#The Haunting Of Hill House Imagine

[michelle-is-writing]

Christmas Love, Luke Crain

Word count: 1.4k~

When I sent Luke out to grab a few things before his siblings came over for Christmas in a few days, I didn't expect him to come home with a gingerbread house kit and only half of the groceries I sent him to get. According to him, he got “distracted” when looking for the reindeer themed sprinkles I wanted so the kids could decorate sugar cookies. When he came back with the box containing the gingerbread house in hand, I presumed he thought the house would be better for the kids, but I was wrong.

He got it for us.

"Hey, hunny," I attract his attention, taking a bag of white icing into my hand. He hums back a response, currently focused on gluing the piece of red and green candy onto the house's side with the other bag of frosting. "You do realize that this is an activity for kids, right?" I question him, "And we're fully-grown adults?"

Looking over at me, Luke smiles. "The age requirement was three-plus, so I thought we were old enough," He jokes, smirking as he continues decorating. He's so goofy sometimes.

"Yeah, I don't think you meet the age requirement up here," I joke back while tapping my skull, laughing as I feel one of the tiny candies Luke was using collide with my cheek. "Don't be mad!" I shout, watching him grin as he continues staring over at me from his seat.

"I could never be mad," He tells me, his voice all of a sudden softer as he sits back in his chair with the same smile. Sighing happily, Luke crosses his arms together against his chest as his eyes flash between me and the ongoing gingerbread house on the dining table in between us. "I'm actually quite... relieved."

"Relieved?" I ask him, now piping the gingerbread roof with frosting. "Such an odd word to use, but please, enlighten me on why you used it."

With another smile, Luke gently laughs before doing as I say. "When I was younger, every Christmas, my aunt Janet made all of us kids sit down and decorate a gingerbread house she had baked herself," Luke explains, "Usually, Nell and I would take up one side while Steve did the front, Shirl got the back, and Theo got the other side,"

"We always had fun," He added on, sighing afterward. "Soon, all of us got older, and it soon turned into me, Nell, Theo, and Shirl decorating the gingerbread house while Steve went out to be with a girl for Christmas. Then, it was just like this pattern followed all of my siblings,"

Pausing, Luke frowns. "Soon, Shirl wasn't home for Christmas, then Theo, and then..." Swallowing, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. At this point, I put down the piping bag as all of my focus is now placed on Luke and his words. "Then I wasn't home, and I was out of the house on Christmas, fucking up as usual."

"But you don't do things you used to do now, right?" I question him before he can launch himself into a world of sadness. Leaning over the table with a smile, I take his hands into mine before kissing each one. "You have fought so hard to not only try and fix your mistakes, but to be where you are, Luke, and that's all that matters," I remind him, watching as the smile slowly returns to his face. "Never forget I love you, we all love you."

Nodding, Luke takes a moment to process my words before bringing our hands up to his lips. "I love you too," He tells me, pressing a kiss to each of my hands as I had done with his moments ago. "Thank you for decorating this house with me," He tells me as I stand from my chair to walk over to his side and plop down in his lap. At this, he smiles and holds me tight before continuing. "it's just, I saw it and all I could think about was being a kid and doing it all over again."

"I had fun doing it with you," I assure him, leaning close to kiss his forehead as his hands fiddle with my oversized sweater. "You know I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?" He asks, leaning back to face me with a raised eyebrow. Staring down at his coy smile makes me squint my eyes as the corner of my lip quirks up. I know he's trying to be flirty, but he ends up just looking like a curious puppy.

"What do you want?" I ask him, gaining a laugh in return. The pleasant noise makes me grin, loving the fact that he's genuinely happy.

"There's a grocery bag somewhere in the kitchen with a tube of white sparkle icing," He informs me, "Do you think you could grab it for me so I can finish the snow? Please?"

After a few seconds of melodramatic silence, I dramatically throw myself out of Luke's lap before stomping toward the kitchen. "Fine!" I yell, smirking as Luke continues laughing behind me, still in his seat.

While in the kitchen, I search through every grocery bag, and somehow, I don't find the decorating gel anywhere. The closest thing I find is a jar of white sanding sprinkles that I asked Luke to get. Other than that, I don't see any other decorating item.

"Babe, I don't see the sparkle gel anywhere," I tell him, walking out of the kitchen as I stare down at the plastic jar of sprinkles in my hands. "All I found was the sprink..." My words are cut off a I look up from the sanding sugar and to the gingerbread house resting in the middle of the dining table.

Instead of the plain brown roof that Luke was supposed to decorate, I find it to have the words written out in frosting, "Will you marry me?" The only unusual thing is the 'O' in 'you' is replaced by a dazzling ring that's slightly embedded in the icing.

Standing beside the table is Luke, his arms behind his back as he bites his lip and lightly bounces on his toes, awaiting my answer. Awestruck, I move a hand up to my agape mouth while tears make their way to my eyes, crying out of happiness and complete shock. I don't waste another second of standing as I run to Luke and practically lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his neck as his wrap around my midsection, holding me tighter than ever before.

“Yes,” I mutter in his ear, holding my hand to his head as he leans down a bit to embrace me. “Yes, Luke, I’ll marry you,” I continue on, my voice growing hoarser with each word that passes through my lips thanks to my tears.

Pulling back in the hug, Luke reveals his face to be covered in happy tears as well, a grin takes over his mouth. "Oh, thank you," He practically sobs, moving his hands to the sides of my face as he pulls me in for a kiss. After a few seconds, he pulls away and reaches over to take the ring off of the gingerbread house, the bottom part covered in white icing.

At the sight, Luke and I both lightly laugh before I take the ring from him and swipe the frosting off, licking it off my finger afterward. I don’t miss the dazed expression that appears on Luke’s face for a second as he watches me do this, only making me smirk. "How'd you know I always wanted a frosting covered ring?" I quip, Luke taking the ring from my grasp and sliding it onto my ring finger with ease. The main jewel is a diamond, but the two around it are our birthstones, nearly causing my heart to skip a beat.

At my comment, Luke shakes his head with a small laugh before kissing me once again, his hands rising up to wipe away my fallen tears. "How in the hell did I get so lucky?" He asks, resting his forehead against mine as he encases my left hand in his over his heart, the new addition to one of the fingers pressing against his palm.

"I should be asking the same thing," I tell him, leaning in for another kiss as my eyes flash back to the dining table. I think the gingerbread house is going to become a tradition for us too, and this time, it'll stay forever.

[fangirl-writes]

Ghosts

Steven Crain x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): canon-level things: death, drinking, swearing, etc.

Notes: My yearly re-watch of this show reminded me that I'm in love with Steven Crain. So...have this.

Summary: You’re Steven’s wife, someone who, not dissimilar to his siblings, can feel the supernatural- sorry, the "preternatural". Turns out you’re about to feel a lot.

It’s the books on the shelf that make Steven grimace.

The entire collection of his books are sitting neatly on the top shelf, “Crain” staring at him in big letters on the spine.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was a fan,” Irene says.

He tries not to hold it against her, but the truth is that it’s hard.

He’s run into it before, a fan trying to slip their way into his books through made up stories or things they’ve convinced themselves they’ve seen.

Things he never has.

“That’s my favorite, the first one,” she says.

The Haunting of Hill House lies in Steven’s hands, the chapter book of family trauma that got his work off the ground.

“Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone at Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes at her perfect quotation.

“I can’t imagine what it was like living there,” she says, not catching the way his express has soured slightly. “The most famous haunted house in America.”

“In fairness,” he says, almost bitterly. “It wasn’t famous when we moved in.”

Memories long repressed peak towards the front of Steven’s mind, but more specifically that night…the last night.

So, he says, “besides, you’ve got me beat.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you actually saw your husband hanging upside down over your bed, you’ve seen more than I ever have. I’ve never seen a ghost.”

He slides Hill House back in its place on Irene’s shelf.

“But your books?” She questions, a wrinkle in her brow.

“Not in Arlington, Denvers, Alcatraz,” he gestures dismissively at the rest of the set. “On the Queen Mary or in Williamsburg. And not in Hill House.”

