#worshipper!ghost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satoruhour · 10 months

Note

racer jjk are so good 😩 i wonder if u can make a part two where is explain how the boys (gojo, geto, nanami, toji) and the reader first met. THANK YOUUU

a/n: thx baby glad u liked them 😉 here you go! also mb if this is lacklustre guys 🧍‍♀i didn’t wanna write smut bc it’d be too similar ig. fun little post! pls still support me 🥹 (nanami’s is a bit suggestive!) / pt.1 here

✶ GOJO

you actually meet his ass when he almost crashes into u and while making a difficult drift turn before swerving at the sight of you. plus surprise … you’re the police chief’s daughter. gojo at this point is still using a jacked up camaro, so it’s a wonder he’s able to still speed so well away from officers. but it’s not like he was running away from any crime, he just so happened to stumble across an interrogation of a fellow classmate initiated by the police chief’s son (your younger, cop worshipper brother). it was hardly an interrogation tho, more of a bully circle. gojos an cocky man but hes not entirely closed off from things happening around him. when theres people being wrongfully treated he steps in, but he’s pushing the limit a little running away from your brother and his police chief dad. especially when he’s got ties with the racing scene lol. bro doesnt exactly care tho, cause he knew the modifications he made to his engine he’s sure to get away lmaoooo.

there’s a rush of adrenaline that matches the exact moments when the first gear change happens and his foot presses down hard on the break, feeling the familiar sensation of the steering wheel under his fingers as he turns it to the right. nothing like a successful run of a difficult drift route, even more so with an annoying fucking kid chasing him. he was miles behind too, and gojo has to laugh out to himself in the driver’s seat before he yelps out at the shadow on the street.

“damn street lights. don’t even want to spend a few thousand to fix it,” he scoffs, thinking the figure would’ve apologised and ran away, but he’s a little pumped to see you, a relative of the very kid he was running away from. “don’t wanna chase me with daddy over there?”

you notice he’s nodding his head toward the incessant siren, your hotheaded father and your insufferable brother, two of them who butt heads all the time but still manage to get along. you couldn’t care less though, because of their arrogant, conceited behaviour; you vowed never to be like that. your father failed to raise you how he wanted you to turn out: dyed hair at sixteen, a stick ’n poke a year later, colluding with the “wrong” people (they were harmless, he just didn’t like them).

so he turned to your brother, corrupting his mind, and since then, you’ve been a ghost in the house, happy to even be ignored by the conservative kin that find people who are different a ’hassle’. with a story like this, gojo isn’t exactly clueless to your situation so he reaches over and opens the door to the passenger seat in a silent offer.

what’s a little salt in the wound, right?

gojo giggles when you slip in like he knew you would and you simply shrug, knowing this would seal the deal. you know you’re right when you hear furious honks from the police car which is quickly approaching, but watching gojo evade police on the news made you confident he’d outrun them every. single. time. “ooh, doesn’t sound good, princess. i’ll pick you up if you get kicked out of the house.”

it was such a dirty, rude comment that you would’ve slapped him but instead you just burst out laughing, weird noises and all before you’re patting the hand on his stick shift, “drive, hotshot.”

all you can do is roll your eyes with a smile, not missing the exhilarated smile and blush on his cheeks. you already feel at home in the 1969 camaro he’s driving, seeing the exact same car later that night when you’re waiting on the sidewalk with a bulk of your things.

“so much for being daddy’s girl.” gojo smiles, a little sickeningly that you want to punch him (you hear it’s like that from his friends and you find it to be true), but you accept the ride anyway, with a promise he’d get something more later.

