#we got carried away

[sunnie-angel]

Sunnie!! I am insane over this concept of Jason marveling over how sensitive his partner is... and now I'm thinking about Jason being feral when he returns from patrol and NEEDING to bury his face between their legs. All he wants is to make them feel good. Oh also, breastplay. I know in my heart he likes his mouth occupied <3

Yes! Yes! Like Jason loves fucking his partner, that’s a given. But as soon as he finds out just how sensitive they are? Well his new favourite place is with his head buried between their thighs seeing how many times he can make them come on his tongue, then his fingers, and only then his cock. (He’ll mix up the order sometimes but he’s pretty set in his routine). Also? When your thighs are wrapped around his ears and he can only taste you, when his fingers are occupied with curling just the way you like and pinning you down so you stop squirming too much, Jason can block out the whole world. It’s a particularly handy trick when patrol doesn’t go so well and all he wants is to block out the world by drowning himself in you. On those nights he likes to make it a competition to see just how many more times than last time he can make you come.

Jason has eating you out down to an exact science. He knows when to give you flat broad strokes of his tongue and exactly how much suction on your clit sends you over the edge. How many fingers to give you before the stretch gets overwhelming and he can feel you spasming. Knows exactly how to walk you right up to the edge of orgasm before pulling away and making you swear in frustration. He’ll push you over the cliff’s edge so many times your thighs will be soaked with it and he’ll still know exactly how to keep you begging for more. When your thighs are trembling and you’re riding that knife’s edge of overstimulation and pleasure, that’s when he knows you’re almost ready for his cock. He won’t give it to you yet though, wants to wait until he’s got you pliant and begging to be fucked even though you were squealing about it being all too much moments ago.

No, what he does next is become gentle. Moves up your body to mouth at your breasts. His chin is obscenely wet, smears of your slick making your breasts shine from where he devours them. Takes his time with biting and sucking at each breast, catching a nipple between his teeth before soothing the sting with a drag of his tongue. Kneading the other breast with a large scarred hand so it doesn’t feel lonely. All the while he’s sliding his cock through the mess you’ve made between your thighs, the tip just catching but not going in any further. Slow maddening strokes a background to the attention he’s paying your chest but driving you mad all the same.

Finally, finally when you’re coming apart at the seams pleading with him to finally make you full, does he relent. Sucking hickies into the soft flesh of your breast he’ll slide in. And because he knows you so well, he’ll have you right where he wants you. Uncertain of if you want to pull him closer or push him away. The scrape of teeth and the pleasure pain of being stretched full almost too much to process. Punched out breaths turning to high pitched whines as you cling to him, cradle his head to your chest and let him take control of you pleasure until there’s stars behind your eyelids and you can’t feel anything beyond Jason.

Jason takes a lot of pleasure in just how sensitive you are after you’ve come for him too. He enjoys how even the gentlest featherlight stroke of your thigh sets you twitching. How the aloe gel he rubs into your sore breasts makes you murmur and squirm at the sensation. Even when the main event is over, there’s a thousand ways for Jason to play with your sensitivity and he’s not in the habit of denying himself your pleasure.

[rhadko]

DVD (TSP animation) youtube mirror!

[strangerstilinski]

can you pretty please do [intimidation] with eddie

🥺👉👈

[INTIMIDATION] sender, in an effort to frighten the receiver by invading their personal space, sits in their lap to try and inspire discomfort or fear in them.

cw: alcohol consumption, fem!reader, sort of enemies -> lovers (but actually idiots -> lovers), 2.4k

dividers by @strangergraphics

You're blocking the doorway into the Harrington kitchen, shoulder leaned against the wood panelling where you have a good view into the living room. Your unimpressed glare is drawn from the figure currently hogging the sofa when someone bumps into you just as you're bringing the plastic cup in your hand to your lips.

"Jesus, fucking watch it-" The outrage in your tone fades quick when you see who's run into you.

"Sorry." Jonathan grimaces as he watches you wipe a bit of juice and vodka from your chin.

"No, it's fine," You sigh and turn on your heel, following Jonathan into the kitchen as he begins to grab things to make himself a drink, though it appears to be far more lemon-lime soda and grenadine than anything else. "Sorry, I just.. I dunno, sorry." You shrug before gulping down another mouthful of your own admittedly strong drink. You're kind of hoping that once your buzz kicks in you'll feel just a little less like there's a storm cloud floating right above your head.

"What is with you, tonight?" Jonathan asks with an overly cautious smile, "I haven't seen Munson bug you even once, so it's gotta be somethin' else-"

"Nothing," You huff, a little defensive at just the mention of the other boy, "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, totally," Jonathan chuckles and raises his newly acquired drink in a salute, "You're like a ray of sunshine tonight."

