#just so I don't have to think about it anymore.

[eiightysixbaby]

eat your heart out

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

in which eddie masters valentine’s day through the art of eating pussy

cw: 18+ ONLY — SMUT oral (f receiving)

a/n: an early valentine from me to all of u. mwah mwah hope u enjoy ❤️

Eddie Munson doesn't really know what to do when it comes to Valentine's Day.

It's not like he's an idiot; he understands that typically a romantic dinner or a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates are the perfect show of appreciation and affection.

But those things are typically reserved for your girlfriend, and you're not his girlfriend.

But you're also, like, not not his girlfriend.

Eddie doesn't really know what you are, and that's the issue. It started off with you guys just hooking up. Late nights in his van parked behind the school or in a dark part of some neighborhood. Quickies in the bathroom during a break in Hellfire sessions. But it's slowly started to morph into... something else? Eddie isn't one hundred percent sure, but he's noticed that you come over more often, and you don't just want to jump his bones and leave.

Sometimes you guys don't even fuck anymore. Sometimes you invite him over just to watch movies, or he'll ask you to go for a drive with him. You hold his hand under the table when you go out to Benny's diner with the friend group, and Steve keeps waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively every time he catches you two sitting extremely close to each other. Which just makes Eddie blush like a loser.

And, every time you two are about to part ways, you look like you really want to kiss him before he goes.

And sure, you guys have kissed before. He's not about to hook up with you without at least kissing you stupid first. But this is different. You've been looking at him like you just want to kiss him, with nothing to come afterwards.

It all makes him sweat if he thinks about it for too long.

So for now, in the midst of his anxious unwillingness to ask you the horrifying 'What are we?', he's simply decided to show his appreciation for you on Valentine's Day with the one thing he's certain you'll love. He can deal with his feelings and stuff, later.

Your hand fists its way into his hair, fingers gripping his unruly curls like they're the only thing still tethering you to earth. His knees press into the worn carpeting of the trailer, his mouth latched to your cunt while his hands keep the fabric of your skirt rucked up at your waist.

You’re standing with your back pressed against the kitchen counter, your sneakers still on. He barely gave you a moment to settle yourself upon arrival before he was on you like a bad rash.

What can he say? When it all comes down to it, he’s a simple man, and you’re his favorite meal.

“Eddie,” you sigh, tilting your head back in bliss.

His tongue swipes its way through your folds before finding your clit and sucking on it. He can feel your body tremble, your knees nearly buckling with the overwhelming sense of pleasure.

His big brown eyes chance a glance up at you, at the exact moment you’re looking down at him. Your lips part in a moan, his tongue flicking rapidly at your clit, though he’s not sure if it’s that or the eye contact that forced the sound from you.

He’s guessing the latter, because something in your gaze feels different. The entire moment feels different.

Before, being intimate with you felt reckless, hot. Now it’s like he’s spilling every word he hasn’t said to you into the space between your thighs, hoping you’ll read his secret code. Hoping desperately that he’s not seeing this wrong, that you actually do like him as much as he realizes he likes you.

He needs to chill before he whispers an I love you right here on his knees.

He breaks your gaze after a moment or two, letting his eyes fall closed once more. He can taste how wet you are, he’s lapping up your arousal with every swipe of his tongue, and he honestly would kind of be okay with dying right here. His face is completely buried in you, nose bumping your clit, tongue on a mission to be as deep inside of you as possible.

You let your hips buck, nearly grinding on his face as he licks and sucks and bites, his ringed fingers squeezing the meat of your ass now.

“Eddie, ohmygod,” you cry, your white knuckle grip on the countertop keeping you from collapsing.

“What is it, baby?” he asks sweetly, kitten licking your sensitive bud before taking it between his lips and sucking.

That’s another thing, he’s started calling you all of these pet names lately. And the more he does it, the more he finds he doesn’t want to stop. He might actually be physically incapable of stopping.

“Feels so good, I—” you gasp at the sudden intrusion of two of his fingers. “I fucking love you,” you rasp out, your body reaching its peak at the exact moment the words escape you.

Eddie’s eyes shoot up to look at you, going impossibly wide. Yet he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, he brings you fully through your high until you’re shaking all over. Your words did nothing but spur him on, more determined than ever to bring you crashing down around him.

Only once you’ve come down do you seem to process what you said, and for a minute all you can do is stare at each other.

“Eddie, I—” you scramble, but he’s quicker.

“No. Don’t backtrack. Don’t do that,” he says, still on his knees before you. Still tasting you on his lips, still feeling you beneath his fingertips.

He rises to his feet, hooking a finger under your chin. You’re giving him that look again. The one that makes it seem like you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.

And so he gives in. Lips smashing to yours, in a completely different context than any of the times before. He hopes you can feel everything he feels just through this kiss. Hopes he’s getting his point across.

The way you pull him flush up against you to deepen the kiss gives him the idea that his point was received.

Eddie Munson is great at this whole Valentine’s Day thing.

[mecha-changeling]

I've done most of these in my current project.

Gold is worthless in Quiet Space, as is everything except time itself. Access to space and automation of labor kind of kill the concept of scarcity of goods entirely and well, that's it for economics as we know it. The Terran Protectorate's closest thing to a currency is a literal credit system that entitles you to X hours of the empire's industrial capacity.

I mean, time is fleeting...

Its a stellar Empire. Only one clock is 24 hour and it's Earth's. The odds of another planet having the same rotational speed is basically 0.

Again since most places in my setting are not on Earth and therefore axial tilts are different... and also most megastructures and space habs don't have seasons at all...

I've got a planet that rains diamonds. Okay sure I'm just borrowing it from reality but people can go there and do things.

Most planets have more than 1 moon, turns out.

One of the human Clann's homeorlds is a gas giant. It has rings. Several planets have orbital ring habitats, but I don't think that's what you meant.

I have this, but the world is uninhabitable without bleeding edge shield technology.

I've got the star roads. They're invisible, does that count? TLDR; they're a FTL system that pushes craft in them faster than light by using a spinoff of gravitational drive technology to sort of ripp off mass effect but instead of sling shots it's based on the US highway system.

The Runi use wood for some of their jewelry.

The Thymrai don't use anything for wedding band type signifiers of marriage. They use their words "We're one." or "I have my mate." and if you don't respect that they'll probably stab you because you're calling them a liar and that's fighting words in their culture.

The Glorin always make a new name from select syllables from both prior names when they wed. They're also nano-hiveminds with each individual having 3 bodies, so most of their scocial things are odd.

I have several robotic species which genuinely would not be able to grock the idea of bastardry. "But... they manufactured you. You are their creation. Circumstances are irrelevant."

Most of my aliens do not use binary sexes. Many of the monosex species don't have a concept of gender at all because WHY WOULD THEY?

The Glorin again. They discount other gods as gods because they know they're just extradimentional entities that live in hyperspace. Their god does not live in hyperspace and seems supernatural to other gods. She also dosn't do the normal god things, she shows up like your cool aunt coming back to town and will do things like make your whole species immune to cancer and call it a "bug fix".

Again, the Glorin's god. She's very lovecraftian in appearance unless she specifically takes on a humanoid form for whatever reason (but she'll complain the entire time about how painful it is to "scrunch up like this")

Given designer organisms are a thing for Terrans, I've got this one. Because many of them are reskined other critters! (I may work on this one later today)

Plot? You assume I worldbuild to tell a narrative? Lol! I'm that wierdo who worldbuilds as their main hobby and sometimes you get a story out of it because I got bored.

I've got this one. What? This is a science-fantasy setting. Not sci-fi. TLDR; you can get a journal that will tell you everything friends that have willingly touched the journal did yesterday. It resets every time you sleep and fills you in on the previous day with every reset. This is, in fact, communication. Its just not real time or intentional. Yes this thing can end friendships, but its popular with Terrans because Terran society is about authenticity in 4269 and if your best friend actually thinks you're lame you want to know so you can terminate the friendship and find someone else (also their whole family would shame them as being inauthentic is as big of a social taboo as incest is today).

Books don't exist anymore. All information you want is either a direct download to your brain, or a VR experience. So... Yeah I've got this covered. Its not even a "well I love old things, so I still read books!" type of deal. If you read a book someone would look at you with the same incredulity that you would look at someone trying to light their bong by rubbing two sticks together. You'd probably also alert Central to a mental health crisis.

Many species communicate by psionic or digital telepathy. But sign langauge dosn't exist outside of millitary applications anymore. Not because "screw deaf/mute people!" but because genetic engineering has eliminated those conditions entirly. No one is born with physical disadvantages anymore. And even if they were, they'd be able to have them removed for free any time after they turn 16 since medical technology can reshape your body howeaver you please and has hit the "IRL Korean MMO character creator" point of "no further development necessary". (Yes that is a cornerstone of Terran culture. Part of that "be authentic" deal is your expected to live in a body that is "you" rather than whatever you were born as.)

Most of my alien species are not omnivores.

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Woke up from the sweetest dream of eating ice cream with Jason in the middle of the night, both in our jammies hunched over a pint in opposite sides of the kitchen island and its just so special to not be doing this exact thing alone.

"There's something so sweet about loving and being loved. Knowing and being known. Especially by a man who makes every past moment of suffering so worth it if it's lead us to this." 🥺🥺

Late Night Desserts 

Pure Fluff ~1k words

It's late, the kind of late that's so far into the night that you can start to call it early. Your kitchen is dark, lit only by the dim street lights and the occasional stray beams of moonlight that break the clouds hanging low over Gotham's sky. There's the sounds of cars driving by, the faint whirl of a helicopter flying overhead, but it's all drowned out by the quiet giggles bouncing off the walls of your apartment. 

"Why are you even whispering," you stumble out between hushed laughs, voice barely above a breath as you point your spoon at Jason, eyes narrowing in accusation.

He grins, mock offense dripping into his quiet tone, "I could ask you the same question, sweetheart." 

"I'm whispering because you're whispering," you bite back, gaze leaving him so you can dip your spoon into the pint of your favorite ice cream resting between you on the counter. 

Jason scoffs, all teasing and playing as he reaches over to knock his spoon against yours, digging into the frozen dessert for another taste, "I'm whispering because it's still dark outside, and the walls of your apartment are thinner than paper."

"That's not my fault," You pout, taking your own bite of the ice cream. Your eyes narrow, but there's no heat to the action, not when the moment feels as sweet as the dessert you're sharing.

"Didn't say it was, doll," he hums, catching you entirely off guard when he reaches over the kitchen island to swipe his thumb over the corner of your lip, collecting what remains of the ice cream on his finger. His gaze never leaves yours as he licks his thumb clean, smile never fading.

He seems intent on knocking your world off center for a second time, because he speaks again, an easy grin on his face, like his words have no consequence either way, "You could always move in with me. Then it wouldn't matter how loud we were at night. Opens all kinds of doors, ya know?"

You think you manage to keep the surprise off your face when you answer (you don't), "It would?"

"Sure," he hums, jabbing his spoon back into the cartoon, it's the only sign that he feels even slightly nervous over the question he poised, "We could cook after eight pm without your neighbors complaining, blast music in the morning, and, ya know, if we ever get the dog you've talked about, it would be nice to have thicker walls."

His words sweep you right off your feet, his easy answer, the slight tension in his shoulders, all point to one thing. He's thought about this. He's planned a future with you, even if it's just coming up with small, mundane reasons on why you should move to his apartment. 

The realization steals your breath away, and it's only when his face furrows and his eyes start to dart over your face, searching for any clues of how you feel, that you remember you have to respond. 

"That sounds nice. I'd like that, " You say, voice melting into a different kind of soft from your previous whispers. It's a soft that's fond, almost reverent in the face of his feelings for you, the cusp of something more you want to build with him. 

The tension drains from his body, and his smile returns to something bright, something real, "Good." Jason lifts his spoon back to his mouth, face thoughtful like he's mulling over his next words, "You could move in anytime, you know. If you wanted. Half your stuff is already there anyway."

The ice cream melting onto the counter doesn't matter anymore, and you drop your spoon, letting it clatter loudly to the granite surface. Jason only has enough time to look confused and vaguely alarmed by the noise before you round the island to get to his side.

He tries to play off his eagerness with a nonchalant shrug, but you see right through your boyfriend. And suddenly, the moment feels so big.

The feeling nearly bursts from your chest. The warm, fluttery love that's so pure and right in your soul that it's nearly overwhelming. The idea that every path you've ever walked has led you to him, and him to you. 

He opens his mouth to talk, and you steal whatever words he means to say with your tongue. The kiss is sweet, so, so sweet. Sweeter than the dessert you were sharing, sweeter than anything you could tell him, sweeter than all the emotions fluttering in your stomach over just how much he means to you. 

Jason kisses you back with a softness that speaks to all the adoration he feels for you, dropping his own spoon to cup your face, to wrap an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

You only pull away first so you can watch the way his eyes flutter open slowly, lingering in the ghost of your lips against his.

"What was that for," he asks, voice so breathless and dreamy it nearly brings you to your knees.

"Just wanted to," you hum out, pressing a kiss to his jaw, to his chin, to his cheek. It's not a lie, it just doesn't encompass all the warmth you feel in your heart, the goofy smile you can't wipe from your face.

His dumbstruck smile matches your own as he squeezes your waist, saying everything he needs to say back with a simple touch. You melt into arms, ice cream, and quiet whispers long forgotten.

