#you will not be smooching him

[starlitiris]

The Feeling (part 1)

wrote this a few nights ago while I was in a spooky mood and ended up having to split it into two parts because it was too long </3

Here's part 2

SUMMARY: Reader is just an average person living a normal life, then Feitan moves in next door. He gives you an unsettling feeling, and eventually you find out why.

WARNINGS: mentions of torture, implied torture

You’d always felt like something was off about him.

You weren’t even really sure why.

Was it something he did maybe, that made you feel this way?

No. If that was the case, then you would know what it was.

Sure, he was a little antisocial and said strange things sometimes, but that wasn’t enough to warrant feeling unsettled by him.

You could never figure it out, so you just decided to ignore the feeling. You shouldn’t have.

For a while after he moved in next door, he was very standoffish to the surrounding residents.

You gave him a few days to settle in before you decided to go knock on his door. You wanted to welcome him to the neighborhood.

He didn’t answer.

But you could hear him inside.

Didn’t like being bothered, you guessed.

A few weeks later, you ran into each other in an aisle at your local bookstore. It seemed you both had similar taste in books.

Horror.

You wanted to wave at him, maybe say hi, but he didn’t even bother looking at you. Perhaps he just didn’t notice that you were standing next to him.

You minded your own business until you saw him picking up one of, in your opinion, the most underrated books of all time. It was your favorite, but you felt like you were alone in that.

You’ve read many reviews of the book online, and they all had negative opinions on it. ‘The ending wasn’t satisfying, that flashback added nothing to the overall story, this character’s actions didn’t make sense, blah, blah, blah.’ They just didn’t get it.

None of those people saw the point that the author was trying to get across. Nobody understood how significant that flashback was, or how that one character doing what he did made sense because of it. If only they read between the lines. And because nobody could look beneath the surface, they didn’t get to see - or feel - how powerful the ending was.

But you digress. You try not to get too worked up about these things. It is just a book, after all.

Your neighbor seemed interested in what the summary on the back of the book had to say.

His apparent interest excited you, so you finally said something to him.

“That one’s really good,” you blurted with a smile.

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow.

“I highly recommend it. It’s one of my favorites.” You gleefully added.

“Hm.” Was all he responded with.

It’s okay. He bought the book. You were happy.

About a week or so later, you ran into him again. This time at the food market. You weren’t going to bother him again, but this time he came up to you.

“Hey,” he started. “I finished the book.”

You smiled hopefully. “So… what do you think?”

You know he’s probably just going to say the same thing everyone else says, but you wanna stay optimisti-

“Was good,” he said, a faint smile gracing his lips. “I really liked it.”

Your eyes lit up in joy. Finally! Someone you could appreciate your favorite book with!

“Really? I’m surprised! Most people don’t like it. They’ll complain about all the ‘meaningless backstory’ and how the torture scenes were written.” You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes at the stupid critiques people have on this masterpiece.

“That so?” He asked. “Thought it was well written. Felt real.”

“I thought so, too! Though, it’s not like I have any real experiences to compare it to.” You laughed at your silly and obvious admittance.

That smile.

That was the first time you got the feeling.

The feeling that something was wrong about him.

But it was just a smile. He was talking to you, and seemingly enjoying your conversation. Don’t be ridiculous.

That’s what you would tell yourself.

From that point on you two started waving at each other or saying hi when you’d cross paths in town.

Every time you met in the bookstore, you would give each other recommendations on what to read next. Sometimes one of you recommended something that the other person had already read, and you would talk about it. Your favorite moments, little critiques you had, how the story made you feel. It was nice. You felt like you were making a friend.

Eventually you boldened up and asked him to come over for dinner.

Honestly, you expected him to decline.

But he agreed to come over.

So he did.

And he kept coming over.

You were glad you could call him a friend at that point. You really did enjoy each other’s company.

The more time you spent together, the more you would learn about him.

You learned that he has a friend named Phinks. You found out he likes horror movies, too. He doesn’t like pets. He never cared much for music. He’s a little short tempered, and he collects knives.

You liked learning things about him. But, oddly enough, the more you learned about him, the less it felt like you knew.

You couldn’t get him to tell you what his job was. You think he’s on a graveyard shift, though. There’s been a couple times where you woke up in the middle of the night needing water or the bathroom, and you saw him out the window. Dragging something into his house.

You couldn’t tell what he was dragging in the dark, but it looked big.

No idea what that could’ve been.

You asked if you could hang out at his house once, wanting to know what his place looked like.

He made it clear that wasn’t happening.