It's annoying as hell, but he's right. You're fuming and Eddie has yet to even speak to you. He's been avoiding you like the plague from the moment you walked through the door, as if Eddie could somehow sense that you were already in a mood, and he didn't feel like getting told off for being the reason that you finally snapped.

Because normally, Eddie would've found at least seven ways he could irritate you by now. He'd have finished the last of the juice he saw you eyeing for your next mixed drink and laughed maniacally when you pouted about it. He'd have pestered you about whether you might want to join in on another campaign, all while making a handful of little comments about just how easy it'll be for him to decimate your character when you do. He'd have watched you shiver while you passed a joint back and forth by the pool, and then draped his stupid jacket around your shoulders just so he could roll his eyes and give you shit about not dressing warmly enough.

Eddie was infuriating — And the worst part was that he knew it. The asshole thrived on pushing buttons and testing people's limits, but tonight evidently he'd been able to tell that you were already toeing dangerously close to yours and had steered clear altogether.

You peer back out into the living room now, narrowed eyes zeroing back in on the figure sprawled across the entire length of the loveseat, socked feet kicked up on the opposite cushion where someone else could be sitting if he weren't such a selfish prick.

"God, what an asshole." You grumble, downing the last of your drink and grabbing the nearest bottle to begin mixing another. "I mean, look at him, seriously. Does he have to take up the whole couch?"

Jonathan's gaze follows the path your own had taken moments before, and he snorts in amusement, "Eddie."

It's not a question, but you answer him as if it had been.

"Yes, Eddie." Another quick glance up into the living room has your eyes locking with the man in question just as his name falls from your lips.

Eddie's eyes go wide, his cheeks dimpling with his sudden grin. He jabs his index finger into his chest, lips moving silently around the words, "Who? Me?"

"Uh-huh.. Why don't you go do something about it?" Jonathan teases.

Eddie's attention is pulled away when Gareth says something from his spot in an armchair. Whatever he says it gets Eddie riled up and he's immediately talking animatedly, hands gesturing wildly as he speaks.

"Maybe I will." You're already moving with purpose, halfway out of the kitchen when you hear your friend shout after you.

"I was joking!"

"Well I'm not!" You call back over your shoulder.

It's darker as you step into the living room, overhead lights off in favor of utilizing the warmer glow from the the lamp tucked away in the corner. You have to step over Eddie's discarded shoes at the foot of the sofa, and the boy very nearly knocks your drink out of your hand when you step in front of him, too distracted by his own tirade to have seen your approach.

But his head snaps up toward you as your thigh brushes his arm. Whatever he's been saying, the words cut off abruptly at the realization of who it is standing beside him.

"Well hey there, princess." He shoots you a toothy grin — You assume it's meant to be charming, but it only irritates you further. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

You ignore Eddie in favor of casting a small smile of apology toward Gareth, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Nah, no worrie-"

"No, no! You didn't interrupt. We were done." Eddie cuts his friend off, "Gareth was just telling me he was gonna go take a piss, actually."

Gareth splutters for a moment, but when his eyes shift from you to Eddie he's suddenly rising from his chair. You watch Gareth shake his head as he steps around you before he stalks off without a word.

"What was that about?" You can't help but ask in curiosity.

"Beats me. Really had to piss, I guess." Eddie says quickly, sitting up a little straighter against the arm of the couch. He throws an arm out to gesture to Gareth's recently vacated chair, "Did you wanna-"

Rather than taking advantage of the empty seat, you plop yourself across Eddie's thighs unceremoniously, feeling oddly satisfied by the huff of surprise that escapes him when your weight is suddenly in his lap.

The way the warmth of his body seeps into your own is near immediate, even through two layers of denim. Your arm presses into his chest as you lean back into the cushion of the sofa, trying and failing to remain unaffected by his proximity. He smells infuriatingly good this close, clean and masculine with just a lingering hint of the weed he'd smoked earlier in the night. It makes your stomach flutter wildly, makes your head swim for half a second before you're lifting your cup to your mouth in an effort to compose yourself.

Eddie huffs softly and his breath fans out over your exposed shoulder, warm and smelling faintly of cheap beer and menthols. Goosebumps prickle along the length of your arm, hairs standing on end suddenly. You wish you could convince yourself that your body's reaction were one of repulsion, but deep down you know that its something far, far worse than that.

"You.. You're just gonna.. sit.. here?" Eddie asks, voice a little wobbly, unsure.