But you don't need to explain, don't have to elaborate. Jason knows what you mean when you press another gentle kiss to his lips, he knows what you're trying to say when you tangle your finger in his hair and memorize the feel of his body pressing against yours.

He always seems to know what you can't find the words to say. 

It's just a moment, just a stolen minute of peace as dark creeps towards day, but it's yours. Yours and his. Another warm memory to write into your story, another step towards something that feels like forever. 

The moon lights up your kitchen as it breaks the clouds once again, and Jason chases your mouth for another head-spinning kiss, sealing the promise of words unsaid, emotions that are far bigger than can be spoken into the calm, quiet air of the night.

[plushcroft]

You thought why not try therapy? People deal with all kinds of things so why wouldn't your situation be more common? You spill to the new therapist.

Now the therapist you started talking to seems confused. "People donate organs and survive a lot more than you think. It sounds like yours were taken without your consent so that would definitely cause some trauma. There is nothing odd about asking for help. This is a safespace. We might even help you track down the thieves depending on your testimony."

You then removed the thick false glasses to reveal missing eyes out of your sockets. "I guess I should have specified a majority of organs, including the usual life sustaining ones were missing when I woke up and do you want to know the worst part is? I can still see out of these sockets, I can feel hunger with no stomach, yet even I don't understand why I'm still alive. Funnily enough I remember making a deal with someone when I was drunk but I don't even remember the contents of the deal. It was just a 'hey want to give immortality a spin? You'll probably need it next week, next thing I know I crashed into a tree one week away. My mistake thankfully only affected myself. No one else was in the accident except for my stupid self. Hell, I don't even know how I got myself into- wait why are you freaking out? I'm being honest here! I lost my own pulse when my own heart was removed, I don't even think I have a brain anymore. But I haven't hurt anyone! Why are you so scared?"

After realizing your problem was something even a professional would be nervous around you left somehow without alerting anyone. Maybe just maybe someday you could figure things out. You had the sacrifice list at your house to finish. Most people bought crickets for their pet reptile not themselves.

To be continued?

The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but after reading it carefully you realize that it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be the smartass that you are, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed them instead.

[arandomao3user]

"Jason was just a replacement for Dick." I have heard people say, "Bruce never loved him."

And, to an extent, I agree Jason was just a replacement for ROBIN, but not as a son, no, because Dick was Bruce's son and pride alright, he became his pride, the pride of Batman. But Jason did something Dick often failed to do, not from lack of TRYING but, because, it only lasted a week, maybe two before Bruce went back to that deep, dark hole he carved out for himself.

(Tim Drake: Pride Special)

Something I feel people can't possibly grasp, because maybe they can't relate or don't fully understand the significance or impact? The fact that it was the anniversary of the Wayne's deaths, Bruce's parents deaths that have haunted him for the majority of his life. He was in the cowl, he was BATMAN in the moment and it was his parents deaths, and in the same place he stayed, kneeling between the cooling corpses of his parents, knees drenched in their blood, he stayed there for possibly an hour or more. And yet, as Batman, in the cowl in the same place on the same night-- he laughed.

He laughed. Some punk, little bony street brat with a tire iron stole his tires, hit him with said tire iron, and called Batman a "big boob." and I believe Bruce was fond of Jason the moment he saw him.

Bruce and Dick were the dynamic dup, but there was also some small sense of obligation for Bruce to take Dick in. Bruce feared what Dick would've become, didn't want him to turn out like Bruce did. But with Jason? Oh, with Jason.

"Jason was the first thing Bruce allowed himself to want since his parents deaths." Is what my friend said when I was rambling to them about this, and it hit me how true it actually was.

Dick was Bruce's son, and he loved him, yet, but with Jason? BRUCE chose Jason, and he was the first Robin that Batman chose. Dick made himself Robin, Dick gave Robin to Tim and Damian, and I believe even with Stephanie it wasn't entire because Bruce WANTED her to be Robin.

Bruce, after seeing how Ma Gun's school wasn't what he thought it was, he made Jason Robin, took him home the same night (kidnapping is valid if you're Batman and he's up for grabs anyways--) and made him his SON.

He replaced Robin, but Jason was never a replacement as a son.

(Tim was the replacement as a son but we won't get into that today since that is more of my fanon over analysis of the characters--

so, yeah--)

Bruce adopted Jason about... Two weeks, I wanna say(?) after meeting him, taking him home, and I don't wanna say it was some sort of automatic attachment, but I believe Bruce saw the chance to make a proper family, and that's what he WANTED for Jason.

That's what he GAVE Jason.

I'm not digging for anymore panels, this isn't easy work for a post--

But my point stands, and even after Jason dies, Bruce wouldn't hesitate to come save him. Not out of guilt anymore, but because Jason has and always will be his son, not his favourite, because that'd make people mad if I say that (I read comics now, and even after, I still say that Jason is the favorite, but I won't make it a whole thing in this post--)

(Batman: Urban Legends #4)

Bruce, evidently, even with the violence and abuse he's shown Jason after Jason came back from the dead, has proven he'd come for him, that he won't ever give up on him.

Jason is rarely ever called his son in the comics anymore, he's rarely acknowledged to be Batman's son, and some may say "Well, that's because Jason doesn't see him as a Father." And I BEG you look at these comic panels and think that still. The words aren't said, maybe because it's to painful for Bruce to acknowledge he lost another family member, and for Jason? Hell, Bruce keeps punching him, we've all seen the panels, we've seen Dick's crash out.

Their relationship isn't perfect, Bruce has made so many mistakes, called Jason a failure, and Jason has certainly reciprocated those feelings a few times. Jason openly admits they were no dynamic duo, and says there wasn't trust between them-- something I disagree with. Entirely.

(Aaaand there's my image limit. Guess I won't show y'all the panel of Bruce holding Jason's corpse, thinking, "Did he hate me?" Because that was Bruce's thoughts after losing Jason. Guilt. And fear that Jason's final feelings for him were HATE.)

Can we also just... THIS PANEL!? HOW can anyone say "Well, Jason was just Dick's replacement--" then why was the worst fear the BATMAN can imagine, can conjure in his mind, losing Jason? Losing Jason was Bruce's greatest fear, something so terrifying to Bruce, to Batman.

Dick, Tim, Damian... They're all good Robin's (no Tim hate here, that's my boy) but Jason was a good son. In the movie, and comic, (Under The Red Hood) everyone agrees that Jason knew he was loved, he knew he was loved even as he grew older and began getting more reckless and violent-- things he wasn't as Robin, not for the majority of his run-- because he was a teenager who was beginning to go through stupid staged in his life where he could make mistakes. Unfortunately, he had all the supplies to make those mistakes fatal, and they proved to be...

But nobody replaced Dick as a son, something he was to Bruce, but things were to rocky, that first child syndrome hits hard and Bruce was young and so, so stupid with Dick... A good Father, but he wanted to be better with Jason, and maybe this is all to fanon territory, but I don't wanna hear a lick of "Bruce never loved Jason." Because Dick was Bruce's pride, but Jason was every last lick of joy in Bruce's body.

Jason was worth breaking his rules in Batman's eyes, briefly, but at a point he was worth it.

Jason, to Bruce, was worth dying for if he couldn't live in a world with him, Jason had Bruce crying for an hour once, after he was taken away from him during his Robin years.

Bruce loved Jason, because that was his son. Unfortunately, things got messed up, their relationship is messy now, yes, but that is still Bruce's son, and deep down, I think he knows that. It's something easier to admit than other times, and I forever hate the title of "Batman's Greatest Failure" because the only failure was not reaching Jason on time, Jason himself was no failure.

ANYWAYS, THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK :D

---

[marscardigan]

freak like me

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: since you started dating ellie, you always wanted to do something with her. so, when one day, she asks about your favorite fetishes, you decide to show her yourself.

word count: 0.9k

content warning: smut (minors dni), kind of exhibitionism(?, porn with plot, don't know what this is I just had to write it down

You loved your girlfriend. You loved how caring and understanding and kind she was. How she would never judge your actions, and how she always made you laugh.

You also loved how she supported every crazy idea that ran through your mind. But maybe this idea was sick and twisted.

But how could you lie to those pretty eyes? Ellie kept looking at you with a sly grin, cheeks flushed from her previous comment.

"C'mon babe, I already told you mine" she whined, hiding her pouty face in the crook of your neck.

You scoffed, "Ellie, you just said you like being praised while you fuck."

"So? It's still something that turns me on!" You could feel her shy smile hiding beneath your touch. "You need to tell me."

"Nah, I'll pass."

"Come on! Is it really that bad?" She looked at you like a kicked dog, caressing your inner thigh softly.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see her face because you knew you would surrender. "It's so embarrassing."

"I'm sure I had worse thoughts, try me."

Her cold fingers touching your skin didn't help. At all. After opening your eyes and seeing her soft gaze towards you, you knew you were a goner.

Fuck it.

"I had like this thought about... Us making out on patrol..." Ellie kept her eyes locked on yours, shifting only to see your lips for a second. "While some infected are like... close to us? I-ugh, I don't know, it's fucking weird- I don't know why-"

Ellie's hand stopped right above your belly, making you dizzy. Both of you stayed quiet, but for different reasons.

You were so ashamed of saying that out loud, that you would've gladly died in that exact moment. Ellie, on the other hand, couldn't erase that dirty image from her head.

Neither of you spoke about it anymore, and you thought Ellie might have forgotten about it, but you were so wrong.

The next time you had patrol together was nine days later. Ellie counted them.

The plan was easy: clean infected from a mall close to Jackson. But the auburn had other plans. She'd have time to kill them after.

She promised you not to talk about it any time soon, but it was hard when it was all Ellie could think about.

When you first entered the mall, you killed a few from the first floor. But when you entered the parking, you could sense Ellie's focus was... indistinct, to say the least. On patrol, she was always behind you for security, but you could tell her eyes were definitely not on the possible threats. When you caught her staring at your ass for the second time, you knew this wasn't a coincidence.

"What are you thinking about?" Your funny tone only worsened the redness on her face.

Ellie could not believe how naive you sometimes were. "You should know what I'm thinking about."

Oh.

She smiled at your reaction. "Yeah, you know."

Was she teasing you know?

A clicking sound interrupted your conversation, and Ellie's smile only widened.

"Ellie." You warned, but she didn't notice the alert in your tone. She only noticed the need. She whispered your name back, grabbing your hips and trapped you between her body and the wall of the parking.

"You do remember what you told me the other day, right?" She whispered in your ear, making your legs shake.

You couldn't answer her, even if you really tried. You pushed your thighs harder against each other, almost moaning her name. Ellie whimpered.

"We should focus on the-ahm...the infected..."

Her hand ran lower every breath you took, getting closer and closer where you needed her the most. You kept calling out her name, and just before you close her eyes, you saw a clicker on the end of the hall. Ellie kissed you before you could alert her, and she kept swallowing every cry of pleasure your body echoed. Her knuckle kept brushing your panties as you nodded at her, the pleasure building inside your belly.

You were shamefully wet by the time she lowered your jeans. She laughed with pride at the sight, and looked up at you, her index finger brushing her lips. "You'll need to be quiet f'me, okay?"

You nearly came at the sight. You nodded, and brushed your fingers through her auburn locks. The finger that was just in her mouth brushed your core just the slightest, and you had to cover your mouth, but Ellie was quick to stop your action, shaking her head, “No-huh, baby, you need to keep making those pretty noises f’me.”

Her tongue slid through your cunt repeatedly, as if she was a starved woman. She grabbed roughly your thigh and pushed it above her shoulder, forcing you to keep it there.

A sob left your lips at the sight of Ellie on her knees, her strong arms making your whole body feel like jelly.

If you died here, you would die happy, you thought.

Your clit throbbed when she put the first finger, her eyes not leaving yours. The clicking sounds only made you harder to think about what was happening.

As she whimpered, her other hand between her legs, your walls finally broke down, and Ellie kept watching.

Your head was still numb when Ellie cleaned the corners of her lips, she pushed you gently and helped you put your jeans back, and a glass shattered.

A gasp sounded, and a clicker came running and-

A gunshot. Ellie’s grunt. The clicker fell right to the floor.

“Oh my god.”

“Shit, I think I came too.”

“Fuck off!”

[yinyuedijun]

FUNERAL MARCH | evil eye x fem!reader x jiji

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human either. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits. (Or: You and Jiji are now engaged. Of course, you have to ask the Evil Eye to marry you too.)

10.8k words. romance, smut, mild angst & comedy. rough sex with the Evil Eye (piv, creampie, overstimulation, bizarre magic, cnc elements in the “nooo it's too much” kind of way, dubcon with the magic). content warnings: aged up characterization, implied past sexual abuse (not involving Jiji or Evil Eye), brief mentions of suicidality, religious references (Taoist ghost marriage), use of English idioms that don't translate well into Japanese (forgive me), canon-typical crass humour. mdni.

I. THE GHOST

You’re in love with his Vessel.

The Evil Eye is well-aware of this. He hadn't known love as a human, but he saw it often enough in the House. Countless families moved in over the years, husbands and wives with little children who were frightened when he tried to play with them. After photography was invented, pictures lined the walls and decorated nightstands. They immortalized brides in their white kimono, grooms with their wide smiles, elegant ceremonies, decadent banquets.