✶ GETO

the first time you see him is before a race, having stumbled into the bustling underground of cars and the peak of 2000s fashion because you’re still navigating japan even after six months on an exchange program. it’s difficult when they have different parking lots for every monument building, which all look the same, mind you. it was like a puzzle for your poor mind, especially since there was tons of undocumented alleys in the area you were in. u immediately get hit by the smell of petrol and smoke and conversation and it’s like woah…. stepping entirely into a new world sort of??? even with his fame suguru stays humble tho, keeping gojo ans nanami close to him while keeping his distance from fangirls and stuff. shit gets messy !!!!

gojo nudges geto so hard he almost falls if not for his mazda behind him, and he’s ready to shoot a glare towards satoru but then he looks past the annoying man and into the crowd to find you, doe eyed and looking all around the place like a deer caught in headlights. you’re all dressed up in a cute get-up, hair framing your face so cutely he has half a mind to talk to you. plus, it’s clear you don’t belong here, and there isn’t anything wrong with that but the people here sometimes tend to be a tad bit… stuck-up.

there’s already a few in the crowd giving you weird looks and others giggling, clearly put off by the confused glances you exchange between your phone and the area. geto is prepared to head your way, but his resolve hardens when he sees todo and his gang start to approach the poor person who can only freeze in place.

geto pushes off his car immediately, completely disregarding whatever comment gojo was making while nanami watches silently. todo’s already asked you a question, and when you don’t answer, everyone knows the next thing he’ll do is to humiliate you, but not before geto interferes.

“she’s mine, aoi.” shoving him away, todo only scoffs and spits on the floor beside you because he can’t do anything except leave the place before anything escalates. it’s a clear rule, too, that anyone’s partner or significant other is off-limits, unless you want to propose a race to win them over — but even so it’s not that simple.

the murmurs only heighten when geto asks if you’re okay, a palm on your back to lead you away from the action of everything. thankfully, his mazda and the other two men are stationed at the corner, and the crowd’s attention slowly pulls away from you and onto the revving engines of the two competing cars.

“you okay?” geto looks down, shielding the bright car park lights and peeking a glance at where you were meant to go. it’s a quaint cafe in the basement of a building near shibuya square — a place which could be accessed by the parking lot, but it looks like you took an early turn and ended up in this one instead.

all you could muster up was a nod, mind going a hundred miles per hour just like those cars that were going to race; you’re more focused on his brown eyes that hold yours too well, though, dark and hypnotising that he has to repeat his question.

“yeah. for the most part, i guess. tha—” you mumble, but before you can bow and thank the man who’s already making a mark on your mind with his imposing stature, his friend chimes in.

“don’t mind aoi, he’s just intense like that.” you look past geto to see the white-haired racer who sports a bright grin, and to his side, a blonde, bored-looking guy who’s around the same age. “where you headed?”

geto waves a hand at them and cuts in as you answer, “i’ll take you. don’t mind those two idiots.” his sudden offer has your heart jumping just a bit; a mean brooding guy looking for a little cafe who’s holding a cinnamoroll event at the moment? what a sight to behold.

you’re all prepared to go when gojo tosses the keys to his mazda, and you’re thinking that maybe it really was further than expected but the man is soon leaning down to whisper into your ear.

“but before you go, want to watch me race?” geto grins, noticing that you’re at a loss for words again. you do that a lot, huh. it wouldn’t hurt to show off a little to get you absolutely speechless.

“i’ll treat you to whatever you want in that cute cafe, too.”

✶ NANAMI

ok the small drabble i wrote was sorta how they met but yes basically that!!!! nanami comes in at first (but you’re not doing much, just hanging around in the back), panicking cause he’s got an important race tmr (he just doesn’t gojo to win over whether he would have to borrow one of gojo’s dodge chargers) and hes like ? hes wondering what’s wrong with his dodge and when your dad mentions how he may need to order the parts his world falls apart fr 😭. and then he ends up borrowing it from gojo LMFAOOO. since you guys roughly know their meeting (nanami’s return to the shop after your father fixes the car and then eating you out wheeew) ill highlight life with nanami after that whole shebang!

you like to recall the first time you’ve met nanami, hardly a meeting, really, because you didn’t even see his face, but you hear his voice. a deep timbre with a seriousness to it that tells you that he could’ve fixed his own car if he tried and maybe just lacked the parts. however, you’re appalled when your father comes home later that night and tells you it was a dodge charger they were dealing with, a 1968 release that was no doubt passed down in his generation.

so when you’re peeking out of the supply room the second time nanami returns, you’re not surprised by his blonde hair, possibly a descendant of european blood, but had been born and raised in japan. it wasn’t uncommon, but it felt like he was such a specific ethnicity with the features he had. you’re right when you’re out with nanami a few weeks later, learning his grandfather was danish, smiling as he talked about his family.

it was by chance that he got into the racing scene, getting acquainted with gojo briefly because he was always infuriating in class — but then the both of them began to grow out of high school and entered university, introducing nanami to both geto, gojo’s best friend and to racing. it had made an impression on his heart immediately, reluctantly asking to ride in gojo’s car as they sped through the night and then trying his hand at it later.