His knuckles brush your thigh, likely an accident, but one sidelong glare has his hand retreating to the relative safety of the couch cushion in a flash.

"Yep."

You can see outside to the patio from your position, and you focus your attention to the group sitting with their feet in the pool. The sheer amount of effort it takes to keep your eyes trained there, rather than allowing them to drift to where Eddie's hand twitches near your knee-

"Do- Did you want me to move my legs? Do you want-" He shifts underneath you like he's ready to pull his feet from the cushion at the other end, but you remain resolutely in place.

"Nope, I'm good."

You have absolutely no plans of moving any time soon. You'd remain seated right here in Eddie's lap until his bladder was ready to burst, until your weight made his legs fall asleep and tingle from lack of blood flow, until he was ready to grab you by your hips and force you into another seat.

He'd learn his lesson. The inconsiderate couch-hogging asshole.

"O..kay." Eddie says slowly, wiping his palm on the side of his own denim-clad hip, as if his hands might've gotten a little sweaty.

Were you making him warm? Good.

"So.." Eddie pauses. You catch a glimpse of his face scrunching in thought at the corners of your vision before he continues, "Any big plans for the weekend?"

With how close you're sat, Eddie is speaking almost directly into your ear. There's no need for him to raise his voice to be heard, and you find that the low rumble of it is nice, soothing almost. It curls around your ears and sends something warm shooting down your spine.

"Killing boys." You return dryly, eyes straining now in an effort to remain focussed on what's going on in the backyard.

Eddie snorts, body jolting underneath you with his amusement — And his almost-laughter absolutely does not make your chest flush with pride. You couldn't care less whether or not Eddie Munson finds you funny. As if.

"Oh, so nothing out of the ordinary for you then."

Eddie chuckles and the tip of his thumb finds its way to the place where your thigh presses into his. You can't tell if it's accidental or on purpose, but the gentle press of his finger maybe kind of makes your stomach flip pleasantly, so you allow it. Whatever.

You hum in agreement, "Yeah, well. There's almost always some boy who deserves it."

"I don't doubt it," Eddie murmurs with a wide grin, his head tipped sideways over the back of the couch, cheek nearly brushing your shoulder now, "Anyone I know currently at the top of your list, madame assassin?"

"There is this one asshole." You pause to take a sip of your drink, fighting off a grimace at the awful liquor to juice ratio. "He's loud. And irritating. Just loves getting on my last nerve-"

"Long hair?"

The interruption has your eyes rolling, "Yep. Walks around looking like some Van Halen wannabe."

"Oh, he sounds cool."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now.

"Well he's not." You return blankly. "He's always trying to get a rise outta me, acting like a total prick-"

"Hold on, hold on-" Eddie cuts you off again, "Now I'm not so sure we're on the same page. Thought I knew who you were talkin' about, but-"

"Oh, you know him." You grumble, sinking farther into the plush cushion on the back of the couch with your drink clutched to your chest. "You know him well, trust me."

Eddie shifts beneath you, angling both himself and you until he's taking up more of your line of sight than the patio doors. His big brown eyes bore into you until you crack and flick your gaze toward him.

"Here's the thing.." Eddie starts, the pad of his thumb stroking the seam on the outside of your knee. "Maybe this guy's just pushing your buttons because he likes when all of your attention is on him-"

The arm he has thrown over the back of the couch by your shoulder moves then, brushing your hair back from your temple only to backtrack and trail the pads of his fingers featherlight over the space between your brows.

"-Maybe.. Shit, I dunno, maybe he likes the way your eyebrows come together when you're angry-"

Your heart is beating so loud you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. The urge to fidget under his attention is strong, but you sit at still as possible in fear of breaking the spell. You have to strain to hear Eddie's next words over the dull whoosh of your heartbeat echoing in your skull.

"Maybe he thinks you look kinda devastatingly beautiful-"

"You-" And, fuck. Did your voice just crack? "You're trying to tell me you think this guy is, what? Being a dick because he likes me? Pulling my pigtails on the playground and shit?"

Eddie's grin is less cocky than you've ever seen it. His lips twitch at one side of his mouth. He almost looks nervous.

You take a deep breath as his fingers skim over your jaw on their way back toward your hair, where he pinches a small lock between two fingers and tugs twice, oh-so gentle.

"What if he was?" Eddie asks softly, "Being a dick because he likes you, I mean."

"I'd tell you he's an idiot." You manage, plastic cup crinkling under the increased pressure of your hand.

Eddie winces, but nods and averts his gaze. His arm falls to the back to the sofa again, close enough for you to feel the warmth of it beside your shoulder.