The couples always looked like they were having so much fun, the Evil Eye noticed. Not just in the photos, but in their daily lives in the House—dancing with each other, pressing their lips together, laughing and singing and holding each other. Then they'd die together, hanging themselves because of that shitty worm. The Evil Eye always felt a kind of sadness seeing them in love—he’d never had that, and he'd never get it, and it was unfair in a way that filled him with a searing rage.

But he was even angrier when they died.

It used to make him angry too, when you talked about the Vessel. When he took over and he caught you laughing at something the Vessel had said, or dancing with him, or pressing your lips together. (Kissing, you’d told him the first time it happened. It's called kissing someone, when you do that.)

Then you started kissing the Evil Eye too, and suddenly he wasn't so angry anymore—the latent rage in him for once eased.

Still, it makes him feel sullen when you tell him, “Jiji and I want to get married.”

You are lying next to him in bed. Sweat is cooling on your naked body—you always get so hot when you and the Vessel get into bed with each other, or sometimes when he’s got you bent over the dining room table, or occasionally when you touch each other in that place you call the ‘locker room’, which tends to leave you extra breathless. No matter the place or the time, you’re always lighthearted, glowing, satisfied. It's the effect that the Vessel has when he’s inside you.

(Sex, you told the Evil Eye once, it's called having sex. Or making love. Not all sex is making love, but it's making love the way that Jiji and I do it. And then the Evil Eye demanded that you show him what exactly that meant, and that's when you took him inside you for the first time. He felt so good and so close with you that for a while, it was all he wanted to do.

Wants to do.)

“What does that mean,” the Evil Eye asks, although he has a good idea. You want to live in a House with the Vessel and laugh and sing and hold each other. You want to die together too, probably, your corpses hanging side-by-side from the same bannister.

“It means we’re going to dress up and make vows to spend the rest of our lives together,” you say. “And we’ll live together and build a home and maybe we’ll have babies too.”

The Evil Eye thinks of all those babies who lived in the House, impossibly tiny humans who were cradled by their mothers before they were burned alive as sacrifices. Before he became the Evil Eye—back when he was merely the ghost of a waif—he’d tried to play with them too, making silly faces and dancing as they giggled at him. He liked to pretend that they were his younger sisters or brothers, but sometimes he wondered how it'd feel to hold them and sing to them like their parents did. How it'd feel if he were a husband with a wife and a kid, what it would be like to dance with someone in the kitchen or tuck a child away into its cradle.

But every time he tried to pick the babies up, his hands would pass right through them. Kind-hearted ghosts can't love people in such a physical way; you need to be vengeful to hold onto anything. He'd had to learn to hate all humans before being able to touch them again, and now he's so rife with hatred that he can't love them anyway. All he can do is haunt them.

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits, and that's why he can kiss you and that's why he can hold you and that's why he’s allowed to sex with you (sex, not love—you've never called it making love when you do it with him, and you never look lighthearted after, and you never glow from his touch: he always leaves you panting, marked up, bruised, possessed).

You love the Vessel, so it makes sense that you would want to do all that with him: live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together.

“Oh,” he says. “Sounds fun.”

You laugh. “Yes, I hope it'll be.” Then you lace your fingers with his, and look at him in a tender way that he'll probably never get used to. In a tender way that's meant for the Vessel.

“So, then,” you say almost shyly, “Do you wanna marry me too?”

II. THE VESSEL

Auntie Seiko is as beautiful, young, and no-nonsense as ever. Between meeting her as a child, coming into her care as a teenager, and now seeking her help as an adult, Jiji doesn't think she's ever changed. Most familiar to him right now is the expression that she’s wearing, the one that suggests that he might have shit for brains. Turbo Granny, perched on her shoulder, seems equally bemused, her porcelain cat eyes narrowed into judgemental slits. He'd been hoping that Momo and Okarun would understand his feelings, but they seem equally exasperated—Momo might even be a little appalled.

Anyone else might be disheartened by this reaction, but Jiji is undeterred. These are the people who once realised his wish to protect the Evil Eye; surely, they’ll also realise his wish for him to find happiness.

“—so we talked to him, right? Or my beautiful wifey talked to him, anyway—”

“We're not married yet, Jiji,” you interrupt dryly. “Don’t call me that.”

“—my future beautiful wifey talked to him about getting married, and he said yes! I'm on board. I think they should get a proper ceremony and everything. I know it's a little unconventional since she’ll be marrying me too, but I don't mind sharing, and I'd be willing to work out any legal issues. I'm sure we can find a country where polygamy is allowed.”

“Don’t you think the bigger problem is that he's an evil spirit?!” Momo asks—yells—but Jiji only shrugs.

“Evil or not, don't you think he deserves love and romance just as much as anyone else?”

“No!”

Jiji supposes that he can't blame Momo for her reaction, given how many times the Evil Eye has nearly killed her. Deeming her a lost cause, he turns his gaze on her boyfriend instead, almost puppy-like.

“Don’t you think so, Okarun?”

“Not really,” he admits, and Jiji nearly wilts at the betrayal before he adds, “but I understand where you're coming from. The Evil Eye was like a child when he first possessed you; his greatest wish was to find a friend to play with. Now he's basically a young man who's found his first love and his greatest wish is to be with her… and she, um, happens to be your wifey…”

“Don’t call me that!” you protest, oddly embarrassed, and Jiji resists the urge to squeeze you. You're so cute when you're flustered, it's unbearable. He makes a mental note to tell you this on the way home, though he already does this every day as a rule. When you were both still students, he would say it whenever he walked you home from school; nowadays, he more often says it during long-distance phone calls, or on FaceTime, or occasionally via text if your schedules are that misaligned. But he still makes it a point to remind you everyday, no matter where he is in the world: You're so cute. You're so pretty. You're beautiful, did you know that? I love you.

I love you, he thinks as he watches you. You look bashful right now. “We both want the Evil Eye to find happiness, and I’m pretty sure marriage will make him happy. And, well…” Your gaze drops. “It’d make me pretty happy too.”

Something in Jiji’s chest swells when he sees your expression. It feels mostly sweet, but there's also a painful edge to it. He’s always carried a kind of ache in his ribs ever since the day he caught his parents dangling from the second floor of the House and had to untie the nooses himself. Nowadays, he isn't sure if the pain is from that memory or if it's from the weight of the Evil Eye’s curse. Sometimes it feels like they're one and the same. Often it feels suffocating, like he's drowning and there's nothing he can do to breathe again—not laughing or joking or playing or running.

But you're always there when it’s hard. You're always beside him when he wakes up in the middle of the night to gasp for air, the way he used to when he was haunted as a teenager: It's okay, Jiji, you tell him, voice tender, I'm here for you. You aren't alone. I won't leave you. I won't let anything hurt you. I love you. The nightmares always leave him soaked in cold sweat, so he often switches in these moments, his consciousness displaced by a lonely, crying spirit. He doesn't know what it is you say to the Evil Eye, but when he comes back his heart feels lighter, and from that he knows that you've comforted him too.

The Evil Eye loves you—that much is clear. He loves you as much as Jiji does, probably. In a different way, sure, but just as much in strength.

It follows that nothing would make the Evil Eye happier in this world than getting married to you, Jiji figures. Dead or alive, who wouldn't be elated to marry the love of their life? And Jiji knows it'd make you equally as happy; only an idiot would think that you didn't love the Evil Eye back, and he's no fool. Some people might find it weird that he wants his wife to marry another man—and an evil spirit, at that—and maybe they're right for that. But why would Jiji ever turn down so much collective joy?

So he nods vigorously, giving Momo an intense look. “It'd make us all happy. Trust us!”

Momo gives you both a long, disbelieving stare.

“Well, when you put it that way…” She sighs, resigned. “When’s the wedding?”

“That's what we wanted your help with,” Jiji says, and he gives her grandmother an earnest look. “We want the wedding to be perfect, but we're not really sure how a ceremony would work with a youkai. What dates to choose, what venue to book, who could perform the rites… I mean, could you perform the rites, Ma’am?”

Auntie Seiko frowns. She looks on the verge of admonishing both of you, but Turbo Granny beats her to it: “Idiots. You can't do a Shinto ceremony with the Evil Eye. All three of you will combust into flames.”

“Oh.” Jiji remembers all the aliens and spirits alike that have burned upon attempting to chase them into the shrine grounds. He deflates. “Then… he can't get married?”

You squeeze his hand, and Jiji suspects that it's more for him than yourself. You don't seem nearly so worried.

“Would a Buddhist temple take us?” you ask.

“Doubt it,” Auntie Seiko says around her cigarette. “They’d probably try to exorcise your hubby on the spot—and even if they didn't, no Buddhist priest here would ever stand for tying the spirit of the deceased to a living person. It's how you get hauntings.”

“I don't mind being haunted by the Evil Eye,” you say immediately, and Auntie Seiko snorts.

“I know you don't, but it’s not in our job descriptions to curse people just because they're horny for a ghost.” Momo and Okarun cough loudly, and Jiji feels himself flushing; you cover your face with your hands. “I know a Chinese Taoist who’s done a few ghost marriages, though.”

“They’re okay with cursing people?” you ask, watching her through your fingers. “I mean—not that I mind.”

“Nah—they perform it as a pacification ritual. It would be the safest way to do something like this.” Auntie Seiko studies you closely. “I'm not sure how my acquaintance would react to an evil spirit or to polygamy, but I’ll call him and ask.”

“You're the best, Ma’am!” Jiji bursts, beaming. “We’ll save you an honoured spot in the front row! Turbo Granny too!” Elders should be respected, after all.

Turbo Granny makes a skeptical noise. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, numbnuts. Even if Seiko can find a priest stupid enough to oversee this wedding, there’s something you need that you probably can't find.”

“If we could find Okarun’s balls, I’m sure we can find anything,” you joke, but Granny seems unimpressed, her paws crossed over her chest.

Jiji frowns. “What exactly do we need to get?”

Turbo Granny gives you both an ominous look.

“His bones.”

III. THE CHILD

The Evil Eye hates being in the House.

All the spirits that he carries hate it too, airy things pulsing with rage and sadness and grief so palpable that he can always easily weaponise it. Any good memories that were ever constructed in the House are eclipsed by the hangings, the knife wounds, the suffocation, and also the burnings. Especially the burnings. Especially the white-hot lava washing over him, eating into his flesh—especially his last few days as a twitching, starving, dying thing on a stake; especially being buried, then the House being built atop his remains. Then all the children and babies sacrificed after him, wailing and screaming: unfair this is unfair let me go let me go let me go it hurts it hurts it hurts please stop this please help me Mom Mommy please help me please come back I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

He isn't ordinarily bothered by rage; he was born of it, after all. But he doesn't like feeling so much rage around you. The Evil Eye likes haunting you and will probably someday curse you—both things he once did to the families in this House—but he doesn't want to kill you.

He glances around the basement—the man cursed by Turbo Granny is here, and so is his lover. (Girlfriend, you’d called her. Momo is Okarun’s girlfriend, just like how I'm Jiji’s. You agree to be someone’s girlfriend when you have feelings for them and want to act on them. A-ah—what? Y-yes, I do have feelings for Jiji… Why do you ask?) The dancer and the Shinto priestess aren't here, and neither is the girl with the lizard suit, but they aren't needed.

If he tries to kill you, Okarun alone could probably stop him. This is the only reason that the Evil Eye agreed to let you come in the first place.

“This is so gross,” you whine, completely oblivious. You're knee-deep in the white gunk left by that shitty Tsuchinoko worm. “I can't believe you spent a whole day buried in this stuff, Okarun.”

“It saved me and Turbo Granny,” he replies, pushing his glasses up as he digs through the mess with you. “The lava would have gotten to us otherwise. I think it probably preserved the Evil Eye’s bones too.”

“I hope so…” You turn to the Evil Eye, head tilted. “Are you sure they're here, Jashi?”

Jashi. You say his title like it's name and not a curse. (Jashi, we should go try out this cafe, you'll say, or, Jashi, let’s go check out this show, or, I missed you, Jashi, it's been too long—here, can you feel how much I need you?) Sometimes he wonders if you ever forget that he's a ghost, or if using this Vessel fools you into thinking that he's human. If you lay beneath him in bed thinking that it's technically the Vessel inside you, and not just the monster possessing him.

“I’m a ghost,” he reminds you bluntly, “‘course I know where my remains are. Dunno if they've turned ash, though. Guess you can't marry me if they have.”

“No, we’ll get married,” you say, unbothered. “I'll dig up all the dirt from this shithole and say my vows to that if I have to.”

Okarun gives you a funny look. “How are you gonna get all that dirt out?” he asks.

“I'll make you carry it.”

“Huh? Says who?”

“Says Momo. He’ll help me carry it, right?”

“He will,” Momo affirms, and her boyfriend chokes. She ignores him, scanning the wreckage. “I hope it doesn't come to that, though. Hey, Evil Eye—can’t you be more specific with where we're supposed to dig? Coordinates or a map would be nice.”

“I'm not a fucking radar!”

You give him a pleading look. “Please, Jashi? Can't you try? For your future wifey?”

The Vessel's face gets hot. Its heart does the stupid thing where it jumps when you're around, or when he holds you after the two of you have sex, or when he stares too long at the engagement ring that's usually on your finger (now hanging around your neck on a silver chain, safely away from Tsuchinoko gunk).

“...fine. Gimme a sec.”