Irene seems taken aback by this, like someone had just told her her favorite love song was written by someone who’d never been in love.

“The way you write, I just assumed-“

“Other people’s stories,” Steve clarifies quickly. “People like you, Irene. I give them the right voice, that’s all.”

The creak of the front door opening distracts them from the conversation and you step through the door.

“Sorry!” You chirp. “It was open and I didn’t want to disturb the interview.”

“That’s all right,” Steven says. “We’re finished up with that part.”

You nod, walking over and handing him a folder that he thanks you for before sliding it into his bag.

“This must be your infamous wife,” Irene says.

“Oh, yes,” Steven replies, sliding his hands into his pants pockets as he stands back up. “Follows me to every house. Heck, she’s half my research team…I’m the other half.”

Irene chuckles politely and you smile at him.

“Y/N,” you say to her, offering a hand.

“Irene,” she replies, taking it lightly.

Your smile is soft but bright and Steve’s mood is brought back up by your mere presence.

“Well, I hope tonight is a game changer for you,” Irene says, directing her attention back to him.

“How so?”

“Maybe my Carl will finally give you a story of your own,” she says. “You were one of his favorite writers so maybe that’s the reason…for all this.”

You easily see the pessimism rising in your husband’s eyes as he turns his gaze to the ground and sighing before answering.

“You know, I can tell you one thing about Hill House that isn’t in the book.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Irene replies, eagerly moving forward to listen more intently.

You wander around the house, eyes scanning over everything, just as Steven had done minutes prior.

“All those years trying to understand what happened in that house, you know what I never found?”

Your fingers trace over a picture frame, Carl’s photo placed behind the glass.

“A reason.”

Setting the frame back down, you ask, “Irene, may I take a look at the bedroom before he gets set up?”

“Certainly,” she says.

“Thank you.”

Once you’ve made your way up the stairs and out of earshot, Irene speaks again.

“I have to ask,” she says, making Steven look up from his notebook. "Has she ever been to-"

“No.” He replies, harsher than he meant. “No…never that house.”

It's not that he's hiding anything from you, on the contrary, you probably knew more about it than anyone who'd read the book.

And while Steven doesn't believe in ghosts, he believes in you.

After growing up with siblings who are...open to certain things, he took you in stride.

You had a particular ability to know when a place has ghosts. Similar to Theo, you could feel it.

Steven wonders if it was one of the reasons you were drawn to each other in the first place. As if you could feel the ghosts from his past haunting him.

That's why he'd never take you to Hill House, even if you asked.

Because if it was as haunted as his family swears it is, he couldn't expose you to that. It would eat you alive.

"How are your brothers and sisters doing? I wondered since the book..." Irene asks.

His phone rings. It's Nell.

"You know who I wish would write a book? Your dad."

Slightly annoyed, he declines the call.

Upstairs, your eyebrows are furrowed.

You can feel a sort of tugging in your lower belly, like it's asking you to leave the house. To follow wherever the string wants to take you.

It's not Irene's house. It's something else.

“Anything?” Steven asks, making you jump. "Sorry."

You wave a hand. "Nothing…well, not nothing. I can feel the grief in the walls, the bones are aching."

“I’m using that,” he teases, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“I have no doubt. You get your best material from me.”

Steve smiles and kisses you, warmly, and for one moment everything slips away.

His family issues, his trauma never put to rest, the haunting in the back of his mind. It all fades into the background as he takes you in.

Then his phone rings.

It's Shirley, this time, apparently Nell had called her, too.

"I know you don't need me to tell you this, but literally everything is an emergency with Nell," Steven says, adjusting his equipment.

You're sitting on Irene's bed and frown at him.

He gives you a look that reads, 'come on, you know I'm right.'

You get up and leave the room, making Steven huff.

"I know," Shirley says on the other end. "But she sounded rough."

"Shirl-"

"Rougher than usual," Shirley protested. "She said it was about Luke."

"Call Luke."

"I did, straight to voicemail."

"All right, then he sold his phone for cash, or he's still in rehab. Which means we stay out of it."

"Okay-" he sighs. "I can't deal with this right now, I'm working."

"Yeah?" Shirley says, bitterly. "You working?"

Steven stands up. "That's right, Shirl. Something else you wanna add?"

"Fine." Shirley bites. "I'll just handle it shall I? That's why everybody dumps their shit on me, isn't it, Steve? Cause I'm the oldest, it's my job."

Steven looks down, getting increasingly annoyed.

"Oh. Wait. That's you."

"Fine," Steven replies. "I'll handle-"

The dial tone rings in his ear.

"Jesus."

"Tea?"

Steven turns to Irene in the doorway, she's holding two mugs full of, obviously, tea. You're just behind her with your own mug.

"Sure," Steven says, thankful to have the distraction.

"So," she starts. "Does this stuff capture the supernatural?"

"Here we go," you say with a smile, passing Irene to take up an arm chair in the corner.

Irene gives a confused and curious look.

"Don't believe in that word," Steven supplies. "Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"

Irene points to the left and he moves his equipment accordingly before continuing.

"Talking about the word itself, supernatural," he begins. "There's natural phenomena that we understand and then there's natural phenomena that we don't."

He pops the lens cap off his camera.

"Primitive humans used to die of fright during an eclipse, they had no idea what it was. The eye of an angry god, an evil spirit."

"A sign the world was ending," you add, smiling at Irene, who seems to be growing more and more weary as Steven's explanation went on.

"Nothing supernatural about it though," he continues. "Once we understood what it was, well, it was just natural."

Steven stands up, grabbing the mug and sitting himself next to his laptop on the bed. "I prefer preternatural. Natural phenomena that we don't quite understand, yet."

"Makes him sound pretentious, doesn't it?" You ask, smirking.

Steven sends you a playful glare and Irene laughs.

"So does it capture that?"

You tend to Irene after that, taking her into her kitchen to talk about Carl as Steve gets more of his equipment from the car.

You can see him just out of the window, talking to who you suspect to be Luke's rehab center.

And then that feeling it back, that tugging. It's so distracting that it's hard for you to focus on your conversation with Irene.

Thankfully, Steve comes back in the house as a momentary distraction, allowing the feeling to dissipate if only for a second.

You throw a quick, "Got everything?" to him and replies with a "yeah!"

"Sorry," you turn back to Irene. "What were you saying?"

She leaves to stay at a friend's not long after that, trusting you and Steve to watch over her house. And, even though she didn't mention anything, you made sure to let her know you'd be sleeping in her guest room.

You did another walk through afterwards, running your hands along her walls, taking in the pictures that were hung around, the magnets on the fridge, getting a feel for who Irene was, what remnants of Carl she kept around besides his picture.

Something that could be calling him back to the house.

You found some things; an old pocket watch on a shelf, a classic car catalog on the counter. Things that someone wouldn't remember to get rid of after their owner was gone.

A picture of Irene and Carl together almost brings tears to your eyes. You can't imagine losing Steven in any way, especially not in such a horrific way as Carl...or Olivia Crain.

Having a suddent need to hug your husband, you ascend the stairs towards Irene's room.

"I told you there's no reason you and I need to talk," Steven said. "You don't just get to call me and tell me what to do."

You frown. You can't hear the response from the other end, but it's not a friendly call.

"Dad," he says and you let out a small 'ah' to yourself. ' "I'm not-"

He stops and removes the phone from his face, scoffing. "Even home right now."

You stand in the doorway as he sets the phone to the side, contemplation on his face.

"Something about Nell again?" You ask, gently.

He turns to you with a small shrug. "You know Nell."

You nod. "I do. But if you're dad's calling too, on top of Shirley-"

"Nellie's just got something in her head is all," Steven assures. "My dad can go running to her side if he wants, but there's no reason for me to upend this trip because Nell is worried about Luke."

The animosity in his voice is clear.

Steven hadn't gotten along with his family in a while, his father even longer.

You'd barely met the man, though he'd been at every wedding, including yours. You supposed Steve liked it better that way.