"But.." You have to swallow down a smile when Eddie's wide eyes snap right back to yours. "Maybe this idiot's attraction isn't totally one-sided. So, maybe he should stop being an asshole and try making a move."

Eddie blinks. Once, then twice. He squares his shoulders and leans in like he might kiss you, but then he backs off again and searches your eyes as if he's terrified he might be reading the entire situation wrong.

"Eddie." You whisper sharply, "The idiot is you, asshole."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, thank god."

And then his fingers are curled gently around the back of your neck. His hand is fully grasping your opposite thigh as he tries to drag you impossibly closer. His plush lips are pressing softly into your own, the taste of beer mixing with vodka and citrus.

It's a quick kiss, chaste. Your mouths only remain glued together for all of three seconds before he's leaning back just enough to watch you blink at him from beneath heavy lashes. You can't imagine how stupidly docile you look; brows pushed up your forehead, chest nearly heaving beneath your shirt, jaw slack, lips parted and waiting for more. It's pathetic how he's managed to turn you into this with just one G-Rated kiss.

The hand on the back of your neck moves to your face, fingertips tracing the smooth line of your brow before trailing back down to cup your cheek.

"Yeah.. Yeah, this is nice too." Eddie murmurs, "You're awful pretty when you're mad, but this.. This right here is somethin' else."

"You're so annoying." It comes out airy, absolutely no bite to your words.

"Oh, that's not changing, sweetheart. Matter of fact, I think it's a part of our spark. Gotta keep the fire burning, right? I'll keep annoying you, you'll keep getting angry-"

"Would you just shut up and kiss me again?"

Eddie grins, already leaning in, "Sure thing."

[touchstiel]

EVERY TOUCH EVER ☞ 198/198

15.18 Despair The Truth

[xythlia]

too many fics about mc crying bc the obey me characters' cocks are so big not enough fics of the obey me characters crying bc their human body is so snug and tight and they just can't take it having to go so slow

mhm can't you just picture mammon near tears because god you're so warm, the way your pussy feel like it was made for him with every slow thrust. He wouldn't be able to pick up a rougher pace, too immediately drunk on the way you feel around him and far too afraid it would end too quickly.

Not to mention the noises you make, absolutely filthy moans of his name mixing with the slick noises of your cunt drawing him back in, as if you're refusing to let him go until he's spilled everything he could possibly give to you. It goes to his head, making his chest tighten and his field of vision is completely eclipsed by you: the way you look with your eyes screwed shut, the high pitch of your little whimpers as the head of his cock finds that spot that makes your thigh muscles twitch, the way you thred your fingers with his so tightly.

Any facade is stripped away when you've got your legs hooked around his hips, begging for more, pleading for him not to stop. If he could have his way, you'd stay like this forever. Ragged breaths puff past his lips, tear ducts stinging as you clench around him.

older brothers hcs based off this <3

[ceruark]

trick, or treat?

gorgon! dr. ratio, zombie! blade, vampire! aventurine, & ghost! sunday x gn! reader [separate] synopsis: monster encounters are rather unfortunate, but perhaps your luck is better than others' ;) words: 3.6k cw: none! a/n: happy halloween!! <3

DR. RATIO - GORGON

Everyone in your university’s town knows that the cavern at the end of the river is haunted. With what, exactly, no one knows, but what you do know is that everyone who goes in never comes out— not even law enforcement officers pursuing cold cases and trying to quell the worries of distraught families.

So when your friends suggest visiting said cave on Halloweekend to get into the “spooky spirit,” you vehemently decline and insist on returning to campus to find some stupid frat party to get shitfaced at instead.

“Come on,” Kakavasha laughs, pulling you by the sleeve. “I grew up here, and no one’s actually gone in there in decades. It’s probably some stupid rumor that parents made up so their kids didn’t go play in the cave and get hurt.”

And that’s how you end up walking into the dark, damp cave with a large group of boisterous college students. You’re at the very back of the group, sandwiched between Kakavasha and Jelena and clinging onto them for dear life. You jump at every little sound, prompting those nearest to you to laugh at your paranoia. It’s all fun and games until you hear the distinct sound of hissing beside you, far too close for comfort.

“That’s not funny,” you complain, glaring at your friends. “You’ve had your fun, you scared me, so can we please get the hell out of here?”

“That’s not us,” Guinafen responds. She looks a little nervous herself. “That’s near you guys, and the rest of us are over here.”

