#I NEED HIM. I DESIRE HIM CARNALLY.

[cogentsummoner]

you don't understand i need to fuck him so bad

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price and Jane Asher //

The Masque of the Red Death (1964) dir. Roger Corman

[theeroticlover]

Mhmmm !!! Mood....

[citrus-c0la]

boothill sketchie <3

[luminique]

kissing lighter’s scars while laying in bed together.. thoughts?

yes. the biggest reason i don’t write it is because i literally am in love with wriothesley and it’s like the exact same concept so i don’t know whether to write for lighter or wrio. BUT SINCE THIS IS AN ASK, I SHALL DELIVERRR !!

lighter doesn’t get many scars now compared to his time in those underground fighting rings. he doesn’t even show them off, choosing to be almost fully covered up. so on one particularly warm night in blazewood, he couldn’t handle the heat and took off his top, the scars now on full display.

i don’t think he particularly wants to acknowledge it either as it is a past he seems to want to depart from. however, the way your eyes follow its shapes, it’s clear that you’ve got something more on your mind.

“why’re you staring like that?” he was one to be rather straight to the point, clearly speaking his thoughts out without filtering them first. his smooth voice cut through your train of thought as he makes his way to you on the bed.

“hm? oh, you’ve got a lot more scars than i imagined,” you say so nonchalantly, a light blush on his face now. you’ve imagined this before? you’ve imagined him and his body before? he can’t help but smirk to himself after knowing that. he gets under the sheets, letting the blanket loosely cover him due to the warmth.

you got a little closer to him. it was becoming difficult for him to tell whether his body was feeling hot from the weather, the blanket or from you. your hands gently traced the edge of his scar on his shoulder, sending light shivers up his spine.

“can i kiss them?” your voice was so soft but it didn’t negate the fact that his eyes were wide from hearing you ask that. he stuttered, trying to give a response but words couldn’t come out and instead just nods to you.

he could feel your breath on his skin, warm and ticklish. it wasn’t before long that you’d begin placing small kisses along the scar. if he wasn’t blushing before this, he was definitely all red in the face now. “relax, i’m not going to bite you.” you tell him with a smirk on your face, knowing that he was getting a little tense. he could barely think of any words to say and even if he did, they’d make no sense at all.

since he has made it clear previously that he doesn’t want to talk much about his past, you decide to not ask him about it. instead, letting your kisses do the talking for you, reminding him that you still love him despite everything he has been through.

[zoppzoop]

day 91 of drawing jrwi characters (occassionally) daily till riptide is back

he is stuck in my mind

ko-fi || commissions

[luffyismss]

i am about to say dangerous things

[usedtobecooler]

i need king steve fucking plus size!reader in the bathroom at a party and forcing her to watch herself in the mirror

i'm normal i'm normal i'm normalllllll

pairing | steve harrington x plus size fem!reader

warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, intoxicated sex, squirting, hair pulling, steve is handsy, rough and a little bitchy

word count | 1.5k

a/n | i have literally no excuse for how filthy this is i'm so sorry (i'm not)

His large hands engulf your waist, making you feel small as he presses you up against the porcelain sink, his chest pushed up tightly against your back and the thick outline of his cock prodding into the fat of your ass.

You're trapped, soft curve of your belly squishing into the sink, one of Steve's hands wandering from your waist to dip beneath the short hem of your skirt, fingertips skimming your inner thigh until your legs fall open for him. He's done this before, that much is obvious — from how comfortable he is pressing you into this position, to how his spit-slick lips mouth at the shell of your ear, whiskey laced breath hitting the soft skin.

You whine quietly when the pads of Steve's fingers slide over the damp material of your panties, pressing down onto your clothed clit until you're arching into him, curve of your ass pushing back onto his cock until he's grunting in your ear, the sound heavenly, your cunt fluttering.

"You're soaked," Steve comments, the grin spreading across his lips when you keen into him, hips bucking into his hand. Your own hands come out to brace yourself on the sink, nails biting into the hardened material as you sag back against him, leaving yourself pliant and open for his wandering hands.