No need for his crazy and your crazy to mix.

As if taking your silence as permission, Steven knelt down and began setting up his laptop for the night, the infrared camera showing everything as it usually would. Orange bed, blue wall.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he said, walking over to you, taking one of your hands in his. "We'll check on her in the morning, okay?"

You sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. "Okay."

He kissed your forehead. "Let's both get some sleep. Maybe I'll see my first ghost tonight."

"Wouldn't that be something?"

Steven huffed a laugh. "Yeah, yeah it would."

You squeezed his hand. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He let your hand drag out of his as you left the room, missing you already. And then he went to lay down.

And woke up at 12:03 a.m. with a gasp, a choking feeling in his throat.

Something that woke you, a floor down, as well.

Bleary eyed, you peered into the darkness as it adjusted, not sure why you were suddenly conscious. And gasped.

In front of you was the dark silhouette of a woman...with a crooked neck.

Nellie immediately came to mind.

You'd spoken at length with her about the "bent-neck lady" that often haunted her.

The chill that ran up your spine making you understand the fear she'd carried for the figure all these years.

Then it was gone, as if in the blink of an eye, leaving an empty room before you.

And the honking of a horn to scare you straight out of bed. You put a hand to your chest and closed your eyes.

Okay, you didn't feel anything different. No presence above you (Carl) or in front of you (bent-neck lady), just the same as before, a house working through the grief of its inhabitant.

You opened your eyes to a knock on the door and Steven came in, "Hey. The horns wake you up?"

Knowing he wouldn't want to have the conversation now, you just nodded.

What Steve didn't know couldn't hurt him.

He sat down on the bed next to you. "It wasn't anything. There's a leak in her ceiling that's dripping water. And the cars outside, well, there must've been a stop sign removed. It was all a nightmare."

"Not to her," you whispered, laying back down.

Steven sighed, laying down next to you. "I know. But isn't this explanation more peaceful? Knowing it wasn't real?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes seeing things like that are how people work through their grief. Ask Theo about it."

He laughed at that. "Yeah, I'm sure Dr. Crain would be thrilled to teach me a lesson."

You shook you head at him, tugging on his arm when he tried to move. "Stay."

Obeying his wife, Steven laid back down and wrapped you in his arms.

Already, you felt safer. And so did he. Like when you were together it was a buffer to everything else.

Whether that was a good thing or not, well, you supposed would be answered with time.

As you suspected, Irene wasn't happy with Steve's explanation, but she understood what he was saying.

"Better than never seeing him again" really resonated and she told you as such when he was putting his equipment back in the car.

So, he signed her copy of Hill House and thanked her for her time.

The book haunted him as much as the house, it seemed. When he presented the manuscript to Shirley she'd responded with a less than polite "what the fuck, Steve."

The anger in that room had lasted for a whole week, not to mention Steve stewing on it himself for nearly that long after. He was never not going to publish it, but he'd be damned if he didn't know what it would cost him.

It effectively burned his relationship with Shirley, something that neither side had made an effort to rebuild.

"I'll write your story," Steven said to Irene. "It's a good story. I researched your house; did you know that it was used as a hospice briefly in the 60s?"

"I didn't," Irene replied, watching as Steven stood to put his coat on.

"I'd like to talk to you some more about your marriage, get some background on Carl. Who he was, who you both were. That's what matters really."

Irene looks at him with curious, almost sad eyes.

"I'll need to take some liberites," he continues. "I always do, but I promise to be respectful. He was a fan. I'll do it in a way he would've really liked."

That doesn't seem to be what Irene is concerned about, though. She says, "you really didn't see anything?"

He smiles at her sadly. He wishes he did. God, he wishes he did.

But instead, he says his goodbye, promises to call her about the interview later, and meets you outside in the car.

You'd been awfully quiet since the night before, noticably tired, like something was weighing on your mind.

"The grief in the house get to you?" Steven asks on the drive home.

"Made me think about how awful it must be," you reply. "To lose a loved one like that."

He catches the way you're talking about multiple things. The subtle hint to his mom. He admires the way you can dig into people like that, but that doesn't mean he likes it when you do it to him.

"You wanna try to call Nell?" He says, changing the subject.

You nod, pulling out your phone to press her contact and putting it on speaker.

It rings for a while and then goes to voicemail.

"Strange," you comment.

"No answer?" Steve asks.

"No. And usually she picks right up."

Steve reaches over and takes your hand. "I'm sure she's fine. You know how Nell is, she probably just missed your call and will be hitting you back any minute."

"I don't know," you mutter. "Something feels...off."

Before he got a chance to ask about that, a call from his publisher, Richard, came through.

He answered. "Hey!"

"See any ghosts?"

You almost laugh.

"I've got a title," Steve says instead. "The Leaking of Walker Roof."

"Anything useful?"

You tune the conversation out, staring at Nell's contact in your phone, wishing for it to ring.

And that tugging feeling was back, like someone was tugging on the invisible string again.

"You know what I could really sell, though?"

"Hanging up now."

You tune back in just to catch the last bit of conversation, Steve's nerves immediately on edge again.

"People wanna know where you guys are these days," Richard says.

"No way, Richard" Steve replies.

"None of your other sales ever topped Hill House," Richard says. "There's so much interest. I mean your dad, your siblings, what the hosue looks like today."

You couldn't help but wonder yourself. About the house, of course. You probably kept more up with Steven's siblings than he did.

"Eh, it looks like shit," Steve mumbles.

"It would sell," Richard says.

There's a silence.

It's so prevelant you begin to wonder if he's actually considering it.

"Not interested," he finally says.

"Just think about it? Please?"

Steven reluctantly agrees before hanging up, slotting you two back into silence for a moment.

"It's not that I don't want to," he says, suddenly. "It's just...that house. It tore my family apart. Then I tore it apart more when I published that book, I just- I can't. I can't do it again."

It's your turn to take his hand and squeeze it.

"I know," you say.

Your magic touch seems to help because he takes a deep breath and relaxes.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?"

He shrugs. "Everything, I guess. That I'm so negative all the time. That I'm failing as a writer. That...that we can't have kids."

The last bit hits you.

You'd had the conversation a long time ago, before you got married, but it still was one of those things that you'd never been able to really talk about again without one of you feeling guilty or angry.

"Well, I forgive you for all those things. And I love you anyway."

By the time you guys get back to your house in L.A., it's dark and you are both tired.

You share the weight of the luggage and equipment and then freeze before you could get to the house.

Because there, standing guiltily on your front porch, was Luke.

He was holding an ipad and a camera.

"Hi Luke," Steven says, in an almost dejected, but not surprised, tone.

"Hi Steve," Luke replies. "Y/N."

You smile at him sadly. "Whatcha doing here, Luke?"

You'd only met Luke a handful of times. He was always in and out of trouble or rehab. He was one of the few siblings you hadn't been able to bond with...well, minus Shirley after the book.

"This isn't what it looks like," he says, tripping over his words and shivering.

"Are you cold?" Steve asks.

It's guilty. He knows it. But he's honest. "Yeah."

Steven sighs, setting down his share of the equipment. "I'll tell you what. I got, let's see...200 bucks here. You hand me that iPad and you can keep the cash and sell that old camera."

You don't like it. It feels like Steve's enabling him, but there's no alternative. He'd just run if you tried to take it, leave if you offered for him to stay. You'd been through it all with Luke.

Which is why the dejection and exhaustion is evident in Steve's voice. "I need the iPad. It stays here."

It's a fair bargain. One that Luke takes as he comes down the steps of your porch to stand eye-to-eye with his brother.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I know," Steve replies.

They trade, the cash for the iPad.

"It really isn't what you think," Luke insists, eyes passing between you and Steven.

"Good."

And then he's gone.

He hands you the old camera, pockets the cash, and takes off down the street.

You and Steven watch him go.

"Believe him?" Steven asks.

"You know, somehow, I do," you reply.

"Good," he says again, picking the equipment back up and putting an arm around you. "Let's just get inside."