He closes the two eyes of the Vessel so that he can focus on his third. Human vision is too bound by shapes and light and figures; it distracts and deceives him. When he can't see your face, it becomes easier to hone in on his resentment. Unfair, his remains whisper to him, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“There,” he says eventually, pointing at the ground, “it's all there. In one spot. Guess I'm still a skeleton.”

You've got something of a sixth sense—whether it’s an effect of touching the golden ball or coupling so often with a spirit, the Evil Eye can't be sure. However it came about, it seems to tell you that he's right. Your eyes go soft when you rest a hand on the dirt he’s pointed at.

“Momo, Okarun,” you say, “Thank you for your help. I can dig this up myself—you guys can take a break.”

“Huh? No, we’d be happy to…” Okarun starts, but then Momo’s dragging him out by the collar and making him squawk.

“Sure—we’ll wait outside!” she says. “C’mon, Okarun, let's look for Mongolian Death Worm remains—I saw an occult article saying that it has medicinal properties if you make a powder extract from it…”

“You can't take that stuff seriously, Miss Ayase…”

After they leave, you spend the rest of the afternoon digging.

The Evil Eye offers to help, but you are determined to do it yourself. It's okay, Jashi, you say, I’m going to do it. You're going to be my hubby—the Vessel’s heart does the throbbing thing again—so it's only right that I'm the one to unearth you.

He doesn't understand it, but he shrugs anyway. Suit yourself. And he watches as you your fingers dig into the dirt, delicate nails collecting detritus. You don't want to use a shovel, you say, because you're sure that his bones will be fragile and you don't want to damage them. Even when he tells you that his bones are likely ruined in the first place, burned to shit and frail from rot, you don't let up. You just keep digging until you’re picking them out of the dirt.

You roll out a silk cloth, revealing lotuses against a pale backdrop. One by one, you lay his bones atop the pink and ivory thread, and you've found about half of them before he realises that you're reconstructing his skeleton. It's a small, pathetic thing. Help me help me I don't want to die, he can remember himself screaming. It hurts it hurts it hurts please stop. Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

The ghosts of the House begin to wail with rage.

Part of him worries for you—probably the part of him influenced by the Vessel, which is capable of a love that ghosts are not. It knows that you don't deserve his wrath.

“You should leave,” he says, but you shake your head. You take your time as you gather up bones, treating them all delicately as you roll them up in the silk, holding them close to you. As if you aren't in the presence of countless wrathful spirits. As if you are with the Vessel, and not with him.

“You were so small,” you say quietly. “Sometimes I forget that you were a child when you died.”

The Evil Eye stares at you, at the pathetic bundle in your hands. “That was ages ago.”

“But it never stops hurting, doesn't it?” you say, and the walls of the House close in on him. They tell him you're right, that you're a human, that you'll hurt him just like the rest of them, that you need to die too. But you look at him, soft in a way that belongs to the Vessel, tender in a way that the waif-ghost covets, and then the House shudders and goes quiet.

“I’m sorry I didn't help you back then,” you say, and it makes no sense, but he doesn't interrupt you. “I promise I'll make your married life a good one, now that we’re together.”

That's stupid, the Evil Eye thinks of saying, pedantic: I'm already dead. But you rise from the dirt before he can protest, and then you're taking his bones out of the House, cradling him in your arms.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

For the first time since being born, his body is allowed to leave the confines of its prison.

IV. THE BRIDE

The ceremony happens at night.

You spend the whole day readying yourself. Aira helps you get into your dress, admonishing you for the satanic rituals you'll soon perform but giving you her blessing anyway. Momo does your makeup, telling you to ignore Aira. Vamola says that you look lovely in stilted, earnest Japanese. Auntie Seiko helps you with your hair; she asks you, all the while, if you would like to wear a headdress that might protect you from evil, or for her to perform a consecration on your body. Turbo Granny is less roundabout, offering to take the Evil Eye’s banana in advance of your marital rites. Serpo warns you not to let the Evil Eye take your bananas—Why are you even here!? Momo yells at him—and Reiko Kashima says you shouldn't listen to any of them. You need to hold onto your man no matter what, she advises.

She also says you're beautiful, though of course you aren't as beautiful as her.

Beautiful. Are you beautiful? You'll be beautiful when you marry Jiji, because you're certain that his PR agent will want you prettied up by a team of stylists rather than a bunch of goofballs. You will need to look good for the photos, at least as handsome as him, and you don't know if you can manage that. You will need to be poised in front of the five hundred people attending, about which ten are your friends and none of which are your family.

You're already married to Jiji, technically. The two of you had a civil ceremony that only Momo and Okarun attended as witnesses, quick and dirty and secret. But the official ceremony will make it real, and you are terrified of that. You love Jiji beyond comprehension, and you know he loves you back tenfold, but you've never been able to rid yourself of the small voice in your head that tells you that you aren't good enough for him. It's been haunting you ever since the two of you fell in love, and you think maybe even before that. Maybe it started plaguing you when you were young.

When you were a child, you used to ask yourself if anyone would ever love you enough to save you from the things being done to you—the things you were convinced would be irreversible. You had confessed this to Jiji before you had sex with him for the first time. (Making love, he corrected you, I want to make love with you, and it made you feel so shy you nearly kicked him out of your bed.) He'd replied that he did love you enough, and that he would save you as many times as you wanted (I’m sorry I couldn't help you back then, he'd added nonsensically, but now that we’re together, I'll make sure your life is a good one), and you were so happy that you cried.

Sometimes you still cry, thinking about his words. But no matter how many times you replay the memory, no matter how often you tell yourself that Jiji is an honest man, the small voice in your head always warns that he’d lied to you. That your wedding to him will be a lie, too.

You often think about how he would leave you (gently), and why he would leave you (the list is endless). And then you try to imagine life without him—no cheerful kisses peppering your features, no goofy expressions putting you in stitches, no grueling morning runs, no messy kitchen sinks, no you're the cutest girl in the world, you're so beautiful I can't believe I'm dating you, how come you don't believe me when I say that stuff, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, I know you can get better I'll help you, I dunno how to talk about this with anyone other than you, sorry I cried that was kinda lame of me, sorry I need to go to Spain, sorry I was away for so long, I got you this merch, I got us tickets to this show, is it my fault you're going to therapy again, can you come with me to Berlin, is everything okay, come with me to the U.S., are you okay, are we okay, I don't want to break up, I love you, I love you so much, marry me, I'm being serious please marry me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I won't leave you—

You don't think you could imagine living without Jiji.

Your looming wedding to Jiji terrifies you, but your ghost marriage does not. You feel calm in your dress, certain in your decision. Jashi has never scared you the way that Jiji has, after all. He doesn't frighten you even when the Taoist priest pulls you aside and tells you, “You can still back out of this.”

“Why would I?”

He dabs at his temples with a handkerchief. “This ritual is dangerous with a being like the Evil Eye. Ghost marriages are meant to pacify benign spirits—not vengeful ghosts. I can't guarantee that he will be calmed by this.”

You give him a quizzical look. “If he isn't calmed, then what would happen?”

The priest swallows. “There are three potential outcomes. One—he is pacified completely and moves on to the afterlife.”

This would scare you ordinarily, but you know Jashi well enough to understand that he would never move on. “Okay. What else?”

“Two—he is unaffected, and things remain the same.”

You wait, watching the way his fingers tremble. A wind blows; it carries the scent of burning sandalwood from the wedding altar.

“And?”

“And three—the most likely possibility—he will attach himself to you and curse you.”

“Oh.” The thought should scare you, but you don't think it's fear that’s squeezing your heart. “What would a curse be like?”

“Devastating. You'll never be able to live a normal life, nor will you have a proper afterlife.” The priest shudders at this possibility, which apparently frightens him too much to further describe. “Listen—if the Evil Eye doesn't pass on, you must not complete the marriage. Completing it would make the attachment permanent, and it would realise any curse he places upon you.”

“‘Completing the marriage”?”

“Consummating it.” His face is white. “Sex magic is unspeakably powerful. I don't believe anyone would be able to break a curse that’s born from it—at least not involving such a great yaoguai.”

Anyone else might laugh at his words, but you remain quiet. After spending so long chasing golden balls and bananas, after nearly a decade of fighting off aliens trying to have sex with Momo and Aira, you know that he is telling the truth.

And besides—you know just how permanently a touch can linger (a lifetime, forever, doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?), so you aren't surprised to hear the kind of curse it inflicts.

“Okay,” you say. “I promise I won't let it happen.”

It is only with this vow that the Taoist consents to overseeing the marriage.

The affair is a hodgepodge of Chinese funerary practices and Western weddings—foreign in every respect, but not uncomfortable. Auntie Seiko, clad in red-and-white robes and a golden headdress, walks you down the aisle. Against all her counsel, a white veil sits atop your head and chases after your shoulders. You stop before an altar of offerings and summoning talismans, Taoist spells lit up by the full moon hanged above. Instead of a bridegroom, you are next to a coffin that holds a tiny skeleton. The priest is before you, now possessed by a death god that will call Jashi back to his remains. Supposedly it is a Taoist deity, but its presence feels more extraterrestrial to you than anything spiritual. You will need to ask Serpo about it later.

You study the audience as the priest begins the summoning ritual. Jiji sits in the front row, watching you intently; if all goes well, Jashi will leave his body for the duration of the ceremony, along with all the vengeful ghosts that once resided in the sacrificial house with him. The spirits of the house scare you more than Jashi; you do not know how they will behave once cleaved from his control. There's a banquet for them in the back, a long table with a spread of incense, flowers, rice, and fruit—but you do not know if it will be enough to pacify them.

Your wedding party is equally on edge. As the White Impermanence begins its rituals, Jiji’s body slumps, and everyone else stiffens in their seats. The air grows rife with malevolence. The stars and moon blink out of existence, the world around you grows silent, and a suffocating darkness overtakes the night—almost as if you have been submerged in Empty Space. Tiny cyan flames erupt in the air around the banquet table, their glow eerie in the darkness. They must all be onibi, you guess.

Jashi himself emerges before you, standing over the coffin that holds his bones. You’d expected him to look like the emaciated child that he'd died as, or perhaps the stick-thin monster that used to haunt Jiji—but he takes another form altogether, a formless shadow that your mind can barely comprehend. You're vaguely aware of Turbo Granny covering Momo’s eyes, Okarun transforming, Auntie Seiko readying her bat—but you don't look at any of them. You only stare, as if in a trance, at the single vertical eye that is now peering at you from the darkness.

It is probably strange that you feel so calm. If you were a normal person, you'd probably run from your wedding altar of incense and offerings. Or, actually—if you were a normal person, your mind would be fraying at the edges, gripped by a desire to self-destruct. You would sob and beg the Evil Eye to lift its gaze and let you go and to return to you your life.

But you are not a normal person. The Evil Eye has never really made you feel particularly suicidal, nor have you ever really wanted to beg for your life before it. Your gaze is calm as you recite your vows from memory:

I shall marry this man. No matter what tragedies may arise, I will love this person, respect this person, console this person, help this person—until death, and beyond it. I swear these things before the gods.

When the Evil Eye makes his vows, it is in speech that human ears cannot understand. From the wedding banquet, the spirits of the house cry, their wails cacophonous and wrathful, and suddenly you realise that something has gone terribly wrong. Something has changed with this ghost wedding, and not for the better, but when Seiko rises from her seat, you raise a hand.

Finally, the Evil Eye recedes. The darkness lifts, although the spirits linger. Jiji’s eyes flutter open, immediately anxious and disturbed. You give him a reassuring smile—and the rest of your wedding party, too.

Something has gone terribly wrong. Still, you go about your business cheerfully. You thank the Taoist priest, and you insist to him that you will clean up the altar yourself. You greet your friends and say that they should head for the reception, which will have food for humans rather than ghosts. You peck Jiji on the cheek, beaming at him, and he relaxes and congratulates you.

He cups your face tenderly, kisses you on the nose. “You look happy,” he says.

Something has gone terribly wrong, but you still smile and tell him, “Yes.”

V. THE OFFERING

Your marriage bed is an altar.

Ivory petals are scattered across the bed, along with whole lilies and chrysanthemums. Sweetness permeates the room, carried by the smoke of burning incense. Flames dance upon red candles, flickering as they cast a gentle, soft light. This is your attempt to set an intimate mood, but the Evil Eye does not feel any form of love—he only knows greed. Every object in this room is an offering for the dead, meant for ghosts to consume, and you are the greatest offering of all, waiting for him on the centre of the bed in white silk. You are more fragrant than any joss, riper than any fruit, and he is the most ravenous ghost in existence.

“Isn't this romantic?” you say, beaming at him, and this is when the Evil Eye understands that he absolutely cannot have sex with you.

The wedding was meant to pacify him, perhaps even allow him to move on, but it only did the opposite. Seeing you before him at the altar, vowing to spend a lifetime with him despite all his resentment and ugliness made bare—it only made him more covetous. To move on would be to give up all the love you’ve offered him, the kind of love he'd been denied his whole life.

The kind of love he cannot return.

But he wants it anyway. And like any ghost, he’ll take it—take your love, your heart, your body, your life—if he is allowed to spread your legs and fuck you.

He knows this intuitively, although Turbo Granny also told him this. If you care for her even a little bit, she'd groused, you won’t go through with it. Then she'd threatened to take his banana and his nuts.

But vengeful spirits cannot care for human beings, not truly. It's a wonder that the Evil Eye is hesitating at all, why he feels a pit when he thinks about trapping you. It must be a consequence of his Vessel, who loves you so selflessly that even his body resists hurting you.