Nervous butterflies flutter in your belly as Steve dips his fingers into your panties, two expert fingers sliding through the wet mess of your pussy, getting the digits nice and wet before he sinks them both in at the same time, crooking them forward into your frontal wall until you're gasping.

"Feels good, right?" Steve mutters, planting a kiss just below your ear lobe, lips running over your flushed skin as he begins working his fingers in and out of your needy cunt. You open up for him so easily, body loose and pliant under his grip as he fucks you on his fingers, kissing and biting at your skin until it's raised and raw.

"Mmph," You mumble, nodding your head in agreement — it's embarrassing how quickly you melt into him, letting him grip and manhandle your body as he fucks you languidly with his long fingers, curling and pressing them into that one spot until your vision blurs at the edges.

His other hand wanders up, up, up — fingers dipping into the low cut neck of your shirt, pulling the loose material until your tits fall out, nipples hardening in the cool air of the room. You cry out as soft fingertips run over your nipple, heightening the pleasure of his fingers working in and out of your cunt.

"You're perfect," Steve mutters, kissing sloppily up the side of your neck as he toys with your body, thumb running over the hardened nub of your clit and shocking a cry of his name from your lips, "say my name again, you sound too fuckin' pretty."

"Steve," you squeal, fingers whitening on the hard surface of the sink, a warmth spreading throughout your lower belly as he works you towards the edge — using every inch of your body, "I'm gonna —"

"That's it, cum for me, baby." Steve's all but cackling as your mouth falls open in an almost silent moan, thighs quivering and stomach tensing up as your orgasm hits you like a freight train — you feel yourself gushing wet all over his fingers, soaking him down to the wrist as he continues fucking you through it, leaving you dizzy and overstimulated.

"Too much, God, Steve," You cry, your own hand leaves the sink to grip at his wrist, fingernails clawing at his tan skin. You can't tell if you're trying to keep him there or push him away, though he doesn't let up pressing his fingers into your frontal wall until your cunt gushes for him again, an animalistic noise tearing from your throat as he pulls another orgasm from you. It's not enough to drown out the sounds of your release dripping onto the floor, pooling at your feet on the tile.

"Just wanted to make sure you were ready to take me that's all, honey," He comments, that stupid smirk on his face as he catches your eyes through the reflection in the mirror, his fingers deftly slipping from you, "I've been told I'm a bit of a stretch."

He bends you back over the sink, arching your back and flipping your skirt up. You're still tipsy, pussy fluttering and clenching as you wait in anticipation for the breach of his cock. You watch your own reflection briefly in the mirror, cringe at the flushed state of your face, before dipping your head again.

Steve shuffles around behind you, your ears pricking up at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustling of his Levi's being pushed down his thighs. He sighs quietly, jerking his cock a few times for a little relief before lining himself up, smearing the fat head into the wet mess you left.

The head of his cock catching on your puffy cunt shocks you, a loud gasp escaping you — he felt big.

"Holy shit," Your breath is knocked from your lungs when the first few inches slide into your pussy, your walls pulsing around him as you struggle to adjust. His fingertips dig into the meat of your ass when you attempt to wiggle your hips, a warning to stop.

"Still so fucking tight around my dick, fuck," Steve hisses, punching his hips forward until he's snug up against your ass, pushing himself so deep your eyes roll into your skull.

"Your cock is huge," You whimper, voice high pitched and wavering as your pussy clenches sporadically around him, adjusting to the sheer size of him. No amount of prep could've gotten you ready enough for him.

"I know." Steve's voice is smug as he grins, pulling out halfway and pushing back in just as quickly, choking a cry from you in return.

His rhythm is brutal from the get go, an evident sign of how desperate he was to blow his load, heavy balls slapping against your soaked cunt with every thrust. Your head hangs low, blurry eyes squeezing shut as you let him use you — he's so thick that the pressure on your g-spot is relentless, has you gushing even wetter for him.