“so geto-san was the one who taught you how to drift?” you ask from the passenger seat, a calm atmosphere surrounding the two of you as nanami takes you out for a casual drive along the freeway, bringing you to his favourite place to drift ever since he’s trained there. it was a clean ascent once he reaches the mountain, jogging over to open the door for you before sticking out a hand.

“thank you… kento,” you feel his hand tighten around yours, bringing you around to the front before leaning on the front of the car with you, the jangle of the bracelet he’s got you making noises when he pulls you into his side. it’s been a month with him, yet he already feels so committed, albeit stoic.

but you realise, in the midst of it, you’re the only one who can manage to pry a smile out of him, the lines on his face fading away when he picks you up from your dad’s shop. the loud engine is always an indicator, greeting him at the door of the garage as your father sends you off with a grin, leaning into the driver’s seat to press a peck through the window.

“when you say my name like that,” nanami mumbles, appreciating the scene with his lips in your hair; and while nanami is all soft and gentle with you, sometimes his carnal instincts get the best of him and he says the filthiest things, unprompted, “it makes me want to eat you out on the hood of my car again.”

you roll your eyes with a smile, because you’ve already done it twice: one in the shop and another in a secluded car park, but you know nanami hasn’t glutted his appetite for you yet, and he makes sure you know he never will.

✶ TOJI

the drabble previously mentioned how you were a little older megumi — through tutoring megumi, you met toji. it was a chance encounter sort of, u put up an ad at the end of your second year of uni since the winter break was a little longer than usual, so you decided to earn a bit of pocket money thru tutoring in the one subject you were most comfortable in: humanities. the syllabus in schools nowadays has become harder too, even going as far as to research papers and then scoff in disgust at the intensity of the questions lol … it’s routine in the school system to do that, gearing up for the questions you might be asked when u first get an enquiry call on the line. you hang up with a time and address and when u reach megumi opens the door, but toji emerges from his man cave (garage. hes obsessed w/ his corvette) later and jesus christ hes (almost) six foot of pure dilf that youre considering sidling up to him instead LMAO. esp with how the house looked, it wouldnt be so bad being a old man’s bitch

the doorbell you rang reverberates throughout the house, albeit a bit muffled, but the door opens quickly and you’re met with a black spiky-haired kid, who looks a few years younger than you. but megumi didn’t really need an introduction, because you’re pointing it out to him once inside.

“aren’t you the kid that got suspended for beating up gang members?” sometimes his seniors never knew when to shut up. to this, megumi just sighs.

“yep, that’s me. i told you my name over the phone but,” he extends a hand, “i’m fushiguro megumi.”

you hum and take his hand, introducing yourself as well before a thud makes you snap your head to the noise, where a larger and taller man emerges from the door that connects the living room to the garage. he has features similar to megumi’s and he’s currently clutching his toe, stubbing it on the cabinet on his way out and cursing his head off.

it isn’t difficult to match name to face for him as well, remembering a report you did on the increasingly popular racing scene starting up again. don’t ask — it was a pretty open assignment and you didn’t hesitate to write about the culture back then, something you always wished you lived in.

now, you’re not too taken aback by casually stumbling across fushiguro toji’s home, but more of how he managed to maintain his physique for so many years. if there’s anything your research told you, he was more on the lanky side in his twenties, the right side of his mouth clear from the scar while dominating the drifting scene back in the 80s.

“who’re you, kid?” a little annoyed at the name but you open your mouth to introduce yourself, and toji nods, although confused. it seems like he’s not too involved in megumi’s grades, because when you tell him megumi himself had called you over a bad grade in literature and social studies, his expression drops into an ‘o’.