“You’re overreacting,” Caelus says. He turns his phone flashlight brighter, swiveling it around the cave. “It’s probably noth—”

The light catches onto a stone statue. The subject’s face is frozen in a horrified shriek, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He holds a flashlight in his right hand, and his left hand is clutching what seems to be a walkie-talkie. As you take in the man’s clothes and the badge on his chest, you realize it’s a police officer— or rather, a man with a mullet wearing a very outdated police uniform.

You hardly have time to process this, though, because behind the statue stands a foreboding figure with writhing, violet snakes for hair and glowing red eyes.

And he’s starting right at you.

With a shout from Stelle, the cave descends into chaos. She rushes forward and claps a hand over her twin’s eyes, pulling him back toward her and away from the statue. Your friends’ screams drown out your own panicked breathing, and you stumble as some of them shove past you and each other, fleeing toward the cave entrance in an ‘every-man-for-himself’ fashion.

You take off in a sprint, following the sound of Kakavasha and Jelena’s voices calling for you from up ahead and using them to navigate your way in the darkness. You struggle to move your limbs, your joints feeling as if they’re growing stiffer with each passing second. As you draw closer to the exit, someone slams into your shoulder from behind, sending you crashing into what feels like another statue. You shove yourself off of it, but your foot catches onto the statue’s own foot, and you trip, tumbling toward the floor.

As the footsteps of whoever left you for dead grow fainter, a strong arm wraps itself around your torso, catching you and keeping you upright.

The hissing is deafening in your ears. You shudder as you feel a few snakes make contact with your skin, sliding along your ears and the back of your neck. Your heart races as a hand makes contact with yours. It presses some kind of glass container into it.

“Watch your step,” a deep, rich voice says against your ear. They let go of your waist and gently nudge your shoulder, and as if snapping out of a trance, you take off running again.

When you reach the outside of the cave, half the group you arrived with is gone. Guinafen and Sushang sit by Stelle, who is cussing out Caelus while cleaning his scraped knee. Kakavasha and Jelena fuss over you, checking you over to make sure you’re okay and trying to coax you out of your shocked state.

“Oh no,” Kakavasha whispers suddenly. Jelena’s face has drained of color.

You bring a hand up to your cheek. Your fingers graze over it, and your heart skips a beat as your fingertips meet cold concrete instead of warm flesh. A sob leaves you as Jelena and Kakavasha latch onto you, saying words that your brain isn’t registering right now. 

You look down at your hand. A glass vial is clutched in it, filled with a thick red liquid that almost looks like blood. Without thinking twice, you rip the cap off the vial and bring it to your lips. Grimacing, you force the liquid down your throat as the taste of iron coats your tongue. You gasp out a breath once it’s all gone, and bring your hand back up to your cheek.

Your friends watch with wide eyes as the gray patch stops for a minute, and then begins shrinking. You keep your fingers pressed against it until all you can feel is the smoothness of skin beneath them.

You spare a glance back at the entrance of the cave and tilt your head, curious.

BLADE - ZOMBIE

You were just trying to be a good samaritan, doing your due diligence as a fellow human being to help someone out when they appeared to be down on their luck. You were admittedly intimidated when you saw a tall, broad man stumbling slowly down the street while you were driving through the woods, on the way home from your friend’s Halloween party. You intended to mind your business, until your headlights shined on him and you saw blood dripping down from his forehead, standing out greatly against his pale skin.

You pulled to the side of the road and tried to talk to him, asking what happened, but he merely stared down at you without response. His red eyes made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to be hostile or aggressive, so you sat him down in the backseat of your car and treated him with the first aid kit you kept in your trunk. After more failed attempts at conversation, you drove him to the nearest police station and left him at the front doors, bidding him well wishes before driving home.

And then, things got weird. To begin with, the day after the strange encounter, your friend, Firefly, messaged your group chat saying that local police were investigating a defiled grave, and that whoever had messed with it had taken the entire corpse out of the coffin. More concerning, though, was that you constantly felt as though you were being watched, and when you peered out the windows at night, you could notice the silhouette of a large man lurking somewhere near your house.

After a week, you’re at your wit’s end and overcome with fear. Rushing out of your house and not in your right mind, you make the poor judgment of walking to the police station— and turning down an alleyway as a shortcut. Alone, and clearly afraid, you’re an easy target for some bad actors who hold you at gunpoint and demand money.

In the blink of an eye, one of them has been tackled to the floor, and the other is firing bullets at a large man who rises to his feet with jerky movements. The robber grows hysterical as the bullets lodge themselves into the man’s flesh, but no blood comes out. You watch, in horror, as the man walks up to the robber— the bullets doing absolutely nothing to faze him— and grabs the other by the neck. He wraps a hand around the robber’s neck and lifts him off the ground, then throws him into the wall. The robber crumples to the ground, unconscious. You hold your breath and press yourself closer to the wall behind you as he slowly begins to turn around.