“We shouldn’t do it,” he says outright. You blink at him.

“Why?” You tilt your head. “...are you getting wedding night jitters? Do ghosts get nervous?”

He stares at you, uncomprehending. “What? No! I'm not fucking nervous!”

You frown. “Then what's the matter?”

It'll be dangerous for you, he tries to say, but then you're giving him a shy look and untying the sash around your waist. He swallows as the silk robe drops around your shoulders, pools around your thighs. The ivory lace covering your breasts and your core is so sheer that he can practically see through it. It's delicate, pretty—and he wants nothing more than to tear it off and ruin you.

“Don’t you”—you look so flustered, so cute, an echo tells him—“don’t you wanna make love to your wifey?”

Part of him thinks he might cum in his pants. The other part of him wants to leave. Wifey, making love—those are all words that you use on the Vessel. All words that are meant for the Vessel. You're confusing the Evil Eye with your real lover, under the delusion that he is human, unaware that you're being haunted. The Evil Eye is not the man you wish to marry, to live in a House with, to make babies with, to grow old with.

Unfair unfair unfair it hurts it hurts it hurts please please please I don't want to die. I don't want you to die. Why can't I touch you? Why can't I hold you? Please please please—

“I can't.”

Your brow arches. “What do you mean?”

“I can't make love to you.” He pauses, feels a kind of frustration bubbling up when you give him a confused look. “I don't love you.”

Your mouth opens, and you make a faint, strangled noise before asking, “What?”

“I don't love you.”

It takes a moment. You stare at him; you look down; you close your eyes. Your shoulders shake. You'll probably get angry and throw him out, or you'll just calmly ask him to leave. However you do it, you would cast him out, and it would be for the better. You would remain uncursed, free to live out a proper life with the Vessel, and the Evil Eye would get to keep his nuts.

But instead of doing either of those things, you start sniffling—and all the blood leaves his face.

“You”—your voice is so fragile, and it cracks and breaks and his throat feels like it's closing up—“what do you mean you don't love me?”

The Evil Eye's mouth drops open as you start to sob. “W-wait, wait—why are you crying? Don’t cry!”

You start to wail. “You don't love me! I just married you and you don't love me! How am I not supposed to cry?” Between hiccups and sniffs, you pick up one of the pillows and throw it at him. He's paralyzed, forgets to dodge, and it hits him square in the face. “What did I do wrong?!”

“Nothing!” he yells. His heart is pounding. It's squeezing and twisting and it feels so bad that he nearly wants to dispossess the Vessel. “You didn't do anything wrong! It's not you! It's—”

“If you say ‘It’s not you, it's me’, I'll kill you! I'll really kill you!”

“I’m already dead!”

“Then I'll beat your ass!”

“You can't beat my ass! You're not strong enough!”

“Then I'll banish you! I'll spray Jiji with hot water everyday and I won't let you come out! Not even to have Pampy! Not even to play with Okarun!”

The Evil Eye’s mouth drops open. “That's fucking mean!”

“You're fucking mean!” You look at him, and your gaze is so watery and pained that the Evil Eye can't help but go to you. He doesn't realise that he's wiping away your tears until his fingers are wet, and he can’t find it in himself to push you away when you press your face into his shoulder and cling to him. His arms—no, the Vessel’s arms; it must be the Vessel doing this—tighten around you.

“Why—why don't you love me?” you whine between hiccups, and the Evil Eye should call you foolish for expecting him, a spirit who intends to kill all of mankind, to ever love a human. To think that you could spend all these years around him and be so delusional about his true nature—is it that you've forgotten that he drives people to suicide? That his intent is to someday kill all of you, after killing Okarun? The spirits of the House scream at him to grab your face and force you to look at his hideous third eye, to remind you of what he is, to say you're a human you should die like the rest of them you’re as guilty as all of them, you would lock me in a cage too, you would burn me alive and bury my bones beneath a House.

Instead, he rubs your back until your breath begins to even out. And rather than grabbing you and threatening you, he clears his throat.

“I'm… a vengeful spirit,” he says lamely. “Love just isn't something that's in our nature.”

“Why not?” you sniff.

“‘cause if it were, we wouldn't be vengeful. We wouldn't even be ghosts in the first place, probably.”

“B-but,” you whimper, “we've been dating for so long. We live together and sleep together and eat together. You take care of me and I take care of you. We go on dates and hold hands. We even have sex—like, a lot of sex. You initiate it!” You sound accusatory, and the Evil Eye doesn't understand why. Of course he wants to have sex with you; it's one of the most addictive things about having this body. The part of the living world he wants most, nowadays. “If you didn't feel anything for me, why would you do any of that?”

He bristles. “Of course I feel something for you,” the Evil Eye says, oddly agitated. “Just ‘cause I can't love doesn't mean I can't feel. Resentment is what anchors ghosts to this world in the first place.”

“Then what do you feel for me, if not love?” Your fingers dig into the Vessel’s white suit. “Resentment?”

The Evil Eye stares blankly. He doesn't know how to describe it all—the longing, the greed, the envy for the Vessel. The euphoria and closeness of being inside you, a feeling so good that he didn't even know that such joys existed when he was human. The idea of living in a House filled with wedding photos, the thought of making babies with you that he might hold and touch and kiss. So many things that he never had in life. So many things that he can't help but want in death.

So many things that he can't help but want to trap you for them.

“...no, I don't resent you,” he says. “It’s more like I wanna curse you.”

He expects you to cry more—after living for such a long time among humans, he now has enough manners to understand that it is rude to curse someone who has only ever treated you with unconditional love, even if in error—but instead, you become strangely quiet.

You pull away from him so that he can see your face. It's—hopeful?

“You wanna curse me?”

“Yeah. Curse you—haunt you, possess you, control you.” He shrugs. “The usual things that ghosts do when they're so attached to something that they can't move on. You know.”

“Oh.” You wipe your eyes, and the Evil Eye has to stop himself from helping. “I'm so happy.”

“...you're what?”

“I'm so happy that you feel that way about me.”

He stares at you. “You're happy that I wanna curse you?”

“Yeah.”

The Evil Eye studies you. You never react to him in ways that make sense—you’re endeared by him when you should be afraid; you treat him sweetly when you should be callous; you even seem to enjoy his violence when everyone else always punishes it. Now you’re touched by the idea of being cursed.

“Why?” he asks flatly. “I thought you wanted to be loved. Or make love. Something like that.”

You give the Evil Eye a long, thoughtful look.

“Jashi,” you start, voice gentle now, “what do you think love is supposed to look like?”

A married couple in a House. A baby in his mama’s arms. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight.

“Dunno.” When you stare at him, as if expecting something, he grows agitated. “I said it's not in my nature. Talk to the Vessel about that stuff, not me.”

One of your brows arches. “Why? You're my husband”—his heart kicks violently at that; he hates this fucking body sometimes—“I want to know what you think love looks like. And besides…” Your voice gets all quiet, and you look away. “It’s not like Jiji would necessarily agree with my views anyway.”

That gets his attention. “What do you mean?”

You hum. “How do I explain it… well, for example—if I found happiness with someone else and left to be with them, Jiji would be heartbroken, but he would be happy for me. Because he loves me, it's ultimately most important for him that I'm happy.”

A married couple in a House. Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A baby in his mama’s arms. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair I don't wanna die I wanna play with other children I want to dance in the field please please please why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“That's fucking stupid,” the Evil Eye blurts out.

“But that's what he’s told me—and I believe him.” You smile at him. “Now, how do you think I'd react if someone took you or Jiji away from me?”

This feels like a trick question. He squints at you. “The same?” he tries.

“That would be ideal. But honestly,” you admit, “I would resent you all for the rest of my life and then think about killing myself. That's what love looks like for me.”

“Oh.” The Evil Eye nods, relaxing. “Yeah, that makes way more sense.”

You laugh, sounding genuinely amused. “Jiji doesn't think so. It really worries him that I feel this way. It would worry most people, actually.” Then you get a little quiet. “I do want to get better for him, but it doesn't come naturally to me, the way that he loves me.”

He doesn't like the tone you're using—soft, uncertain. Mournful. You feel like one of the spirits in the House right now. He thinks about the way you cradled his bones, and his hold on you tightens.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I'm saying that I don't mind that you want to haunt me, or possess me, or whatever.” Your eyes are earnest. Steadfast with the confidence you had as you unearthed his grave. “To be honest, being cursed by you isn’t nearly as frightening as being loved by Jiji.”

The Evil Eye cups your face, thumbing away your tears. Would you cry like this if you knew what it would mean, to be possessed by him? Would you regret your offer to him, the way that the Vessel regrets his? Or would you stare at his true face as you did at the altar and vow to love him anyway?

Instead of asking you any of this, he allows you to loop your arms around his neck.

“I want you to make love to me,” you murmur sweetly as you climb atop him, and that makes him pause.

Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair unfair why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“I said I don't know how to do that.”

“Fine,” you say, and then you’re pressing your lips against his, grinding your cunt against his hardening cock. “Then curse me instead.”

VI. THE DEMON

You've always known that the Evil Eye couldn't love you in a normal way.

It was obvious from the outset, simply cataloguing him for what he is: a monster born from human sacrifice; a curse that drives people to madness, to suicide; a thing that regularly exploits Jiji for his body and makes him commit violence against his will. Jiji and Okarun and the rest might be delusional about the Evil Eye nowadays—thinking that he's just like a kid, that he just wants to play, that he’s in love and wants to get married and play house—but you are not. He can't play with Okarun in normal ways, and he can't love you in normal ways. Every desire ends in blood. That's how it began for him, after all. How he was born.

Your mind has always known this, but your body only learned it the first time you had sex. The Evil Eye doesn't know how to make love to you the way that Jiji does. You’ve tried countless times now, and he's even demanded that you make him do it that way so that he knows what the Vessel gets to feel during sex with you. You've kissed him deep and slow, gently touched him until he felt desire, taken him inside you and pressed your forehead to his. Just like that, you encouraged him countless times, you're doing so good. Good boy. You're doing so well. I love you.

You always end up with your face pressed into the mattress, cheeks wet with tears and throat hoarse from screaming. Sore and bruised and fatigued and it's too fast, it's too big, I can't, please, and with any other man you'd probably hate it but when it's Jashi you always end up moaning and begging for more. You'd always thought you’d be disgusted with yourself for having this kind of sex, but with him, you feel too good to really care. All you can think about is his teeth marking your neck, the cruelty of his rough hands, how his cock fills you so well that you can hardly breathe.

He’s taken you like this countless times, but something feels different about it right now. It might be the incense, so thick in your throat and your lungs that you're dizzy with it. It might be the fragrant petals crushed beneath you, soft and strange things that you stole from your wedding altar. Flowers for the dead, the priest had said to you, given to the ancestors, or to bodies as they're lowered into the ground.

You think maybe that's happening to you, right now: you’re dying, you're being torn apart, you’ll break in Jashi’s hands. It'll leave a mark on your body for a lifetime, forever—and you don't need to be saved.

But even after being fucked so many times, even after your mind has been made so hazy and distant, you're still trying so hard not to come apart at the seams. An agonizing pressure is building in your belly, and you can't let it burst. It’s inconvenient when you get too wet; it makes Jashi switch, which is normally hilarious but would feel catastrophic right now, when you’re drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you and don't want any of this to end. But it's so hard, keeping yourself from drenching him—you can hardly think when he's fucking you like this, let alone control yourself.

“I c-can't anymore,” you whine. “Jashi, you gotta stop, I need a break, please—”

Jashi doesn't care. He takes and takes and takes, and of course he does. It's in his nature as a vengeful ghost, as an existence so empty it can't do anything but consume the life around it. It's not enough that you’ve been ruined by his cock, that you're being used like a fleshlight. It's not enough that he’s made you cum countless times—not out of consideration to you, but simply because he's addicted to the feeling of you squeezing and milking him. It's not enough that he's spilled himself inside you more times than should be possible, uncaring of the consequences. It's not enough, it's never enough—he always needs more from you; more tears, more begging, more feverish, white-hot pleasure.

You shouldn't be surprised when you feel his hips start to stutter again, his cock twitching inside you. Some distant part of you is alarmed anyway, even as your cunt tightens around him, eager to be filled. You've never let anyone fuck you raw before tonight, never had anyone fill your womb up like this—not him and not Jiji; you've always been too afraid of pregnancy—but with each passing moment, it is harder to remember why. Not when it feels so good to be pumped full by him, your body flooded with a strange warmth each time. Unnatural, you keep thinking, this feels weird, he's doing something to me, he's cursing me, he's claiming me. But all you do is wrap your legs around his waist when he cums again, greedy for more, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of it.

He has to stop after this. He has to be sated. He pulls out, his cock throbbing against your swollen pussy, painting it a creamy white—and then he throws your legs over his shoulders and sinks back into you.

“Nooo,” you moan, squirming, thrashing, knowing you'll burst if he fucks you again. “I can't, I can't—I can't hold it in anymore, I can't—”

“Then don't,” he grunts. He looks straight down at you, his weight heavy on you, oppressive, unnatural. You hold your breath as you look at his face—dark and vicious, the vibrant eye on his forehead enrapturing. For the first time in your life, you feel a madness creeping in as it stares at you, fraying at your control. You can't move, can't resist him, can't think, and when he starts thrusting again, your body floods with a euphoria so hot that all you know how to do is cry.