The door's already unlocked, Luke knew where you kept the spare key even when you moved it for the hundreth time, and Steven walks into the dark house first.

He moves to turn on a light and jumps, startled. "Thanks. I needed a good scare."

You’re frozen at the doorway, paralyzed with that sinking feeling.

“Steve,” you manage to choke out, but he doesn’t hear you; he’s engrossed in conversation with-

"Dad send you here?" You hear the clatter of him setting the bags on the floor. "I tried to tell him we weren't home. Did you bring Luke here?"

Your heart is pounding, the sound filling your ears.

"You just stood there and watched him loot me? Christ, Nell."

No. No, no, no, no, no. Not Nell. Please not Nell. You just tried to talk to her. Just that day.

"So, you hit up everybody, drag Luke out, make dad hop on a plane, make Y/N crazy with worry. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Steven sighs at the lack of response.

"Fine." he says. "You got us all listening, what do you want? What's so damn important, Nell?"

His phone rings and your shaking, trying to move but it's like your having sleep paralysis standing up. You're frozen.

"Shit, I didn't give him the address," Steven says, answering the phone. "Hey, I tried to tell you we're-"

There's rough static on the other end and Steve's eyebrows furrow. "Dad? I can't hear you."

"Did you hear me? it's about Nell."

"I know, I just walked in and she's, uh-"

"Nell's running."

Steven huffs. "Shocking."

"She wasn't in L.A., she was at the house. She was at...the house."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed.

“She’s dead... She’s dead.”

The tears spill over your eyes before you even realized they'd been welling up.

You try to call Steven’s name again but you can’t even open your mouth before Nellie is screaming and you’re hitting the floor, the world going black.

The only sound that echoes through the house is Steven’s heavy breathing and his dad's voice echoing from his phone.

"Steve?...Steve?...Steve?"

[rootsmachine]

misty quigley // the haunting of hill house, shirley jackson

[mochasucculent]

Yea idk how I haven't shared them here yet but here's some doodles of Tabitha and "Apathy" (she ain't got a name yet), the two protags of my ghost story!

Grieving after the sudden loss of her grandmother, Apathy accidentally becomes bound to the spirit of Tabitha, a young girl who was murdered in the 1870s. Stuck together in unfamiliar circumstances, the two must discover how to send Tabitha on to the afterlife, and if they even can.

UPDATEEEEEEEEE Apathy's name is Naomi :)

[mervynbunter]

A genre I love: that which straddles/blurs the line between the paranormal and the naturalistic, leaving the horror perfectly ambiguous. Picnic at Hanging Rock (particularly the 2018 miniseries) does this very well; there are parts of Barkskins (2020) that do this; The Haunting of Hill House could have easily been this; I think this is why I love the first episode of The Terror; a touchstone is M. R. James’s short story “The Malice of Inanimate Objects”.

Are the misfortunes that befall the characters simply bad luck or an implacable inhuman ill intent that stalks them? Perhaps the cause was their hubris or ignorance; perhaps the reason cannot be discerned because the thing that stalks them is beyond understanding and therefore cannot be bargained with; perhaps there really is nothing but themselves, alone.

[skylermoyer]

WHY IS THERE SO FEW OF STEVEN CRAIN FANFICS?! Or am I looking wrong?? Like good stories or a fanfic book?

Where can I find please???

[hangsawoman]

knuckle tattoos that say HILL HOUS

[ghostfaceprincess]

I still don't know why tumblr put us as mutuals, but I am going to roll with it.

What your favorite scary movie?

ah, i grew up on the classics; so like House on Haunted Hill, Last Man on Earth, The Bat, Dracula, etc but i also love Scream, Terrifier 1&2, Jeepers Creepers 1&2, Halloween, Halloween (2018), Halloween Kills, and Halloween Ends to name a few, but i have a whole list in my get to know me thing!

yours?

[woahjo]

“and those who walk there, walk together”

[cmbdragon98]

Who told Shirley Jackson to go So Off with The Haunting of Hill House?? Who told her to make me question the sanity and reality of the main character we follow, and whether the house was ever supernatural to begin with, or simply an eerie spectre, silently watching over its occupants, as they lost themselves to unease and delirium?

Anyway, I reread it itching about my lack of having The Crucible or Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf on hand. Man.... Man, at least I had this one to thumb through and finish again.

[michelle-is-writing]

True love, Luke Crain

Word count: 1.2k

Every night, Luke and (Y/n) would fall asleep under warm covers with the sound of silence filling their room. Even though this night was no different, Luke found himself fast asleep until waking up with a sudden startle, his throat feeling as if a pair of hands were clenching it. The last time this had occurred was the night Nell had committed suicide. He could vividly remember shooting up in bed with his hand grasping his neck, gasping for air as soon as he opened his eyes.

Although, this time was different. This time, the feeling of being choked was not the only thing unusual as a simple click sound pushed the silence out of the room, this being the cause of him waking up. In the quick second that Luke had to register the noise, he knew the click was undeniably that of the handle on his childhood room's door.

Shooting up in bed, Luke throws his hands to his neck while panting in an attempt to get air to his lungs. However, the amount of air that does manage to enter his body is quickly stuck in his windpipe as his eyes instantly catch a familiar figure standing at the end of his bed. In his heart and soul, Luke knew that the tall stature and bowler's hat was undoubtedly that of the tall man that had been haunting him for years.

Fear rushing through every part of his body, Luke was quick to turn on his bedside lamp and let bright light infiltrate the room, only for the figure to disappear at a second's glance. Still gasping for air, he felt the adrenaline slowly flowing throughout his body just like the fear had moments ago. With the absence of the omniscient figure that had been standing just a mere six feet away from him, Luke released a sigh of relief before noticing the beautiful body lying next to him start to stir in her sleep.

Hoping that she wouldn't wake up in response to him, he guiltily watched as her eyes opened to reveal her beautiful (e/c) irises while her hands found their way to his arms, the warm touch of her skin causing him to practically shiver. "What are you doing up, Luke?" (y/n)'s soft, sleep-filled voice asked. Listening to her speak was like a godsend at this moment.

Even though he hated waking her up early in the morning, Luke still loved hearing her slightly raspy yet gentle voice showing that she had just woken from her slumber. It made his heart beat ten times faster than any other time - excluding that of the more private noises that left her lips on different occasions.

"N-no reason," Luke quickly answered his concerned girlfriend, the stutter in his voice practically giving him away along with his diminishing pants. Sliding back down into their shared bed, Luke had hopes of falling back asleep with no unwanted visitors this time. He was still frightened by what had just happened; that was obvious.

"I just... had a bad dream," He explained, his voice revealing that he was terrified. (Y/n) quickly noticed this as she leaned over him to wrap her arms around him and pull his now shaking body close to hers. He hadn't realized he was quivering in fear, but now that he did, he felt even more fearful of what it meant. After three years of absolutely nothing paranormal in his everyday life, why would he now be seeing the tall man in his own bedroom? To simply put it, he felt like he was going through withdrawal - something he hadn't experienced in several years.

"You saw him, didn't you?" His loving companion whispered to him. She didn't need to say his name for Luke to know who she was referring to, for he had confided in her many times before. What was surprising was that she always believed him and never questioned him. In a sense, (Y/n) truly knew how he felt despite never going through the experiences herself. He blamed it on the way he would tell the stories, but in (Y/n)'s heart, she knew it was much deeper than that. (Y/n) didn't exactly believe in soulmates; however, she did believe in true love - and what Luke and (Y/n) shared was precisely that.

Not trusting himself to speak again, he only shook his head with a small nod in response. Frowning, (Y/n) pushed her face into his neck, her soft locks of hair falling over Luke's neck. She then placed a leg over his hip and slowly began rocking the two of them back and forth, a ritual she did when Luke was particularly upset or sad about something.

"Count with me," She told the love of her life, knowing it had always been one of his methods on calming down. "One," She stated the first number, Luke quickly following after her beautiful voice. "Two," She said the next number, Luke doing the same thing he had done a few seconds earlier.