“ah, i would’ve taught him myself but…” you knew he dropped out of high school before, living a crap life trying to pay off debts his father had left him and turning to racing and winning bets to make a living out of it. it was scary how this information was so accessible to you via one of his interviews, but you can tell he’s put it long before him, choosing to focus on raising megumi and maintaining his corvette.

“make yourself at home, alright, doll?” doll. you stutter out an affirmative reply.

though when he said that, you hadn’t imagined wandering into the same door he had came out of before. he was probably checking on the condition of his car, knees protruding out of the corvette’s side as he rolls out on the creeper at the sound of someone approaching. you didn’t wish to do this, truly, but when some kids from megumi’s school had attempted to play a prank by picking toji’s lock to get back at megumi, the latter had discovered them after coming out the side door.

needless to say, megumi still holds up his reputation, chasing them down for more than three blocks (it was seven) before proceeding to, you assume, beat them up. you imagine it’s routine for toji at this point, but you still want to at least let him know.

“he’s off again?” toji sits up after hearing your explanation, using the wrench to scratch his temple. sure, he’s only like twenty years older than you — it certainly doesn’t stop you from checking out how his muscles bulge against his compression shirt, or the grey sweatpants he’d got on that you told yourself not to peep at. “don’t mind the kid, i’ll lecture him when he returns later.”

he sighs and grumbles under his breath, expecting you to leave, and when you don’t he just raises an eyebrow, a silent prompt for you to explain what else you needed. you only pointed to the hood.

“uh… toji-san, if you’re keen on getting back into racing,” toji fully stands up to his height, curious on what you have to say, but also wondering how much balls you had to talk about racing in front of him, “you should really change your 283 cubic-inch V8 to a 327. i, uh, heard the specifications on the new engine has better fuel delivery and horsepower.”

toji relaxes when you actually know your crap, not wanting to deal with another annoying fan begging him to get back into racing, although you’re not entirely off the hook. “and why should i listen to you, hm, doll?”

he stands there, unimpressed, but you didn’t research cars like a madman for nothing. it was a rabbit hole you had commended yourself for diving into, too, because you always had wanted to start, just, how? and that changed when you finally had the opportunity to delve into the complicated world of cars with the help of your friend’s dad who was a mechanic. “um… you really don’t. just giving some pointers, or at least, recommendations that go well with your ’66 corvette.”

oh my god? you know the exact year his chevrolet was released too?

the ex-racer only nods slowly, keeping it in mind for the next time he has the time to switch to an updated engine, but he didn’t expect help to come from your hands the next time, working under the hood like a professional while still leaving the heavy lifting to him. you had fun each time in the garage, exchanging intel and geeking about cars while you both open up to each other — all under the guise of tutoring his son.

since then, toji has taken his corvette out to meet you more than he takes it out for errands, meeting you with a promise that he would take care of your university fees. but none of the time spent with you would’ve warned him that you two would be changing his next engine, too, except that maybe, you were finally his girl.

why does toji’s always end up the longest bye. also this is the only req i’ve gotten, i swear i don’t bite guys. ♡ thirsts and drabble requests are open!

1K notes · View notes

transbookoftheday · 2 months

Text

Trans Horror Podcasts

My post about trans horror books last year was much more popular than I expected, and since I've recently fallen in love with fiction podcasts and audio dramas, I thought I'd make a post about trans horror podcasts as well.

If you like trans horror, please give these a try - especially if you enjoy listening to audiobooks!

Hello From The Hallowoods:

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, an eldritch narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

Hello From The Hallowoods is my absolute favorite podcast! If you only listen to one podcast from this list, please make it this one - it's so beautifully written and super queer! Also: season 4 starts today!

Trans main characters include:

our nonbinary eye-affiliated podcast host

a nonbinary "Frankenstein's creature"

a transmasc ghost

a genderfluid storm witch

a trans woman who can visit other people's dreams

multiple characters using neopronouns

Camp Here & There:

Good morning, campers! Camp Here & There is a weekly horror comedy podcast tuned in to the loudspeakers of a small midwestern sleepaway camp plagued by supernatural terrors and natural disasters. Sydney Sargent, resident camp nurse, cheerfully reports on all the terror we must face with a big smile. Let’s hope there’s nothing weird about that!