You’re going to break from the ecstasy.

“W-what,” you gasp, “what are you doing to—”

Something hits your sweet spot, and your voice clips off into a desperate whimper. His cockhead starts grinding against it, and you try so hard to squirm, to stop, to control yourself—but whatever he's done to you has made you weak, pliant, and you feel yourself start to pulse. Pinned beneath his gaze, you can neither get away nor fight it. You can only surrender. The pressure is too much, your womb is too hot, and suddenly your back is arching and you feel like you're dying as you gush all over him.

You're in hysterics as you come down, panting and gasping for breath. “No more, no more,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, clinging to him. You sob into the crook of his neck, and finally—finally—he relents.

He’s gentle as he pulls out, careful as he sets you down on the bed. Kisses pepper your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips. Then, finally—his forehead pressed against yours, lashes fluttering against your skin.

“You're alright,” Jiji murmurs. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

VIII. THE CURSE

The Evil Eye has cursed you.

Jiji saw it on your body: a sunburst of strange characters on your stomach, an eye in the centre. The Taoist priest had broken into a pale sweat at the sight, its implications: if anyone else tries to touch you, whether with the intent to do harm or pleasure, then the untold carnage will be wrought upon them. Should you ever try to leave the Evil Eye, he will drag you back with such violence that it will shatter you. That so long as that vengeful ghost is bound to this earth, then so too shall be you.

Jiji is less worried than he probably should be. He doubts that the Evil Eye would truly ever hurt you, and also doubts that you’re physically capable of leaving him anyway. Ever since being marked, you haven't been able to go a day without having either of them inside you—brutally if it is with the Evil Eye; gently if with Jiji. Either way, you’ve been desperate for their touch, plagued by an all-consuming lust if you can't have them. It puts a wrench into all the plans for your respective careers and for the long distance arrangement. Auntie Seiko plans to train you to suppress the curse, but it isn't sustainable.

Privately, though, there's a part of Jiji that doesn't mind the excuse to see you all the time. It’s not that he wants to deny you your freedom, quite the opposite, but—you're his beautiful wife. And he's ridiculously in love with you. He can't help but miss you every day you're apart, and he also can't bring himself to complain about this particular aspect of the curse.

He also understands the Evil Eye for doing this to you. Sure, cursing you wasn't Jiji’s first act as a newlywed—but he also kinda gets it.

Jiji shares dreams with the Evil Eye, sometimes. He sees within them everything that the Evil Eye has experienced—not just as a demon, but as a spirit, a child, a waif. Sometimes he hears the thoughts that he once had, the ones that made him turn vengeful: unfair, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

After all that? Of course the Evil Eye doesn't experience desire the way that a human would. Of course playing with someone is the same thing as killing them. Of course loving someone is the same thing as cursing them. And the Evil Eye loves you—that much is obvious, would be obvious to Jiji even if they didn't share a body—so of course his instinct was to carve you open and mark you with his spell.

Jiji feels poorly about it sometimes, guilty and selfish and like he should have ended things after all. Then you'd be free to love whoever you want, without the threat of certain death looming over you. But then you smile at him in bed, so tender and pretty and glowing beneath him. “I'm glad I get to be with you both,” you sigh, and then he can't really complain. After all, you're his beautiful wife. Jiji is ridiculously in love with you. Of course he wants you to be happy.

If it really ever comes down to it, if you really ever wanted to leave—Jiji knows he'd have himself exorcised. He'd rather die than hurt you. But the possibility seems so distant right now, with how you're studying the stone monument before you. You seem peaceful, tranquil, a calm figure cut against a placid, blue sky. Jiji guesses that's appropriate: cemeteries are meant to be resting places.

This plot of gravesoil belongs to the Enjoji family, and there is a spot carved out for you, right next to the space reserved for him. You bear his surname now, so when the two of you pass, you’ll be allowed to rest side-by-side. He already knows what the Evil Eye would say to that: you'll live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together and be buried together. And if Jiji could talk to him, if he could for once directly speak with the monster inhabiting him, he'd beam at him and say yeah, we sure are.

But the Evil Eye would miss one thing, and it's that he'd also be buried with you. He'd be buried with both of you.

In your hands is an urn, plain but dignified. It carries the ashes of a waif hundreds of years old, the remnants of a brutal sacrifice. The last step of a ghost marriage is to bury the bones of the bride with the remains of the groom, but you're an Enjoji now, and Jiji’s family does cremations, not burials. When the time comes, you'll be burned, and your ashes will be mixed with those belonging to Jashi. He’ll go before either of you: by the end of the day, his remains will be in the crypt, though Jiji doubts his spirit is going anywhere.

“We’ll be interred with each other, someday,” you say to the ashes, tender. “But first we’ll spend a lifetime together.”

Then you turn to Jiji, your smile sunlit. It's shy, because you're always shy around Jiji—even though he's now your husband and you’ve married him in front of five hundred people and he's made love to you every which way on every piece of furniture in the house since then—and you add, “And we’ll spend a lifetime together too.”

Jiji laughs. “I guess you're stuck with me,” he says, and a frown briefly overtakes your face.

“We’re all stuck with each other,” you correct him. “You're cursed as much as I am.”

“I guess.” He scratches his cheek, sheepish. “Sorry you ended up with a husband who’s possessed by a ghost.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jashi,” you say, and you seem a little uncertain, but Jiji can't help but smile. Partly because he appreciates it when you're earnest with him, but mostly just because he loves you.

“You're so beautiful,” he says, “did you know that?”

You huff at him, turning around. “You’re too much,” you chide, but he hears the fondness in your tone. Jiji grins, and—in the privacy of the cemetery—takes the opportunity to loop his arms around you. You giggle when he squeezes you, and then your voice goes quiet.

“I love you,” you say, “did you know that?”

“Uh huh.” He spins you around so he can waggle his brows and give you his most reassuring look. You snort violently at his expression. “It’s super obvious. You can't resist my charms.”

When your laughter passes, you look down at the ashes in your arms—the child that you carried out of the House.

“Do you think,” you ask, voice odd, “he knows that?”

Jiji’s eyes soften. Because he shares dreams with the Evil Eye, and sometimes he shares thoughts with him too—like the pain in his chest that's been aching ever since he found his parents hanging side-by-side from the second floor, the one that grew every time he found the body of a spirit medium, the one that choked him when his relatives called him cursed and slammed the door in his face. He slept on the ground in front of their house after that—he didn't want to go back to the place where his parents nearly died—and called Auntie Seiko the next day, when he realised that they truly didn't want him around.

Sometimes he shares dreams with the ghost haunting him, and when he screams in his sleep he can't tell if the voice in his throat is truly his or if it actually belongs to the Evil Eye. But no matter its origin, it goes quiet when you hold him in bed and kiss his forehead. Just like how it went quiet when you carried that skeleton out of the House.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“Yeah,” Jiji says. “Yeah, he does.”

END

some general notes:

this was a weird fic to write. ordinarily I would write the evil eye as having a childish and immature narrative voice; however, I (1) had to balance it with an aged up characterization, and (2) did not want to get cancelled, so I instead ended up with something in-between that feels a little awkward

there is jiji-focused companion fic that is like 50% done about him fucking you nasty after he switches places with the evil on your wedding night. I will probably finish it and post it when s2 comes out LOL

i know this is not my best writing rip please forgive me

some cultural notes:

taoism has real-life sex magic practices and places a lot of significance on, err, certain bodily fluids in terms of spiritual energy. none of these beliefs have anything to do with getting cursed via freaky ghost marital sex, but they served as the general inspiration for the curse in the fic (alongside dandadan canon, which coincidentally also places a lot of spiritual significance in sex and sexual organs lol)

the vows recited by the reader are a modification of standard japanese wedding vows (found on Google, take with a grain of salt). incidentally, western-style weddings are apparently quite popular in Japan, hence the decision for the bridal dress.

a lot of the wedding details are inspired by chinese funerary practices in addition to actual taoist ghost marriages. I took a lot of creative liberties with the wedding scene in general; real-life ghost marriages are quite different (from my understanding; I have never attended one)

[bladeafterdark]

You asked I'll deliver a lot of this is gonna be what I wish I had and what I'm hoping for in the future but I am actively working on it now too

Im aromantic but not romance repulsed I wanna have someone (or someones cause I'm also Poly) who I cuddle with who I do kink with platonically who I put before most people simply because we're very close because we're really really good friends and I love them in a queer platonic manner But when I say queer platonic i dont mean a monogamous vanilla relationship (no hate to those that do) I mean Poly I mean Kinky and weird I mean is this a friendship? and most people would tell you no because it's too close to be "Just friends" The societal expectations around "just friends" and the idea of that is so belittling to the way that I love people. if I get to know you and get connected to you it's going to be a queer platonic relationship! I can't just platonically love somebody but I am in no way romantically loving somebody either it's a beautiful mash of the two and something else I cant even explain but I'll try. I'm still going to want to know your medical history to keep you safe know where your spoons are in your kitchen know how to feed your pets and and clean your house sometimes when I'm over because I know where everything is and I know that you're having a rough day and I love you you're my friend that's just what I do I had a friendship that had these elements in it and these 2 were together and neither of them liked mustard but I hung out with them so frequently and was such a good friend with them that they kept mustard in their refrigerator FOR me

I tried to explain it but I don't think either of them ever really understood how much that IS love to me that is the closest I ever want to get to romantic love

And so when we weren't friends anymore even though things had only ever been platonic and then my queer version of platonic it has felt like a breakup

And on the Ace part kink is sex to me genitals don't have to mash for that to be a thing but I would still do that too not because I am feeling sexual attraction but because it's a thing that I think could be fun to do with a person occasionally and or because they would like to not because I'm feeling the attraction about it so as far as I concerned I'm still Ace anyway I hope this is what you meant and I hope this helped but I promise you OP people are out here doing it like that it's fun

Im sorry but being aromantic and/or asexual is such a beautiful, complex identity that opens up almost endless possibilities and interpretations about sex and romance and relationships and struggles within those,

and i will always absolutely LOATHE how both the outside and the aro/ace community itself have boiled these identities down to just "doesnt have sex" and "doesnt date"

[harunayuuka2060]

WHB Not A Descendant (Cont.)

Michael: You found me, the new devil of Gehenna.

MC: ...

MC: Is that an eye infection?

Michael: ...

Michael: I'm surprised you went alone. Didn’t you ask for help from a devil named Andrealphus?

MC: I sent him on a killing spree. It would be exploitation if I even asked him to help me get rid of you.

Michael: Hm, is that so? You seem to be underestimating me.

MC: ...

MC: Well, you don't look that impressive.

Michael: ...

Michael: You've grown arrogant after capturing Raphael and Gabriel. Just so you know, I'm not like them.

MC: I know. They don't have an eye infection like you.

Michael: IT IS NOT!

MC: ...

MC: Yeah, no. You can't convince me that it isn't.

Michael: ...

Michael: You have a filthy mouth. You must perish.

MC: Wait. There's something I would like to say first.

Michael: ...Go ahead.

MC: Do you feel numb?

Michael: What—

Michael: *feels his senses fading* *falls to the ground*

Michael: You...

MC: Sorry. I don't feel like fighting today, so I just injected you with some neurotoxin.

Michael: *tries to get up, but he ends up coughing blood*

MC: ...

MC: Can you not do that? It's gross.

Gabriel and Raphael: ...

Michael: ...

Gabriel: Great. You've been captured too.

Michael: Silence.

Raphael: But isn't it a bit unfair? He gets to keep his wings.

Gabriel: Haven't you heard? That devil wouldn't even dare to lay their hands on him because they believe he has an eye infection.

Michael: *glares at him*

Michael: How about you two? You didn't even attempt to escape?

Gabriel and Raphael: *chuckle*

Michael: ...

Gabriel: We're not leaving this place without corrupting that devil.

Raphael: If only we could mesmerize them with our beauty—

MC: *who has just entered the room, hearing that part of the conversation*

MC: ...

MC: What beauty?

Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael: ...

Leviathan: Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael — the three seraphs have been captured and are currently detained.

Asmodeus: With that, can we consider the war over?

Beelzebub: I don’t think so. Some angels act on their own. Keke.

Mammon: Even so, this is a huge start.

Satan: Ah, but I'm not sending that child anymore.

Lucifer: Why is that?

Satan: They've already contributed enough.

*The kings nodded in agreement.*

Asmodeus: We should give them a reward for all the trouble.

Mammon: We can set them up with one of the 72 devils.

Leviathan: No, it has been decided that they are married to Foras.

Beelzebub: You do know that a working husband is not a real husband, no?

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: We should give something they would appreciate.

Asmodeus, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, and Beelzebub: ...

MC: What do I crave the most?

Sitri: Yes, except brownies.

MC: ...

MC: A hand massage.

Sitri: Huh? Only that?

MC: I couldn't think of anything else besides that right now.

Sitri: I see...

Foras: It is only right that I give that massage.

Sitri: Sir Foras, I am their adoptive father.

Foras: I am their working husband.

Andrealphus: They called me 'hyung'.

Gamigin: I am their new friend!

Bael: ...

Bael: Are we seriously fighting on whom to give them a hand massage?

Bimet: It should be done by someone who knows acupressure.

Buer: I'll do it.

Foras, Sitri, and Gamigin: ...

Gamigin: I know how to do that too—

Buer: No.