Finally, after counting to seven three times, Luke was able to calm down as much as he could by letting all the fear and tension in his body go. He had to keep reminding himself that the only way the tall man would be able to hurt him would be by letting him devour Luke's mind and body - and he certainly wasn't going to let him win.

As a kid, Luke would've never been able to persuade himself into thinking something so complex and true, but with the person he undeniably felt to be his soulmate, he felt as if he could take on anything that came his way. Whether it be fighting to quit his addiction to heroin or getting over the horrifying experience at hill house, (Y/n) was there for him. She didn't even have to say anything to him to try and comfort him; all she had to do was hold him in her arms and promise to never let him go.

With Luke now lying comfortably on his back, (Y/n) reached over and turned his lamp off before laying back down beside him. Luke didn't waste a single moment in wrapping his arms around her body and holding her close to him again, his arms wrapped around her waist with her arm gently laid across his bare chest and her head laying against the soft flesh of his shoulder. Kissing the skin there, (Y/n) stopped after a few seconds before lightly smiling up at her boyfriend. "It's just us in the room," She assures him, her hand sliding up to rest against his stubble-covered cheek. "Only us," She whispers the last part, leaning up a little to kiss his slightly smiling lips before lying back down in his embrace.

It wasn't long until (Y/n) was back asleep and lightly snoring in Luke's grasp, the sensation of her body warmth causing Luke to happily follow along shortly afterward. As he began to fall asleep, the harsh reminder of the evil ghost burrowed its way into his mind, only to be pushed away by that of the scent of (Y/n)'s hair. The truth was: no ghost could win over Luke's mind as it had already been filled with that of (Y/n)'s love.

[ahsgotham]

somebody had requested a masterlist but i lost my draft as a response for it, so i’m gonna write it out here and hope they say it. these are my main interests and what characters i’ll write for, there are still tons of things not mentioned i’ll write for (such as, i’ll still write for ahs and gotham.)

i primarily write smut now, which is why i post on ao3 more, but i’ll still write sweet stuff, sad stuff, etc.

DEXTER

- dexter morgan

- debra morgan

- joey quinn

- angel batista

- rita bennett

- brian moser

- miguel prado

- travis marshall

- oliver saxon

PENNY DREADFUL

- ethan chandler

- vanessa ives

- sir malcolm murray

- dorian gray

- victor frankenstein

- brona croft

i’ve only seen up to the end of s1 so far, but i will write for dracula and jekyll in the future <3

PREACHER

- jesse custer

- tulip o’hare

- proinsias cassidy

- eccarius

- jesus

AMERICAN GODS

- shadow moon

- laura moon

- mad sweeney

- bilquis

- mr world

- tech boy

- mr wednesday

STAR WARS

- originals (han solo, luke skywalker, leia organa, boba fett, lando calrissian, darth vader)

- prequels (anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, padmé amidala, bail organa)

- sequels (finn, poe dameron, general hux, rey skywalker, han solo, d.j.)

- stand-alones (cassian andor, bodhi rook, han solo, lando calrissian)

- shows (din djarin, cobb vanth, cassian andor, syril karn, obi-wan kenobi)

HORROR

for these ones there’s too many characters i’d write for to list off, so just request someone and see if i’ll write them. if not i’ll tell you.

- the scream films

- the final destination films

- the evil dead films/ash vs evil dead

- interview with the vampire (1994/2022)

- fright night (2011)

- twin peaks

- the mike flanagan-verse

HBO SHOWS

same deal as horror, rq someone and i’ll let you know

- true blood

- boardwalk empire

- six feet under

- the righteous gemstones

- band of brothers

- the sopranos

- succession

- veep

- true detective (only seen s1 so far)

MISCELLANEOUS

- anything i’ve written for previously

- sons of anarchy

- the magic mike films

- you (tv show)

- the top gun films

- scoot mcnairy characters

- mozart in the jungle

- ray donovan

- workaholics

i’m sure i’m forgetting some things, but here you go !! <3 rq and i’ll get to it. some things i might post on my ao3, ianmckinley.

[erensbich]

my toxic trait is to picture any male character in the book i’m reading as pedro pascal

[changbunnies]

Danse Macabre (18+)

♡ Pairing: Rich Serial Killer!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: loosely house on haunted hill inspired, vaguely 1950s au, horror themes, dark romance, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :')

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: The handsomely wealthy Christopher Bang and his wife are holding an overnight party at the house on Haunted Hill, and the rules are simple– stay the entire night, and $100,000 is their guest's to take; but little do the guests know that their hosts don't intend to let them leave.

♡ General Warnings: this is a serial killer au! do not read if you aren't prepared to read about death + murder + blood + injury! (i personally think i kept the descriptions tame and mild but everyone has different opinions so just use ur discretion and don't interact if you think you may be bothered by anything listed !), chan is referred to as chris, reader is very complicit in his crimes, they're a sick and twisted couple i fear!

♡ Smut Warnings: hybristophilia (i.e chan being a killer turns reader on), smut begins with chan talking about killing reader (intended to be strictly roleplay because he knows it excites them, but ur free to read it as him being serious if ur freaky like that lol), heavy usage of pet names (darling, my love, princess, sweetheart, dear), dom/sub dynamics, rough and a lil mean dom!chan, big dick chan because it's hot!, hair pulling, knife kink (but without a knife actually being used), corruption kink (not in the traditional way), tiny bit of nipple play, oral (m rec), facefucking, choking (on cock :) ), dacryphilia, manhandling, mirror sex, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: welcome to the first of my late kinktober fics ! this fic is loosely inspired by the opening scenes of the 1959 house on haunted hill movie, which is why the setting is vaguely 1950s!, this is the darkest fic i've tried my hand at writing, but i'm also a very big horror fan so writing this was very fun for me even tho it's not the genre i typically write for!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

"Darling, the guests are arriving. You must get ready," your husband, Christopher, emphasizes as he steps into the master bedroom you'll be occupying for the evening.

You're sitting at the room's vanity, all of your hair pulled to one side as you finish drying it after your long, relaxing bath. The scent of lavender bath oil and citrus shampoo linger over you– scents brought with you from home because you absolutely refuse to use the luxurious room's complimentary soap; no offense intended to the housekeepers who provided it, of course.

You look sweet as ever in your dainty little pastel blue babydoll gown, your robe delicate and sheer, hanging down off your shoulder and bunching at your elbows. You glance at Chris through the vanity mirror as you begin to comb your hair and free it of any leftover tangles, meeting his gaze with a smile.

"What's the rush, my love? Is it not customary to be late to a party?" Chris chuckles as he steps closer, runs his hand over your shoulder and down your spine as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. "Normally I'd agree with you. But this is your party, princess. You should greet your guests."

He's right, of course– today is your birthday, and he booked the entire mansion, as well as invited all the guests, at your behest. Christopher is the old money sort– a millionaire from a long line of millionaires before him. And because of that, your party comes with a fun gimmick– survive a night in the haunted mansion, and earn an easy hundred thousand dollars.

Assuming each guest successfully lasts until dawn, that's $700,000 for your husband to pay out– but that's no worry! That's still only chump change to a man as wealthy as Chris– and besides all that, no one's going to last until morning anyways; you're certain of that.

Naturally, as having a haunted house party was your idea, the venue was your choice– and the eerie mansion that sits lonesome upon Haunted Hill was the perfect pick. You've always found it strikingly beautiful from the outside, dreamed of one day stepping inside and drinking in all its Victorian charm.

It's certainly lived up to your expectations– and you're sure Chris will buy it for you if you express to him just how much you adore it; he'd buy you the entire world if you asked him to. For now, it's good enough that he rented it out for your sinister party.

You doubt the mansion is actually haunted– you don't put much stock in the stories of ghosts and ghouls that gave this hill its nickname; but it's a fun little tale, and you don't mind playing into it for the sake of a fun time. And it certainly helps make your party's tag line of "survive the night!" more inconspicuous.