Confusion and alarm shoot through you when he faces you and you realize that it’s the man from the other night. Slowly, he stumbles forward, and you tense when he reaches into his pocket. He takes your hand in his impossibly cold one, and then gently places your wallet into your waiting palm. He lets out a grunt, then releases you.

A defiled grave! The entire body went missing, it’s unbelievable!

You have no idea how you’re going to tell Firefly you know where the body is without having her think you’re a grave robber and a weirdo. You also have no idea how you’re supposed to house an entire zombie who enjoys looming menacingly a few feet behind you, but, well— maybe it’s a little endearing.

AVENTURINE - VAMPIRE

Your friend is strange.

Granted, Jelena had complained to you about Kakavasha’s odd habits long before she ever introduced you to him. He’s a picky eater, always asking about what ingredients are in a dish before deciding if he wants it or not. The dishes he refuses seem completely arbitrary, at least to you; he insists that it’s an allergy, but you’ve yet to figure out what he’s allergic to, and he’s yet to tell you. He also refuses any alcohol that’s not wine, claiming that his tongue is sensitive. (You’re convinced he’s just a drama queen who can’t hold his liquor.) He loves being in pictures and often uses his phone’s front-facing camera to fuss over his appearance, but he avoids mirrors and reflective surfaces like the plague. For someone so self-obsessed, I’m surprised he doesn’t carry a mirror on him, she’d said once.

That being said, you’re fairly certain you’ve taken all of his oddities into proper consideration and made your home as comfortable for him as possible. Kakavasha is one of your only friends who doesn’t scare easily and isn’t squeamish with gore, so when he agreed to binge slasher movies with you on Halloweekend, you were ecstatic. You purchased two bottles of high-end red wine, and prepared a nice steak dish with mashed potatoes and asparagus for dinner. You even covered every mirror in your home to make sure he wouldn’t be antsy all night.

Just as you toss a blanket over the full-length mirror in the corner of your room, the doorbell rings. You lift the blanket up a bit and fix your hair, then rush to answer the door. As you open it, Kakavasha grins at you, his eyes lighting up with it.

“Hey, Vasha.” You smile back at him. You turn around and begin to retreat into the house, but pause when you don't hear him following you. You look back at him and raise an eyebrow when you see him still standing on the porch, away from the doorway.

You snort. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

He smirks at you, clearly finding something funny. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Come in already.”

At your words, he happily bounds inside and follows you into the dining room, where the table's already been set. He gasps happily at the smell of the steak— apparently he was able to guess what it was before he even saw it. 

Your smile grows a bit at his pleased expression. “Bloody and still breathing, just the way you like it,” you joke. You pause, mentally reviewing the list you and Jelena have compiled of Kakavasha’s suspected allergies. “No cayenne pepper, nuts, garlic, thyme, or turmeric.”

He grins again, open-mouthed this time. His oddly pointed canines glint beneath the lights. “Oh, how you spoil me.”

After a nice dinner filled with friendly banter and Kakavasha’s on-brand gossipping, you two move to the couch, taking the bottles of wine with you. You put on the first Scream movie as he pours you both a glass. The night is filled with snarky commentary on the movies and debates on who in your friend group would survive in a slasher film. (You don’t count, you tell him, you’d be Ghostface and we’d all die.) By the time the credits for Scream 3 roll, you’ve both drained your wine supply dry and a sleepiness has settled into your blood, accompanying the pleasant buzz from the alcohol. Kakavasha is still wide awake, but he’s always been a night owl. You stifle a yawn and turn to him.

“I would bring out more wine, but unfortunately, I’m a bad host and didn’t buy extra,” you say, smiling sleepily at him.

He hums, then reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat. His hand lingers by your neck. He smiles, a little too wide and a little too friendly. Your eyes are held by his, which emit a strange glow.

“No worries, friend. You’ve been so kind to me all night,” he says, leaning in a little closer.

“Besides, there’s something else I’d much rather have a drink of.”

SUNDAY - GHOST

Your condo being haunted isn’t exactly news to you— the previous owners had disclosed this to you. They said that while they didn’t believe the spirit to be malevolent, it was too active for their liking and the thought of something else in the home freaked them out too much to stay there. Desperate to sell the condo, they listed it at a price far lower than was reasonable, and you were more than willing to put up with a little paranormal activity if it meant finally moving out of the hell house you grew up in.