[malewifeharem]

ok but imagine sylus with a tongue piercing... why havent i seen any posts on this mdni nsfw. not proofread. fem mc

your breath hitches as you feel the cold metal of his piercing come into contact with your inner thigh. your legs are gently but firmly kept in place over his shoulders. "fuck... sy, quit teasing already..." your body feels like its been set on fire. you can feel your juices pooling between your legs and dripping onto the sheets below but you couldn't care less right now. all you can think of is the heavenly sight before you - the way you have the most wanted man in linkon - the leader of onychinus, looking absolutely debauched and feral all for a taste of you. "patience, kitten." his voice is deep and commands your obedience, and you find yourself holding back from pushing his head down nose-deep into your cunt already. he lets out an amused chuckle at the way your hips jerk up - desperate and mindless, your body betraying your mind. this is torturous, even for him - but good god, seeing you all pliant and squirmy had to be the hottest thing he's ever seen. one of his hands lets go of your thigh to slowly trail up your torso before finally giving your breast a squeeze. at the same time, sylus's head dips down to give your clit a lick, relishing in the way you immediately make your relief well-known with a loud moan. "f-fuck... oh- sylus!" your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs it towards your pussy - unable to hold back the hunger for more pleasure. more of him. ever eager to please, he doesn't deny it to you. he plunges straight in - lapping up your juices as if his sole purpose in life was to satisfy you. (it is) if you weren't lost in ecstasy right now, you'd be able to see the small smirk on his face - so smug at the way he has you unraveling all for him. the contrast between the feeling of his smooth, chilling ball piercing and warm, wet tongue sends you reeling. his sharp and thick nose kisses your poor swollen clit perfectly, rubbing it just the way you needed every time you grinded against his face. "i can feel you tightening around my tongue, sweetie... does my piercing feel good, hm?" sylus says in between bated breaths - unintentionally blowing hot air onto your sloppy messy cunt. "f-fuck, sylus...! ohmygod-"

you feel an all-too familiar knot in your stomach creeping up rapidly, ready to burst at any moment.

through your teary vision and hazy mind, you notice your boyfriend's own fucked-out look - with your slick coating his entire mouth, dripping down his chin - as if he could care about that when he had a feast splayed out right in front of him. "gonna hah- c-cum... sy! 's too much- ngh- i...!" when your legs start to shake and you subconsciously move away from his tongue, you feel the constricting strings of his evol pull you back down - not letting you escape. "where do you think you're going, kitten? ngh- don't run away now..."

your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw hangs wide as you feel your orgasm crashing over - so hard and violent - you think you might not make it out alive. spurts of syrupy cum gushes out of your pussy and sylus is there to lick it all up - letting you ride out the waves of pleasure.

only when you push his head away does he stop, letting you catch your breath. when you finally come to, you notice the wet splotch on the crotch of his pants - did he really...?

"sweetie... if you keep staring, i won't be able to control myself anymore. can you bare the consequences?"

"haah... yes," you almost whine - your own hunger to please him not satisfied.

the clinking of his belt followed by the sound of his belt unzippping has you anticipating for what comes next even more - sending tingles of excitement straight to your greedy cunt.

"let me know when you're too tired to go on, pretty girl." he coos gently despite his filthy words.

"because we still have a long way to go before my hunger for you is satiated."

[littelovelunette]

absolutely filthy gp!sevika request incoming >:)

i was just thinking about how she’d hold your legs open as she fucks you into the mattress because she wants to see exactly what she’s doing to you…

and when you can tell that she’s close you beg her to cum inside and she gives in and does cause she simply couldn’t help herself…

anyways do with that what you will!!! hehe

Absolutely filthy G!P Sevika coming up, it's long 1.1k words, haha enjoy, babies

The November Challenge

Contains smut, degradation, cnc, sevika has a dick, clit play, anal, anal virginity, squirting, spanking, praising, fingering

You thought it would be funny to make Sevika commit to the No-Nut-November challenge.

Given her attitude to a challenge, of course she didn't turn it down but she didn't wanna take it either.

All throughout the month before the last, Sevika struggled to hold herself back from stroking her big veiny cock, morning woods were the hardest to deal with, and she had to restrain herself whenever you both showered together.

You were proud of her, of course, but couldn't help laughing at the miserable grumbles and other ungodly noises she'd make when she was horny.

Sevika's libido had always been high and you knew it, she needed to go to the brothel so often, due to it, before you both became an exclusive thing and got married. But, her sex drive now was even higher with you.

What, she can't help it, you're just too pretty, aren't you?

Today was 30th November and the night was coming to an end, you both finished having dinner and were cuddling in bed.

“I'm so glad this stupid challenge is finally over,” Sevika grumbled and shoved her face in your hair, taking a long sniff which gave both of you comfort.

“Mhm? You've been struggling so much this month,” you cooed, running your fingers as you traced her abs under her shirt. She rolled her eyes at your slightly mocking tone.

Eyes flickering to the clock every now and then, Sevika's arm around you tightened a little as the minute hand ticked and ticked, getting closer indicating that the month was over.

Anticipation filled your chest as you watched Sevika's intense gaze towards the clock and the moment the hour hand hits twelve, she flipped you onto your stomach.

Sevika's body on top again, finally, as she pressed kisses at the nape of your neck, biting in an animalistic manner.

This was the beast she'd held in for so long, she pulled and tugged at your clothes, her hardened member rubbing against your ass cheeks making you giggle, “Needy?”

Sevika growled in response, taking her own clothes off, giving you space so you could pull your shirt up, the red bra clad breasts made her cock ooze out an impressive amount of precum. “Mmmm,” she hummed, palming your breasts before she pulled the bra off, unclasping it with her mechanical fingers, your breasts falling into their natural place had her almost drooling.

Well, she drools a lot.

You pulled your pajamas off, along with your pristine white, now drenched and soiled with your discharge, panties off.

“I don't even care about foreplay anymore,” Sevika said before she, without warning, thrusted her huge cock inside you.

“Sevika!” You screamed out, scratching at her shoulder as you tightened around her cock, her eyes rolled back as she felt the warmth of your tight, clenching pussy, “T-too much.” you stuttered and whimpered.

“You can take it,” she reassured, though not so gently, and started ramming into your pussy, her thrusts careless and sloppy as she continued fucking into your hole, making you see stars.

Her hands came down to grab your thighs as she forced them to spread, they were closing because of the pleasure and pain in your hole.

You hadn't had anything inside you for a month, and now the sudden intrusion made your pussy feel a burning stretch that felt absolutely delicious.

Your breasts were bouncing up and down, one hand tangling in the sheets while the other held onto Sevika's bulging bicep, “F-f-fuck!”

You managed to let out a stuttering curse word, only egging Sevika on further.

Sevika growled, “Taking me so well, little slut, I'm gonna ruin this hole,” she thrusted harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Touch yourself,” she ordered and you started rubbing your clitoris, your other hand playing with your nipple as she continued fucking you.

“Daddy, feels too good, please cu-cum…” you begged and blabbered.

Drool, tears and sweat running down your face as she completely ruined you.

“What a slut,” Sevika spat as she continued her actions, and with two powerful thrusts, she shot thick ropes of semen deep in your womb, making your toes curl and you squirted on her length right after.

Your back arched and lifted off the mattress momentarily while your legs and hands twitched.

Sevika's thrusting barely ceased, she thrusted a few more times before she collapsed on the sheets beside you.

Your thighs and back fell back down on the mattress, chest heaving up and down rapidly as you tried to calm down.

“S-So rough…” you managed a small whiny complaint, semen oozing out of your abused hole. Sevika only chuckled in response, “So wasted, my little dolly.”

She didn't stop there, she got up, lining her cock up against your asshole making you whimper and shake your head. “Daddy, no…”

You got on your knees and tried to crawl away but Sevika took the chance, grabbing your forearms and shoving her cock in your asshole.

Your eyes widened, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cried into the pillow, “Daddy, no! Not in my butt!” You sniffled and cried.

“Stop being such a whiny slut,” Sevika let go of your arms to send a harsh slap on your ass making your hips jerk a little, she grabbed your waist with both hands and started ramming into your asshole.

The burning pain was too much, making your legs shake and your hands started clawing at the sheets in an attempt to find comfort. Sevika pulled out a little, spitting on her cock, shoving it back in your ass and within a few more thrusts, it started feeling like a different sort of pleasure completely.

Her huge, veiny cock was slipping in and out of your asshole with ease, arousal dropping from your pussy and onto the sheets.

You never felt so humiliated and spent.

“Taking daddy's cock so well,” she slapped your ass and continued thrusting, “Please, daddy, it hurts so much…” you protested weakly but she didn't stop.

“C'mon you can do it, you're my girl aren't you?” Sevika threw her head back as you tensed up, asshole clenching, “Fuck, do that again.”

You blinked a little in confusion and moaned when she thrusted and you clenched again.

You gasped, “D-d-daddy!—” as she cam inside your asshole too.

Sevika slowly slipped her cock out of your body, watching as your asshole twitched a little, cum seeping out.

“Pretty,” she mumbled, shoving in a finger lazily fingering you.

“Daddy, can't, not anymore,” you whispered but she didn't cease her fingering, her mechanical hand slipping down to rub your pussy, pinching your clit.

Your face contorted as you squirted. Sevika helped you onto your back and gave you a moment to catch your breath before she gave you a soft kiss on the head.

“Let's get you a bubble bath now.”

[frogsandfries]

I was introduced to the concept of zines in college, because of a partnered creative project. The first zine I ever contributed to was about social media. It did cost a fortune to print because it was done at the school's favored print shop, in full color.

I don't know how prevalent small bookshops selling zines used to be before the age of the internet, but I think I've only been to one bookshop that sold zines. Which is a real loss, imo. I wish there were more small bookshops and that I had more opportunities to explore zines. I think it's kind of inevitable that the internet caused things to change. Chicken wings and ribs used to be poor people food until they got gentrified. Printing on paper used to be the only way to access and disperse information. Now that we have the internet, it's unfortunately not surprising that zine making has been gentrified.

Plus, I'm sure a lot of people who would like to make zines wouldn't know what to put in one that they'd actually like to share with people. Furthermore, it can be hard to swallow the concept of "if I spend five dollars, I can share this with (let's say three people, for example)" when I can hit reblog or forward or send or submit.......for free.

And then there is the cliche of turning your hobby into a grind. If I can spend five dollars, make three zines, sell them for three dollars apiece, etc etc, maybe I don't need enough money to sell a hundred zines, I just need money to make fifty and I can use the rest of that money for groceries or rent and still keep making fifty zines every time I want to make a new one.

Oh, let's not forget that a lot of USians don't carry cash often if ever, anymore, so now I have to factor in the cost of card transactions, into the cost of my zines. Most people aren't going to find themselves in an avant garde bookshop. Most people may not even find my zines on Etsy or Shopify. This kind of forces an (optional) evolution: if I make a fifty page basically a proper magazine, but because it's full of (idk messages about the best places for poor people to eat in LA), I 'can' call it a zine, I can sell it on like, Amazon, or use a Kickstarter and distribute it nearly infinitely.

I can't look at zines through a pre-internet perspective. I don't have that perspective. I understand that zines should be accessible to those who have very little if any money left over after Life. It can feel tempting to make the flashiest, full color zine. It can feel necessary to print your twenty page zine in full color. It can feel necessary to do the entire thing on the computer. It can feel necessary to make it as professional as possible. It can start to feel like making an "old school" black and white, no computer, xeroxed zine is going to get your zine looked over because it's not flashy enough and nobody likes plain ole boring black and white. Or if I add a cardstock cover, maybe my zine will look a little more professional.

I think a lot of us don't come into zines with any kind of mentor to guide us and regulate the culture, and us younger folks come into it with a mindset that we have to have in the rest of our lives: one upsmanship. If the last guy or the first zine we ever saw had a really professional looking cover, we need one full color page. If that guy used a black and white cardstock cover, we need a color accented cardstock cover, we need a glossy full color cover.

Anyway, all this to say, personally, I don't think zines are the right medium for my creative endeavors. I don't think I say this as like, begging for someone to prove me wrong. I say this as a person who cannot tell a short story. I don't need to rely on zines to get my fanfic (although, even if AO3 did not exist and a monthly zine was the only way to get my Spirk fix, personally, I still wouldn't know where to get some sweet sweet Spirk zines; but that's a me problem).

I feel like I'm about twenty-five years too late to the zine scene.

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.

[stopaskingme]

Further Notes on Watches

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (coming soon – last one I swear)

Tremblay

Tremblay's watch is a luxury piece. Probably a Tudor Style Fluted Bezel 41mm.

An uncommonly plain watch from Tudor. The clean face and delicate fluted bezel makes this a popular choice for people who want a luxury watch that just looks nice. it’s the newest and most expensive watch among our Conclave cardinals.

My watch friend knew he was corrupt the moment he saw the metal bracelet.

'Metal bracelets always cost more. You wear metal bracelets outdoors. If someone is wearing one indoors, they want you to notice them.’

eta: What does this tell us about his character? watch friend: nothing. He’s a basic bitch.

________________________________________

Tedesco

Tedesco's watch might be a ✨vintage 1960 Oris 671 KIF✨ (or a Clues Triomphe. We cannot agree.)

It's so generic-looking, we thought it was a Daniel Wellington at first.

A watch that one buys because of how it looks. The person wearing it hasn't seen much of the world and thinks this is what class and luxury looks like.

