be just like they planned.

Dean never felt more alone than when he did in those moments – reaching out for anyone to hold onto and coming away with absolutely nothing. As it happens, Sam was feeling alone too.

Reaching out for his older brother as he had always done, Sam started following Dean on hunts and insisting that since they were in the same place they should work together. Dean kept pushing him away, but never stopped telling Bobby where he was even though he knew that’s where Sam was getting his information.

The night of that revelation Dean took out a nest of vamps. He had been avoiding vampire hunts – afraid the blood would still be able to turn him postmortem. Dean wondered often if he could turn or if he was in some sort of vampire limbo. Still, the risk was something the man avoided as much as he could. It would put him right back where he started.

He knew it was going to be one of those nights; the sickening feelings that preceded it had become routine for Dean. The vamps would have gotten away if he hadn’t gone after the nest that night.

Being surrounded by beheaded bodies, the blood oozing out of them, completely drenching the entire compound; it doesn’t take Dean long to give in to his hunger. He gorged himself on it – fresh from the bodies, slurped up from the floor, licked off the walls – and made it all the way back to his motel room before it came back up.

Dean almost convinces himself it won’t happen this time, laying in his shitty bed when the retching starts. He loses about a gallon of blood and other fluids on the floor between there and the bathroom, a few puddles connected with thin trails. He is bent over the toilet, face pressed against the filthy seat, not bothering him nearly as much as it should, when Dean hears the door to his room open and someone rushes towards the bathroom.

The door busts open, the crash making Dean flinch in place. Sam’s voice is loud and booming as he frantically questions his older brother.

Dean starts to reassure him but gets almost immediately interrupted by a bout of gagging, black blood seeping up his throat and out of his mouth. He watches it bloom in the water.

The next morning Dean wakes up in a room filled with the acrid smell of stomach acid and blood. He feels like he’s being crushed, something holding him in place. Opening his eyes, the light in the room stabs painfully into his pupils obscures the object over him. When his eyes finally adjust Dean finds Sam halfway on top of him, the comforter a barrier between their bodies.

Whatever happens, they’ll make it out alright. They’ll make it through together, ‘cause they’re the fuckin Winchester damn it.

Sam is on his knees beside Dean, his hands running along Dean’s back as a reassurance to the other man. They sit together on the floor until Dean is empty and babbling things he would call pillow talk in any other circumstance. Conversations he’s had with the idea of Benny for the past few months; having another person to respond to him is the biggest comfort Sam could possibly give him.

Sam doesn’t ask Dean any questions, instead pulling the drenched clothes from his body and wiping tacky blood from his skin with a rough washcloth from the cabinet under the sink. He carries the shorter man to his bed and tucks him in, laying on top of the covers beside Dean, watching him.