Long fingers run into your scalp, gripping a handful of your hair to snap your head up, pulling sharply on the crown until you're gasping, "Watch yourself, watch me fuck you." Steve demands.

You open your eyes, catching his own hard ones watching you already through the mirror. You're — well you're a fucking mess. Shining with sweat, cheeks burning hot, mouth hung open. You're covered in bruises and bite marks, all the way down to your tits that bounce with every sharp punch of Steve's hips, nipples pebbled and aching to be touched.

"You look so fucking hot," Steve groans, shoving into you deeper for emphasis, forcing a cry from your lips, "All wrecked on my cock, baby. Like a fuckin' wet dream."

Your cheeks flush even hotter at his words, though your cunt clenches, hips pushing back onto him in response to his filthy mouth.

Steve chokes on a groan, digs his fingers into your waist, "Should see how good you're taking me, honey. Your pussy loves me."

"S'all yours," You whimper, a loud moan ripping from you when he pulls your hair tighter at that, thrusting into you and rolling his hips. The head of his cock presses so deep you swear you feel him in your guts, every ridge and vein prominent.

Your eyes catch his once more through your reflection — his eyelids half-hooded, lips parted in an almost constant string of grunts and groans. The noises do it for you, every single one shooting straight to your core.

"I'm gonna cum, need you to cum first, yeah?" Steve groans, hips pistoning into you as he chases his high, the loud clapping of your wet skin increasing tenfold, "Can I cum in you? Y'gonna let me fill this pussy and claim it? Please?"

"Ohmygod," You whine, eyes squeezing shut as the coil in your tummy snaps, your pussy pulsing and squeezing around Steve as you come, body vibrating with it. The white hot heat coursing through your veins, orgasm ripping through your entire body.

Steve chokes on a groan, pulling your hair even tighter and snapping your neck back, "Oh fuck, you're so fucking tight," he literally whines, and in your hazy state you push your hips back in retaliation, pushing him even deeper, "that's it honey, fuck, fuuuuck—!"

His cock pulses in you when he comes, hot spurts painting your insides as you mewl, whimpering quietly when he grips onto your waist to steady himself. It feels like he comes for ages, filling you up until you feel it drooling from your cunt.

Your body basically goes limp when his fingers stop gripping your hair, instead soothing your stinging scalp. His other hand rubs up your side, fingertips pressing into squishy skin until you're keening into it.

There's momentary silence, until a deep chuckle rumbles from Steve's chest, his spent cock slipping from you and eliciting a pretty gasp from his lips, "You've made quite the mess, honey."

[miss-katsune]

the eeper

kinda selfship art bc I used my kinsona but also kinda just regular nuzi art cuz my sona is not that much different to canon uzi idk man whatever I hope this turned out good sdfsfgndkjhg

[genshin-side-piece]

I would like to thank Hoyo for clearly demonstrating why Childe is desperate to be Capitano's wife.

[de4dlyniightshade]

baby reid is everything to me you don't get it. you can't take him from me. i wont let you. he's mine and he's in my pocket rn. i take him out at bedtime and tuck him in all nice and warm and smooch him on the forehead and spoon him. he's mine. back off.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price and Carol Ohmart

The House on Haunted Hill (1959) dir. William Castle

[afraid-of-detriment]

oh god i somehow forgot about the face tats already, the way the fucking moon looks curved around his eye in this??!?!?!! i’m gonna throw up oh my god, i’m in love

[aquickstart]

ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.

another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!

farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.

but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.

but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.

but the important thing is this.

farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.

farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.

the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.

as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.

but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.

and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.

to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).

to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.

and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?

but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.

the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.

so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.

[christiangeistdorfer]

STIRLING MOSS, PETER COLLINS & MIKE HAWTHORN walking back to the pits after crashing out of the 1957 MONACO GRAND PRIX

[luminique]

yall i am so normal about watanabe’s coating

the way all i can think about is just CLANK CLANK CLANK i need him DESPERATELY. his construct metal parts just out there like ???? oh… i need his fingers so badly sorry for the down baddery but this coating is so hot