But then my friend clocked the bevel and alligator strap. Nevertheless, Oris is old and traditional / conservative and boring to the point of being generic. That's why it left no impression. It's devoid of character.

Oris is undeniably quality Swiss watchmaking, 'but it's easy to forget they exist because they're not creative. They don't experiment outside their comfort zone.'

My friend adds that "Anyone with a decent-paying job can save enough to buy an Oris in their lifetime. It sits somewhere above a Tissot, but below a Tudor. "

Additional note: like Tremblay, Tedesco's watch has a black dial, projecting an image of refinement, quiet confidence and charisma.

____________________________ EXTRA NOTE #1 ____________________________

Bellini's Seiko Dolce is actually swankier than Lawrence's battered Orient Bambino

The Orient Bambino is the good sourdough passed down through generations by grandma, recipe unchanged.

Seiko Dolce is that good sourdough from that one niche bakery in the cool part of the city and you can't get it anymore because it's limited edition.

Disclaimer: Lawrence's watch could also be an old model Longines; we're not 100%.

____________________________ EXTRA NOTE #2 ____________________________

Adeyemi has a watch too!

But I have to address that in a separate post because this is stupid long already.

In the meantime, please enjoy this shot of Benitez's elegant hands with his Casio watch peeking out eeeeever so slightly from his left sleeve.

____________________________ EXTRA NOTE #3 ____________________________

The watches in the movie are worn upside down

A clear example is when Lawrence tears open his toiletries at night.

If Lawrence's watch is worn correctly in the screenshot, it means he loses his temper with his toiletries at 6.30p.m.

But the scene that precedes this was so dimly lit, it had to be late at night. As late as, say, midnight...

The more obvious clue is the crown (the dial). It's facing the wrong way.

We don't know why.

I can only guess that a wardrobe assistant put the watches on for the actors and accidentally tied them as if they were wearing the watches themselves.

__________________________________________

Conclave Watch Meta part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (will be up soon) __________________________________________

This post came to be because after my previous post on Lawrence, Bellini and Benitez's watches, @purimpura, reached out to ask about Tedesco's watch ✨they even provided screenshots! ✨so this is their fault. please go give them love.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Tw: Dubcon, coercion, orgasm denial, general guys being icky and manipulative.

(Its kinda ass idk)

Thinking about...

A couple of guys, not really delinquents bit certainly not 'upstanding' citizens just using you for some relief. It's probably after some event, maybe a rock show at some shithole downtown, or maybe you were just getting some snacks with guys you thought were your friends. Not thought, they are your friends, but you couldn't have imagined this.

The first fidgets with the lever of the backseats, trying to get them folded back into the trunk while number twos tugging at your skirt, your tits pressed harshly into the leather of his car. "Cmon, find the fucking lever!" He growls and number one, who raises his hands in defense. "What do you want me to do, its probably your fucking car that let this happen. This shit-bucket probably doesn't even have a lever for the seats anymore."

Number three is driving, slowly finding some small lot with minimal lights in the back of some old building, shifting into park. While the two in back continue to bicker, he makes his way to the front of you. "Are you two sure about this? Seems like going to far." He says, one hand gripping at his pants sleeve with tension.

"You're bricked up too, bro. You aren't exactly the virgin Mary here." Number two pauses, then chuckles. "But, maybe virgin does fit." One cackles too, prompting three to smack the shoulder of two. "You're not scared, are you? You want this plenty, right?" Two asks, squishing your cheeks together in a 'fishy' face with a free hand.

"Don't know." You're scared, tired from the the fun night, unsure why three guys you've always been platonic with are doing this, but you can't deny the aching in your gut, the way your thighs are rubbing a bit against the leather seams of the middle seat and the far right seat. "I'm not sure, you guys-" You yelp, a hard open-palm grazing across the sliver of exposed ass poking from under your slightly ridden up skirt.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Three asks, suddenly the seat jolts down, making you gasp. "Easy, easy."

"Get that skirt off, I just know she's got a good ass." One's hands push up, grabbing a cheek each amd kneading them as he groans. "Fucking mint, look at this, baby!" One leans so he's over you a bit, hard clothed cock pressing against your ass as he whispers in your ear. "Why'd you hide this thing from us?" He asks.

"I wasn't hiding it-"

"Obviously." Two snarks. "We barely even had to lift this skirt up, you were practically flaunting it."

God, you're aching. Maybe it's half stress, half arousal making you run on adrenaline, but the lack of care they seem to have for how you feel about this is having a primal effect on you.

"Pussy's fat too..." One comments, yanking down the thin panties keeping your soaked lips from him.

"Careful!" You squeak, causing them all to actually pause for a moment. "Its... been a bit."

Two breaks out into a grin, realizing this should mean dwindling protests from you about the way they plan to use you.

"She's not saying yes." Three protests, hand coming to hover over your cunt, effectively blocking his eager friends wandering fingers.

"She said maybe, and look at her!" One tries to get his hands past threes hand. "She's dripping on his leather seats, she's wetter than a bitch in heat.

"Its not like we're holding her down in some alley or something!" Two adds, placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead. "This is loving compared to that. Vanilla stuff." He snips.

Three seems conflicted, eyes downcast as he reluctantly pulls a hand away, moving it to gently rub your back up and down, as if trying to soothe a cat.

"Finally. Glad you decided to knock off the cockblocking." Spreading the lips of your labia, one whistles lowly, dragging a digital from your hole to aroused bud from behind, gently circling once, then twice.

"Shit-" You whisper out, gripping the seat edges with slick hands. You can feel threes hand clench slightly, but you lay your cheek on his knee, casting a flushed and low-lidded glance up at him. This reassures him a little, but your head near his oh-so sensitive inner thigh makes this action also go right to his dick.

"Fingers, how many you want?" One whispers. You just mewl at the feeling of friction on your clit, whining when it suddenly stops. "Wait, wait, okay, two, two!" You exclaim. You jolt forward a bit at the slight intrusion, the digits working you towards a finish, but not at the pace you'd like.

"You're sucking him in like crazy, shit." Two chuckles, leaning to glance behind you. "Makes me wonder what kinda suction you'd have elsewhere." He fidgets with his belt, the sound of a zipper and belt clasp coming undone sounds out, and a snap of boxers being pulled slightly lower. Three looks disgusted as two just winks, taking his own cock in his hand and running his hand over it once, then twice before pressing it forward.

Your lips wet with the slightly sticky red tip he presses to them, prodding once or twice like he's seeking entrance. "You wanna out in? Just give it a taste, I promise I'm not gonna make you take it all the way, baby." Two chuckles as you awkwardly kiss the tip. "That's nice, but I'm not asking you to give it's first kiss." Gripping your hair, he guides it in a bit, groaning. "Yeah, there we go. Right around my cock, use your tongue." You let out a moan as one hits a spot with the tips of his fingers, curled inside. It reverberates around Two's cock, causing him to buck. He keeps his promise, you have to admit, he only bucks forward a bit before pulling his length back out. "You're taking it so fucking good, not gonna bruise your mouth though, she's taking it like a fucking champ, man." He glances at One. "You think she's close?"

"Her pussy's twitching like she's gonna pop any second." The bragging first member slows his pace, causing you to whine and pull your mouth off Two's cock. "Why'd you stop, wait- wait-" You're panting, on the verge of overstimulation and seeking that release rather than focus on all your conflicting feelings.

"Shh, calm down. You'll get your pussy rocked, calm down." Two elbows Three, nodding his head towards the man. He's been stoic since you out your head on his leg, conflicted and sickened, while simultaneously being sickening aroused. "Last chance to jump this, man. I know you want to.." Three just pushes him back, but moves to have you sit up, now facing him. His hands on your cheek. "Breathe. S' okay, you want to stop, or you want to finish this?" He asks.

"Finish it, baby. We'll stroke it over yo-" Three smacks off one, scolding him before turning back to you. "Your choice. Your decision. Don't listen to them." Three reassures you, arms on blocking you in and leaning over you slightly to keep the other two from interfering.

"Finish. I wanna cum, m' aching and-" You buck forward just a bit, and he gets the memo. "Okay, okay. Lay on your back, spread your legs, I'm gonna do the work."

You don't have to be asked twice; laying on the cool leather, this time back down, chest rising. Two hands get your feet tucked around Threes waist, and he lowers down on you. You're so hyper focused on how sensitive you are, and your 'friend'leaning over you you can barely register one and two jerking off, hoping to climax around the time you do.

Three gets himself lined up, but not before placing a few soft kisses on your neck. "I got you. Just forget about those idiots, okay? You and me, I'm taking care of you. I'll let you finish and make em' take you right back home."

You just nod, eyes squeezing tight as he enters. "Ah-" You groan. "You're big, fuck-"

He's not moving. "Too big?"

You shake your head, and he resumes several slow repitions. Eventually, he's fully sheathed, balls smacking against your ass as he thrusts. "Amazing, you feel so good, so good." He grunts. His hands brace on either side of you, but don't grip you harshly like one and two. "Is it good for you?" He asks.

"Up..." is all you can mumble. He gets the hint, angling his cock slightly. Soon, his bulbous tip is hammering that spongy place deep inside you, and you can feel your release finally hitting. "Yes, cumming, I'm finishing-" You start to yell, then gasp at a hot rush of fluids that's aren't your own.

"Holy shit!" Two cackles along with one, as three halts in his movements. "Mister 'i don't wanna, it's not right' might've just knocked you up!"

Your still riding out your orgasm, but three has immediately snapped out of ir. "I didn't mean to, sorry, I didn't-" he's pulling out, immediately smacking two who finished a bit ago. "Its your car, drive. Fucking drive, go to the pharmacy." Two puts his hands up, but obeys.

"M' so sorry." Three says as he sits you up. "I promise I'm clean and stuff, and we're gonna grab plan b, get you some water too-"

"Its okay." You blurt. "Its okay, I know you didn't mean to." Biting your lip, you think about what happened. Of any other guys did this, it'd be horrifying, and you admit it was scary. But... it also wouldn't feel nearly as hot with anyone else. "It was good."

"Hell yeah it was." Both of you were so caught up, you didn't realize One stayed in the back of the car. "Wait till you get a ride on me, baby. I promise I'll be even more of a gentleman. Shit, I'll tell you before it shoot my load in you."

You should go out for late night drives more.

[slavicdolls4mangione]

have you seen that trend on tiktok where gfs prank their bfs by telling them they don't want to sleep over? i NEEDDDDD a blurb of that with luuu

I HAVEEEE omg i’m so glad you sent this anon because i was literally thinking of writing a little something about it with our lu 😭

before you and lu decided to move in together, you would be having your regular late night hangouts on friday nights that would last throughout the weekend and this time you happened to stay over at his place.

lu would be reading a book while you’d be scrolling through tiktok, your legs thrown over his lap (because the boy needs to be touching you somehow), and as you’re scrolling through your fyp you come across this video of a girl telling her boyfriend she won’t be spending the night anymore and it would make you wonder how lu would react to it so of course you decide to put the prank into action:

“lu i’m gonna go in like 15 minutes or so”

cue luigi whipping his head up like 🤨🙁 “what do you mean amore we’re spending the weekend together remember?”

and you’d be like “yeah but i don’t feel like it anymore i’m sorry”

and he’s pulling the puppy eyes on you right then and there, closing his book in a heartbeat, asking what’s wrong, if you’re feeling sick, if he did something to make you upset, if you’re getting bored and if he should put on a movie or you guys should go out 😭 poor boy is stressing himself out, and that’s when you’d start laughing and just pull him into a hug, kiss all over his face and tell him “it’s just a tiktok prank my love i’m sorry”

CUE HIS SASSY EYE ROLL LMFAO, he’d lovingly tell you how annoying you are and ramble about how much he hates tiktok while also dropping his entire weight onto you and shove his face in your neck (just in case you actually decide you want to head back to yours, but you can’t do that if he has you trapped duh)

[kedreeva]

No idea! Unlike COVID people who *lost* their sense of smell, I don't have a before and after to compare to because I've always barely had one. I taste things, but I've got no idea if it's different from what it would be if I had a better sense of smell.

I can't seem to taste things that have capsaicin past the capsaicin. People talk about hot things having flavor but it does not, it just hurts me. I don't think that's smell related though. Unfortunate because a lot of spicy dishes seem like they would be good.

It's also hard to say which things taste different/bad because of smell and which things I can't eat because The Autism Says No. Like does it actually taste that bad or am I having a texture/taste episode where this isn't food according to my brain? I'm sensitive to changes in texture especially on food, and flavor profiles. My mom used a different brand of cheese for the cheesy rice she makes for holidays and it was then Bad. Was it bad because autism said this wasn't the same thing anymore or because the other brand lacked something I could taste or was it normal dislike of a brand for some normal reason? Hard to say. I have nothing to compare to usually.

Unfortunately when trying to describe tastes, it pretty much has to be done by relating it to other tastes or smells, and... That won't work here. So for all I know I could have a normal sense of taste or a completely fucked up one where stuff doesn't taste like it should, and I have no idea how I would even tell that since I have no comparison for what it "should" taste like.

Funny thing about covid-19 induced anosmia is that it's thought to be entirely neurological in nature. So there's nothing wrong with my nose: the problem is that my olfactory nerve is fried. This results in my brain experiencing a smell and turning on a check engine light that says "there's a smell." What kind of smell is it? "Gas leak? Fried chicken? Shampoo? We don't know."