"They're all strangers, sweetheart– I don't think they'll mind if I'm a little late," you tell him with a coy little smile as you set your comb back down on the vanity, satisfied with the condition of your freshly washed hair. He returns your smile with a mischievous one of his own, an amused glint in his eye.

"And remind me, darling, why it is that we've rented this house and invited a bunch of strangers to your party," Chris says as he leans down further, his breath fanning your ear. You giggle, almost innocently– though both of you know you're more than just complicit in his endeavors; you actively fuel them, his sadistic princess.

"You know why, my love," you reply, and to anyone else your smile would seem pure, almost angelic– but Christopher knows better. He knows that his kills excite you– perhaps even more than they excite him. He grabs a fist full of your freshly tamed hair, grins at the gasp you let out when he pulls your head back.

"And this is really what you want for your birthday? To see me stick my knife into someone's neck? To have me return to this room covered head to toe in their blood?" he questions as he looms over you now, but the answer is clear as it always is. He sees the way your thighs squeeze together, sees how the desire darkens your eyes– you’re sick; but that’s what he loves most about you.

"I could kill you too, you know. Take my knife right along your skin, just like this," he says as he runs a finger over one side of your neck to the other, gentle but purposeful in demonstration. Your breath hitches as you squirm in your seat, unable to turn your eyes away from him as he tightens the grip on your hair.

"But you wouldn't," you breathe, and Chris smiles, sweet and sinister as his eyes narrow at you, just how you like it. "Are you certain, dear? Do you think me incapable?" 

"I think you love me, as I love you," you answer, eyes starting to water from the sting of his tug on your scalp. "I love that you trust me," he replies as he trails his finger down, over your collarbones and to your chest. His fingers play with the dainty lace of your gown for just a moment before he slides his hand inside, cupping your breast in his large palm.

"I bet you wouldn't even bat a lid if I touched you with my knife here," he continues as he brushes his thumb over your hardening nipple, "you'd actually like it, wouldn't you, my love? Feeling the cold steel here, knowing I could easily cut you if I wanted to?" You whine, try to nod your head though his grip prevents it– all you can do is answer with a meek "yes" instead. 

"Speak up, darling. I'm afraid I couldn't hear you," he says with an expectant look that sends a shiver down your spine. Chris indulges your every desire, gives you everything in the world you want– so in the moments like these, in which when he asks something of you, you listen.

"Yes! I'd like it!" you answer, as loud and clear as you can bring your voice to be. Chris smiles, the sweet one he always gives you when you listen to him well, with his handsome dimples on display– a stark contrast from the darkness in his gaze. He releases his grip on your hair, cups your face and rubs his thumb over your cheek as he kisses you, greedy and deep. 

You always manage to get him hot; all it takes is a few simple words and that sweet gaze of yours to get him worked up– always the picture perfect image of innocence, pretty smiles and soft gazes that hide the depravity lingering beneath. So coy and demure, batting your lashes and acting like you don’t know at all what he does in the dead of night, acting like it doesn’t make your stomach twist– not with fear, but with desire.

Chris always sees through your act– he knows you. But he won’t pretend he doesn’t like it– the fun little game you share, where you gasp in faux surprise when he enters the room drenched in a new victim's blood, where your voice trembles and eyes well with tears when he grabs you hard, kisses you deep as the blood coating him transfers to your skin, sharing it with you.

And your answer now– whether it’s part of the game, or you truly would like feeling his knife cutting your pristine, unsullied skin, it doesn’t matter. He meant it when he said he loves that you trust him; and he loves that you wanted this. That all you wanted for your birthday was this party– to see him at his most unleashed, to indulge in the most sinful fun you could share as a couple. 

You never say what he is out loud– don’t call him a monster, a murderer, or a killer. You always dance around it, play innocent, though it’s obvious enough that you know the truth; and that’s more than enough for Chris. In fact, he prefers it this way; he likes to pretend he’s ruining your innocence, likes to pretend he’s a corrupting influence in your pure, perfect world, likes to pretend he’s ruining you.

Maybe in a way, he is– maybe you were a good girl before you found out his secret, maybe catching him in the act changed you, and maybe he’s dragging you down to hell with him by sharing this part of his life with you. Regardless, he loves what you have together– and he’ll keep playing this dangerous game with you, even if it ends in both your demise.

You melt into his kiss, as you always do– his lips, so plump and soft, always feel so perfect when they’re pressed against yours. You open your mouth for him the moment you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, and he hums pleasantly as he slips his tongue in your mouth. It’s not the most slow or sensual kiss you’ve ever shared– rather, it’s needy, passionate and urgent.

Chris smiles at you again when he pulls away, enjoying the sparkle beholden in your eyes as you stare up at him. “Open your mouth for me, darling,” he says as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You do as instructed, the obedient thing you are for him, and he grins as he sticks his thumb inside your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it after he rests it against your tongue. “Oh, my love– you already knew what to do, didn’t you? Always know just what I want, yeah?” You hum as you nod, staring up at him oh so enticing and pretty. “You’ll suck my cock just like that, won’t you?” he continues, biting his lip to suppress a laugh when you eagerly nod and hum once more.

He removes his thumb from your mouth with a pop, hurries with undoing his belt and pulling his cock out of his trousers. His cock is mesmerizing, as always– so long and thick, with pretty veins and a leaking tip; but you aren’t given any time to idly sit and admire it. He wraps your hair around his fist, forces you to take his cock in your mouth all at once.

You choke and sputter as his cock presses against the back of your throat, your nose meeting his pubic bone in a flash, the neatly trimmed hair there tickling your skin. You can’t pull your head back with his grip forcing you down– but you wouldn’t dream of trying anyways; this is what he wants, and he'll have it.

Eyes watering, you do your best to relax your jaw and throat, to suck him just the way he likes, with your tongue massaging his veins. It’s a struggle to breathe through your nose, unprepared for his cock as you were– and it’s not until your eyes are dimming and head is swimming from the lack of oxygen that he pulls you back to let you take a breath.

It’s harsh, lungs positively burning as you take deep, heaving breaths. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling. Was that too much for you?” he asks, but his tone lacks its usual sincerity. “Chris–” you cry his name weakly after taking another breath, a few of the stray tears lingering on your lids finally spilling over as you blink. 

“My dear,” he cuts you off, forcing his cock past your lips once more, using the leverage of his grip on your hair to once again push your head down on him, making you take his length into your mouth until you choke on it.

“You weren’t going to complain, were you? No, I know you wouldn’t do that,” he says, voice wavering ever so slightly, breathier from the pleasure your mouth gives him. “Because I give you everything you want. Everything I do is for you– so you’ll let me use you, yeah?”

He’s right again, of course– you wouldn’t dream of complaining, of depriving him of what he wants from you. And you both know this is far from the limit of what you can take, but as with everything else, he likes when you pretend for him. When you cry and weakly try to protest, half hearted utterances of “too much!” or “I can't!” as tears roll down your cheeks– an act that always leaves him throbbing.

And Chris is good to you, always puts the entire world in the palm of your hands– so just as he says, you’ll thank him by letting him use you however he wants. You can’t nod your head, and any word you try to speak would be muffled and indecipherable– so you allow your jaw to go slack to show him you understand.

“Good, just like that,” he says as you lay your tongue flat, his praise a small kindness before he really lets loose. He easily controls your pace, yanks your hair back until only the tip of his cock remains in your mouth before shoving you back down to the base of it.

You try not to gag and choke, but most attempts go unsuccessful, more tears spilling from your eyes and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth with each full press of his length in your mouth. You can’t even feel the sting on your scalp anymore– all you can focus on is trying to breathe while he uses your mouth.

But all you can breathe is Chris, and he’s unforgiving in the way he moves you on his cock. You jaw quickly begins to ache, and every low groan that he releases is drowned out by the filthy sounds your mouth and throat create as you swallow around his cock.

He doesn’t let up until your vision darkens and blurs again, your nails digging into your own thighs as you try to hold out as long as possible. You gasp when he pulls you off his cock, heart pounding in your chest as the much needed air finally returns to your lungs.