Sydney is a trans man.

Dos: After You:

Things have changed. Deck has fallen in love with someone who isn't human, and leaves a hungry house behind to see him again. Will he be waiting for you? The world has changed… but what about him? Dos: After You is a queer urban fantasy/horror audiodrama available in both English & Spanish

Deck is a trans man.

Jar of Rebuke:

Follow Dr. Jared Hel's journey as he works to re-discover his forgotten past and finds his place within the small Indiana farm town of Wichton and the cryptozoological organization he works for called 'The Enclosure'. These audio journals, and other recordings, dive deep into Midwestern US cryptids and folklore while also telling a mystery about identity, queerness, neurodivergence, and community.

Jared is nonbinary.

Spirit Box Radio:

Spirit Box Radio is an award winning, horror audio drama podcast about a radio show for enthusiasts of all things arcane. Follow Sam Enfield a former postboy with no experience in the arcane arts, who finds themselves forced to take over running the show, following the disappearance of the previous host. Sam soon discovers there are more than ghosts haunting the show, and finds himself amidst a mystery which threatens everything he knows about the world beyond his tiny basement broadcast studio, and maybe even himself.

Sam is a trans man.

The Silt Verses:

Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations amongst the reeds and the wetlands. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories. This is a world where divine intervention takes place through prayer-markings scratched into stumping-posts, and offerings are left squirming to die in the flats of the delta. This is a world of ritual, and hidden language, and sacrifice. This is folk horror, and fantasy, and a dark road trip into the depths of unusual faith.

Faulkner is a trans man.

The Magnus Protocol:

The Magnus Archives 2: The Magnus Protocol is the prequel/sequel/”sidequel” to the internationally renowned Magnus Archives podcast. The Magnus Institute was an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal, based out of Manchester, England. It burned to the ground in 1999. There were no survivors. Now, almost 25 years later, Alice and Sam, a pair of low-level civil service workers at the underfunded Office of Incident Assessment and Response, have stumbled across its legacy. A legacy that will put them in grave danger. If this intrigues you then it is our pleasure to welcome you to the Office of Incident, Assessment and Response. Make sure you pick up your badge at desk and report to your line manager before sitting down. Oh and stay away from I.T., seriously.

I'm not sure if Alice is canonically trans, but her voice actress is a trans woman.

544 notes · View notes

birdmenmanga · 2 years

Note

You have been visited by the box. Here's a ghost as token of appreciation

thank you <3

#asks #shsl-box-worshipper #ghost

1 note · View note

catfern · 6 months

Text

1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL

pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)

music: eyes without a face - billy idol

word count: 2.3k

summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.

warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber

an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”

“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”

it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.

‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.

“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”

she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded.

fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.

“fine.”

it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.

the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”

ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night.

“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”

“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”

you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.

but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.

but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.

she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.

“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”

you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.

“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”

ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.

you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.

“right, you ready?”

you nod.

the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.

but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.

everything ellie does is scripted. fake.

if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?

the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.

“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”

“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.”

you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.

slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,

“careful, it’s just me,”

there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,

“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”

yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,

“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”

stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.

your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.

the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.

the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.

what made them just get up and leave?

wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.

one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.

you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.

luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,

“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.

“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,

“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn��t for me.”

“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips,

“mhm,”

you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.

her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.

“fuck, ellie.”

you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.

ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,

a skirt? really?

had you planned this?

“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”

her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.

under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.

fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.

if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,

“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”

her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”

she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.

heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.

you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed.

her.

“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding.

“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”

you didn’t need to ask twice.

fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.

she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.

and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.

she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.

low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.

your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance,

the camera,

“hey, el,”

she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”

“does the red light mean it’s on?”

A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,

thought you might want a copy <3

my subscribers will love you

attachment: hauntedhouse.mov

taglist; @whore4abby

dm me to join my sad lil list <3

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

951 notes · View notes