You expected things to be like the movies and take a while, but that didn’t happen at all. The day after you moved in, you noticed drawers and cabinets being left open, some of which you hadn’t even approached that day. The contents inside were always just slightly out of place, as if someone had grown curious and decided to look through them. While cooking or watching TV, you would feel the occasional gust of cold air brush past you, even if the windows were shut tight. If you were losing your mind searching for something you misplaced, it would show up shortly after you returned to the room you’d been in, placed out in the open and easy to spot.

It did creep you out at first. But with time, you became accustomed to the spirit's presence, and even began talking to it, rambling out loud about your day, the show you were watching, and any gossip you had to share about your coworkers or friends.

Five months later, and here you are, scurrying about the condo in a frenzy to make a nice dinner and get yourself dressed up. At this point, you’ve thanked the spirit at least five times in the past two hours, your frazzled mind making you misplace your belongings more than usual.

Your longtime boyfriend is visiting today. He’s studying abroad for his Master’s degree, so you don’t get to see him very often. The few moments you get with him are already special, but this time, he’s seeing your condo— what you hope will be your shared future home— for the first time.

Everything has to be perfect.

The doorbell rings just as you finish plating the pasta dish you put together. Quickly, you rinse your hands off in the sink and pat them dry with a dish rag. You swipe the bouquet of flowers you purchased earlier that day off the coffee table, then you answer the door.

You beam at your boyfriend, which he returns half-heartedly, but you don’t notice. You throw your arms around him and pull him in for a kiss before handing him the bouquet. He takes it, expression slightly pained. “I missed you so much,” you say, guiding him into the house. He says he missed you too, then steps inside, taking a look around.

He lets out a low whistle. “It’s nice,” he says, nodding approvingly. “I still can’t believe you got it for as much as you did.”

You grin. “It is, isn’t it? A little haunting here and there is worth it.”

Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow at that. “Haunting?”

You relay what the owners had told you when you bought the condo, along with some of your own experiences. “I don’t mind it at all,” you say as you pour him some white wine. “It’s been so helpful, I’d honestly be running around like a headless chicken without it.”

Dinner is pleasant. You talk about work and your friends, and he talks about his thesis and ongoing research. You love it when he’s like this, speaking passionately about his life’s work and getting lost in the details. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

“I hope you’re not working yourself to the bone,” you say as you stand to collect the plates. “Have you made any friends? Gone out anywhere?”

He freezes in place at your words, prompting you to, as well. Your hand hovers by his plate, hesitant. He looks crestfallen, and refuses to meet your eyes.

“Is something wrong?” You ask when the silence grows unbearable. After another long moment, he mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear. “I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t catch that.”

He looks up at you with a guilt-ridden expression. Slowly, he repeats, “There’s someone else.”

The room goes cold, and this time, you’re not sure if it’s because of the spirit, or if it’s just you. Your plate slips from your hand and clatters to the floor, and for a fleeting moment you think about how grateful you are that it isn’t porcelain. You stare at your boyfriend, mouth slightly open, and tears welling in your eyes.

“What?” You whisper, heartbroken.

“I was lonely over there,” he mumbles, fidgeting with his sleeves. “One of my research partners, he was flirting with me and I— I turned him down the first few weeks but then we all drank together one night, and one thing led to another, and—”

“You slept with him?” Your voice sounds so far away from you, like you’re somewhere else entirely. “Just that night?”

He swallows. “I’ve been with him for seven months.”

“Seven—” You gasp out a sob, and clench your hands into fists. “Seven months. You were with him the last time you visited, and you didn’t bother to break things off then?”

“I didn’t think it was going to last this long.” He shakes his head. “I thought it was just a rough patch. I was going to end things when I got back.”

You laugh, harshly and without humor. “You were gonna end things, and what? Act like you never fucking cheated on me?”

He takes a step back, defensive. The guilt on his face twists into disdain. “You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you just came with me to Xianzhou.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, just uproot my entire life in Penacony to keep you company while you pursue your career and make me abandon mine.” You glare at him. “Don’t try to make me feel bad for something that was entirely your fault.”

He looks as if he’s about to yell back at you, but he smooths his face out into something apologetic before he does. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he says. He starts taking large steps toward you, and you back away from him with two steps for each one he takes. “Please, we can work through this—”

He crosses in front of the table. The tablecloth flies off the table, pulled out from under the dishes. The dishes go flying, and his half-full wine glass hits him in the shoulder, spilling all over what you’re sure is a very expensive shirt. 

He looks around, eyes blazing with rage and fear. “What the hell?”