You look up at Chris as he releases his grip on your hair, eyes lidded and hazy. He’s made a real mess of you– from the way his fingers have tousled your hair, to your freshly swollen lips, to the saliva that dripped down from your mouth to your chest. It’s pretty, really– so, so pretty; he almost wants to coo at you.

Instead, he strokes your cheek, offers you a look of faux sympathy– and you’re much too addled to realize he doesn’t mean it. You take the affection regardless of his intent, close your eyes and lean into his touch. You can hear him softly laugh, can easily imagine that smirk he must have on his face right now. 

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Chris reminds you as he takes his hand away from your face. He grabs your arm, lifts you up from your chair and quickly turns you around, shoving everything resting on the vanity aside before he’s bending you over it. Your yelp of surprise is weak considering the abuse your throat just suffered, your hands lying flat as he presses you down against the hardwood. 

Your face smushes against the mirror, and how cold it is in contrast to how hot your face has become nearly makes you jolt. He shoves your panties to the side easily with his fingers, and you can hear him chuckle when you impatiently begin to squirm as he presses his cock against your dripping hole.

“Princess– stay still,” he says, and you can tell from his tone alone that it’s much more a demand than it is a request. You mutter a soft apology as you still your hips, and he waits a moment– waits to see if you’re going to move again before he acts. 

“Please,” you whine, make your desire to have his cock filling you up known, but ultimately don’t move. With a satisfied grin that you can just barely see on his face from your position against the mirror, he slowly, finally, starts to press his length inside your pussy.

He brings his hands to your hips, holds you as you begin to tremble from the feeling of his cock stretching you out. He doesn’t give you time to adjust– just squeezes your hips in his hands as he starts to fuck you from behind. “Oh, Chris– fuck,” you gasp, though it quickly becomes a moan. 

His cock feels so deep in this position, and it has your eyes rolling back with each motion of his hips into yours. “You’re so fucking wet, fuck–” he groans, his hands gripping you harder as he finds his rhythm. “Squeezing so tight– feels good, huh, princess? You like it when I fuck you like this?” 

“Yes, love it! Love you, love your cock, feels so good–” You cry, high pitched whimpers leaving you now as you try to nod your head, though its position against the mirror doesn’t make it easy. Chris groans again before he moves a hand to your hand, threads his fingers through your hair again to pull you back against him.

You reach backwards to support yourself, one of your hands clinging to his shirt while the other holds him behind the neck. “Look at yourself, darling. Look,” he says against your ear, and you focus your eyes on the mirror. You look at Chris through it first, take in the sight of the sweat dripping down his temple and the clench in his jaw as he fucks you. 

Your eyes travel down, met with the sight of your tits bouncing with each of his thrusts, threatening to spill out of your babydoll gown. Lower still, you watch as he takes his other hand off your hip, slides it past the hem of your gown to find your clit with his fingers. “Want you to watch yourself cum. Don’t stop looking,” he tells you, and you whine– it won’t be easy, but you’ll listen; you always do. 

He lets go of your hair, and is quick to wrap his arm around your body so that you don’t fall too far forward. You’re so wet that his fingers quickly become slick, and it makes his touch lack friction as they slide messily over your clit, but the feeling is still so delicious that you can’t complain. 

It’s so hard to maintain eye contact with your reflection, hard to prevent your eyes from rolling back whenever he hits your spot with his cock while playing with your clit, but you keep doing your best for him. He can feel you clenching harder as you continue to watch yourself unravel, feels your nails starting to dig into where they hold his neck.

“C’mon, love– cum for me, you can do it sweetheart,” Chris urges you, his voice soft and low in your ear. “I will! ‘m gonna– gonna cum for you!” you cry; and though you’d been doing so well, you can’t help but let your eyes roll back and close as you finally let go and gush on his cock. If it were a different day, he might scold you for not keeping your eyes open like he told you to– but it is your birthday today, so he’ll let it pass just this once. 

He pushes you back down onto the vanity as you ride out the last of your orgasm, face once again smushing against the mirror as he grabs your hands and holds them behind your back at the wrists, fucks you rough and deep as he chases his own release. You whimper and tremble, unable to escape the sensitivity you feel, or able to grip anything to ground yourself– all you can do is take it. 

“Can’t! Chris, please– I can't, t-too much, too much!” your voice warbles as you cry, the pleasure you feel overwhelming. “Yes you can,” he says as you writhe helplessly in his grasp, your fingers clenching into desperate fists where he holds them against your back. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You’re going to cum again, you know it– he doesn’t even have to touch your clit again to get you there, because the tip of his cock is kissing your spot so good that you’re seeing stars. You’re panting hard, your every breath fogging the mirror, your nails digging into your palms as Chris’ name leaves you in desperate, broken syllables. 

It’s not until you’re finished cumming around him for a second time that his pace finally begins to falter– he lets go of your wrists, squeezes your hips in his hands and thrusts once, twice more before his own high takes him. You whine as you feel his cum spurt deep inside, hot and sticky, leaving you perfectly full.

Chris takes just a moment to steady his breathing before he’s slipping out of you, hurrying to reach to the ground for the tissue box he previously knocked off the vanity. He grabs a tissue, cleans between your legs as gently as he can, though you still end up flinching just a bit.

He then readjusts your panties so they rest on you properly again, and helps you settle back into the vanity’s chair. He kisses you after tucking his softening length back in his trousers, glances in the mirror to make sure nothing else about his appearance is out of place before he has to return to your party.

“Was it good?” you ask earnestly as you look up at him, and he smiles at you, stroking your head sweetly. “Of course, my darling. You’re perfect, as always,” he tells you, and you beam, turning your head to kiss his hand before he takes it away. He glances over at the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the room, laughs in disbelief when he notes the time. 

“Gosh, it’s almost midnight– we really must hurry,” he says, and you giggle, truly without a care in the world that you’ve kept your guests waiting. You turn back to vanity, pout as you take in your appearance– you were too far gone from lust to really realize just how debauched Chris made you, but now you truly see just how much you have to fix. 

“Christopher! You’ve ruined me!” you complain before looking around the floor for your comb. “Apologies, princess,” he chuckles, leaning down to pick up your comb for you once you’ve spotted it. He hands it to you, but doesn’t completely release his grip to let you take it until after you kiss him in thanks.

“Now then– I’ve got to go entertain our guests. But hurry, won’t you, darling? I wouldn’t want to start the real fun without you,” Chris says as he rests his hand on the knob of the bedroom door, and you smile as you look at him through the mirror, making quick work of fixing your hair. 

“Of course, my love. I wouldn’t miss my party for the world,” you tell him; and despite what he said, it’s not long until you hear the first shrill scream of the night. Dressed in your prettiest red dress and heels, you peek your head out of the bedroom door– and Chris stands there, knife in hand with blood speckled over his face.

“Sorry darling, didn’t have a choice,” he explains, and you giggle as you fully step out of the room, carefully stepping over the blood that decorates the floor to kiss him before shooing him away to continue. Your birthday party has fully kicked off now– and it’ll certainly be one to remember.

[samcarpnter]

WLWMEME: 5/9 tv characters ♡ theo crain (the haunting of hill house)

See, when I was little, I was afraid of a lot of things. I didn't have to be, though. They were all in my head. I just didn't know that yet. But when I was scared, I would imagine myself building a big wall all around me made of the strongest bricks in the whole world. And when I got scared, I would imagine myself putting another one on, one after the other until that wall was so thick and so strong. I knew I'd be safe in there forever. And that's what you do too, right? It's okay. It's good. 'Cause kids like us have been through more than other kids. We're tougher than other kids. We're great builders. We make ourselves really safe. And no one ever gets in.