The chair he was sitting in creaks, then shoots toward him at an impossible speed, skidding horrendously across the floor before it crashes into his leg. As he keels over, the picture frames and cooking utensils hanging from the racks on the wall start clattering against the walls, a tremor sweeping through the house. The lights flicker, before going out completely.

The room is freezing.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you, alarmed. Despite your own fear and racing heart, you manage to keep your face impassive.

“Get out of my house,” you whisper.

The cabinet doors begin opening and slamming shut. The room shakes more violently. Your ex scrambles to his feet and rushes to the entrance, where the door is already wide open. When he steps foot on the porch, it slams shut on its own behind him.

The cabinets close gently. The tremors stop.

You collapse into the wall and sink to the floor, sobs pouring out of you as you bury your face into your knees. Your heart aches in your chest, an ache that echoes in your knees as you clutch onto and dig your fingers into them.

Suddenly, you feel two gentle hands settle on your shoulders. A chill shoots down your spine, but still, you will yourself to look up.

Moonlight pours in through the windows, illuminating the man kneeling before you. His hair falls just past his shoulders in grayish-blue waves. He dons men’s casual wear from what must be the 1920s. Your gaze linger on the very blatant stab wound in his stomach before shooting up to his face. Golden eyes gaze down at you, his expression so soft it takes your breath away. The beams of light cut straight through him, pronouncing the wispiness around his being. Slowly, he pulls you into an embrace that you cannot return. He holds you for a brief moment, then the lights flicker back on, and he’s gone.

The room is still freezing, but you’ve never felt warmer.

[esaari]

babygirl o'hara

[cyani07]

festering

[shizunitis]

do you think airplane might have intended to draw a parallel between shen qingqiu and the old palace master in the original outline?

present shen qingqiu as a monster, a lecher, a horrible, evil man, and slowly unspool the threads of his history. the readers learn of what, exactly, made him the way he is, and what his crimes are. which are true, which are not. his intentions, his failures, his hopes, how they got crushed, how he’d been misunderstood. from an incomprehensible vile man to a pitiful, cruel one.

after being thrown into hell and clawing his way back out, luo binghe is taken in by a proper, protective shizun, who treats him with the respect he deserves. who wants him under his wing, who is proud to be his shizun, who wants to become his family, via marriage with his daughter. then, he is discovered to be exactly what luo binghe thought his former shizun to have been, perhaps worse, and to have been the very reason luo binghe never had his biological parents in his life and all that resulted from that.

when exactly does luo binghe see the palace master’s true colours? after shen qingqiu dies at his hands? before? does it make him see shen qingqiu as he is, if he’s yet to get his revenge, and does it make it worthless, to kill him? does it drive him further towards insanity? does it leave him hopeless, jaded, despondent? with no one to trust, with nothing to hang his hopes on, no one to comfort him, what, exactly, does he do?

original outline luo binghe. speak to me my boy. tell me your secrets

[vingler-mirror]

Farewell Rayashki text post meme because I'm not immune to the Russian yuri and their adopted son

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[kaiminluu]

(semi) realism snow ball miwi for the heart and soul

[cybrs4pphic]

ugh the thought of just making out w ellie makes me so …… like both of you just kissin just to kiss n gradually getting more and more drunk off each other

18+ (mdni)

like she’s constantly just lightly kissing n before you can deepen it she pulls away laughing at how you chase her lips with yours. n u just pout cos like what else can you do. and she just smiles and lets out a little huff before leaning right back in to kiss you.

it gets progressively sloppier too as it goes on. both of you just drunk off each other’s lips, grinding desperately on each other. the both of you have spit everywhere — all over your lips, chin, neck. like just imagine her pulling away, not to tease you, but because she’ll literally pass out if she doesn’t get a breath or two in. but she sees the string of spit connecting you two together and she can’t help but dive right back in catching you off guard interrupting your gasps for air.

you can’t help but let out little whimpers n moans while she’s kissing you. it just feels so good. the way her tongue melds with yours to the way she tastes like weed covered up with mint gum— it’s intoxicating really. she pulls away slightly mumbling a “love when you do that” against your lips before immediately kissing you again.

[werewolfoffeverswamp]

smoke sesh at casa sponge

[hgvhehehe]

Let. Them. Hug.

"What's gotten into you, Diavolo?" "Just very happy to see you, i presume."

The sequel.

No one is actually immune from Diavolo's great love.

[themightynyunyi]

there's a stackable ring ad I always get on instagram and it reminded me of them so I drew it

[kristybluebird]

Broke: Smash the world's shell.

Woke: Burn through the VHS tape; Escape the narrative!