[liliapleasesteponme]

Show me those fangs 🦇

Vampire!lilia x fem!human!reader

Summary - you explore a dark, gothic mansion alone on a dare from your friends and meet a much different fate

Making out, pet names (doll, sweet thing), mistress kink, degradation (its only one line), hickeys, blood, oral (r receiving), begging

@klien2000

Note - i imagine she was wearing this

"ok y/n, truth or dare ?" one of your friends asked. You were having a party with a few friends while your roommate was out of town and at this point you all a bit tipsy. You had replied 'dare' and the dare went along the lines of "you know that creepy mansion on the hill that everyone says is haunted ? I dare you to go into it alone. AND at night."

You didn't think it was haunted, but that it was probably just old and abandoned. You accepted the dare and, because it was nearing 10 pm, you put on a more presentable outfit and went out to complete the dare while the rest of your friends stayed the night.

Just as you got to the bottom of the hill, you felt a shiver down your back. You tried to brush it off but it did make you feel a bit more wary of going to the mansion. You began to climb the hill, feeling an increasing anxiousness. Once you reached the top, you faced a new issue. How to get in.

The gates were chained shut and the walls were high. At first it looked as though there was no way in but because the house was unkept, there was vines growing, giving you a way of climbing over the tall walls and into the garden.

The garden was beautiful, even though it was overgrown. There were bushes carved into animals (snakes, dogs, rabbits, ect) and colourful flowers amidst the long grass. It almost looked like a fairytale. The mansion was much different though. Dark exterior, gothic stained windows and statues.

You went up to the door and it immediately slammed open. 'ok, so maybe it is haunted' you thought with a hint of sarcasm. You stepped inside and were taken aback by how amazing it looked. Everything was like something out of a castle. There were portraits of old people on the walls, candelabras, gold-legged tables and a vase of flowers that looked like they'd only just been picked. You thought the flowers were strange but chose to move past it.

You made your way to what seemed to be a grand dining room. The table in the center was long and covered by a red and gold table cloth and on it was a glass of wine that had clearly just been poured. It suddenly dawned on you that this house may not be abandoned. You froze for a moment before quickening your pace towards the door.

Just as you reached it, it crashed shut so hard you almost fell down. You were trapped. You frantically looked for another exit but your attempt was unsuccessful. You thought you might aswell explore some more since you were stuck here.

When you got back to the dining room, you stopped for a moment to think about what just happened. All of a sudden, everything went black. You felt a pair of hands push you against the wall as you drop your bag to the floor. "why are you here ? Who are you ?"

For a moment, you couldn't breathe pressed up against the wall but the grip the person had on you lessened so you could answer. "I'm y/n. M-my friends dared me to come here, i-i swear i don't mean to cause trouble."

You began breathing very heavily and the person spun you around to be face-to-face. It was a woman, much older than you. She was wearing a light blouse and a fitting black and red corset. If you were being honest, you thought she was very attractive but that thought was quickly suppressed when she began talking. "well, well, what will i do with you, huh doll ?"

You were too surprised by her pet name to say anything, so you just stared at her for a while. Her eyes were a deep red, filled with rage and what you secretly hoped was lust. When you didn't respond she opened her mouth to speak again thats when you saw them. Her two large fangs. She was a vampire.

How had you not realised before ?

She must've seen your reaction to her fangs because she instantly closed her mouth again. For a moment you couldn't help but glance at her dark red lips. Somehow you weren't as afraid as you probably should have been, she only seemed to intrigue you.

"what ? Never met a vampire before doll ?" she asked, clearly amused by your reaction. You didn't know how to react so you just gently shook your head. "let me hear that voice, sweet thing"

You let out a shaky breath, "are you really a vampire ?"

"mm believe it doll," she said with a smirk "now then ... Back to my previous question. What am i to do with you ?"

She hesitated a moment before taking a step back and leaning against the grand table behind her. In that moment, you likely should have run as far away as possible, but you didn't. You stayed put, chasing the reason for your initial intrigue. The vampire decided to answer her own question, "you're lucky i've let you last this long really. Most of them are dead by now,"

A streak of fear ran through you as she said those last few words. Of course ! She's a vampire. How could she not kill people ? "besides, i think your different. You don't have that glint of fear in your eyes like the others usually do. Theres something different there."

She looked you up and down for a moment and offered you her hand. You took it with no hesitation. You'd begun to trust her, despite everything she'd said so far. "so, what's your name then, doll ?"

"y/n," you told her, honestly hoping that instead of using it that she'd keep using those pet names that had begun to grow on you. "and you ?"

"Lilia. But thats not important. You can call me mistress." You were slightly taken aback that she asked (or more demanded) that you call her mistress and even more so that her name was just as beautiful as her face.

With that, she began to drag you to another room of the mansion. Your mouth was open in silent awe as you saw more of the house, it really was like a dream. The two of you reached a large door, to which she pushed open to reveal a beautiful bedroom. The walls were a strong burgundy and the room was laced with golden accents, including the bedsheets.

You had taken a step forward to fully take in the room when Lilia spun you around to face her and embraced you in a passionate kiss. The kiss was unlike any you'd had before. It was fiery and fierce yet caring at the same time. You moaned into the kiss, giving the vampires tongue better access to you. As the kiss deepened, you felt her fangs brush against your lips. Her fangs aroused you further and your mind began to think that it may not be so bad if she bites you.

After a minute or two, you broke away from the kiss to take a breath. Lilia put her hand to your hair, using it to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck. This is it you thought as she moved closer to your neck ... But no, not yet.

She began to kiss and suck on your neck leaving a trail of hickeys as she moved further down to your collarbone. You practically moaned out, "please, touch me."

She drew back, looking you dead in the eyes, "use my name first, sweet thing"

"Lili~" she cut you off as soon as you began, "not that one, doll."

"mistress, mistress please touch me. I need you." she let out a hum of acceptance, "begging already huh ? Pathetic."

You whimpered in response, gazing into her eyes. Then she pushed you onto the bed, climbing on top of you with hungry eyes. Her hands moved quickly to remove your clothes, leaving you fully exposed to her.

She was quick to focus on your breasts, teasing them with her fingers. She began to leave another hickey on your breast while her hands snaked their way down to your hips, holding you in place because of how squirmy you'd gotten.

Suddenly, she moved lower so her head was between your thighs. She began marking you again and you were becoming too needy so you let out a loud moan, pulling on her hair slightly so she would go faster to your aching pussy. This time she wasn't as reciprocative. She bit down on your inner thigh with overwhelming strength. Her fangs were deep inside you and all you could do was moan even louder.

Blood dripped from the wound when she pulled away. She licked up the remaining blood around the bite and moved so she was eye level with you. There was a small drop of blood that had fallen from her lip that she seductively wiped away. For a moment, you couldn't move due to what happened, you just watched her face and how her expression softened.

"are you ok doll ?" she asked with genuine care in her voice. You nodded you head but it wasn't good enough for her. She needed to be sure. "i need words y/n."

"im ok." you pushed out weakly. "please, i need you."

"i know what you need, doll, let mistress take care of you." her words gave you butterflies and your pussy was so needy for her right now. Her head was back inbetween your legs and she didn't waste any time in going straight for your pussy, licking a stripe down your wet hole.

After the first taste, it was like she developed an addiction. She plunged her tongue into you, making your back arch from the sudden pleasure. She moved her tongue in and out of your wet pussy feeling how close you already were. Your moans had become uncontrollable.

Her pace quickened as she licked and sucked your clit while her fingers were tracing the bite mark on your thigh,"hmph fuuck~"

"come on, you can be louder. I want to hear you scream." she emphasized each word in a way that drove you crazy. Your moans became louder and louder until you were convinced the whole town would be able to hear you. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you threw your head back against the headboard, only to be pulled back into the vampires sight.

"i wanna see you, doll. I wanna see you face as you cum for your mistress."

"please, im so close, please mistress, can i cum ?" she looked up at you and gave you a nod. You were on the edge and it look one more lick for you to cum in her mouth.

That was probably the best orgasm of your life. She licked up any excess and swallowed all of your cum. Your breathing finally settled as you came down from your high. She moved to lay next to you and put her arms around you, pulling you closer to her body.

This was nice, comfortable. Maybe being turned into a vampire wouldn't be too bad.

Let me know if you liked it <3

- aqua