The look he gave you was indescribable. It gave you that feeling again.

He said no, and you decided not to push. Maybe he just likes his space. That’s not hard to understand, right?

Sometimes you would hear noises coming from his house.

Strange noises.

It never sounded like what you would expect to hear. Like floor creaking, dishes clinking together while being washed, voices from a tv.

Though, sometimes you can definitely hear when he’s watching a horror film.

‘He must have really good speakers connected to his tv,’ you would think to yourself. ‘The wailing almost sounds too real.’

But those strange noises were always impossible for you to distinguish.

Sometimes they sounded… wet. Heavy. Something about the sound sent chills down your spine. You didn’t hear it often enough to complain about it, but it was definitely disgusting.

Other times it sounded like a thick crack, like something breaking. Though, you couldn’t imagine what.

There were nights when you heard crack after crack.

You thought that whatever he was doing in there, he must’ve enjoyed having on a horror movie while he did it.

You often heard muffled cries and pleas while he… did his thing.

You wanted to ask about it. But you didn’t.

Maybe a part of you was scared to.

Or maybe you just didn’t deem it important enough to bother asking.

Either way, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t. Or perhaps you would’ve ended up here sooner, and not by your own volition.

“Here” being in Feitan’s house.

[demaparbat-hp]

She will (and he'll let her)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

...Turns out gay sex actually was the solution.

(This is basically a redraw, come read the real deal over at Tiger Tiger)

[sukunasteeth]

Stitches

Sukuna has never made you wait for him.

He was always on time, always there before you, and if circumstances arose where-in he couldn't be, you always knew an hour before. You were never left to wonder or worry.

If Sukuna says he'll be there, he's there.

So when you wake up to his cold and empty bed, after hours of waiting for him to return home from work, you want to assume the best case scenario.

He's just working late, you assure yourself when your eyes find the clock on the nightstand and it tells you that it's two o'clock in the morning. Maybe he was so entranced in whatever he was tending to that he had forgotten to call you and tell you he'd be late. It had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

You try not to trip over your own two feet on your way to the bathroom, ignoring the dread that immediately darkens your thoughts upon checking your phone for the hundredth time that night.  

No call. No text... Did he tell you in person earlier in the day and you had simply forgotten?

What if he's hurt?

You round the corner of the hallway.

What if he's in trouble?

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't even register seeing the bathroom light peeking out from under the door.

You push it open.

What if he's-

Standing over the sink, dripping in blood, and using a fishing line to sew up an enormous gash splitting into his side?

You're frozen in the doorway. 

Faced with the unfortunate answer to the questions that had been progressively plaguing you the entirety of the night. Shock grips your throat and has a cold sweat breaking out over your skin.

You haven't seen him so roughed up since the two of you were in high school. Sukuna, always hungry for a test of strength, had often walked you home with a bloody nose or a ripped open pair of knuckles, but this would be the first time you've seen him look like he just rolled out of a fight club ring. 

He's taken off his suit jacket and his usually pristine white button down has been torn to shreds. The pieces that are left of it have adhered to the deepest of his wounds, soaked in crimson. He's holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, glaring down at a particularly large slice in his torso as he feeds a needle into the skin and puts himself back together again. One of his eyes is swollen and there's a small cut to the side of it. You can tell that he'll have a black eye come morning. Sukuna must see you in the corner of it, because he suddenly turns to look at you. The edge of his shirt falls out of his mouth, but Sukuna doesn't seem to notice, too surprised by your presence.

The two of you take each other in. Silently appraising the situation.

Before you can react, his surprise is already morphing into a resigned, disappointed sigh.

"Aw shit."

"What the HELL?!" You don't recognize the voice that escapes you in your panic. Raspy from the sleep still coating your throat, disjointed as your tonsils remember themselves and yet forget how to operate in your shock. You're across the room in a flash, nearly tripping headfirst into him in your haste. "What happened?! Y-You're hurt. Why are you hurt? Jesus, that looks so bad- oh my god. 'Kuna-"

"Shhh," He's hushing you. You're close enough for him to reach out with his free hand and pull you even closer, he doesn't seem to notice the streak of fresh blood he leaves behind on your wrist. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You're covered in blood!" You whisper in horror, you search his eyes for even an ounce of alarm, and find only his usual nonchalance lounging there. As though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

He even looks down at himself like he wants to refute you, but when he picks up the collar of his shirt, finding the shredded pieces of what remained of it, he seems to think better. 

"Little bastards didn't do half bad, actually." He mutters to himself. He almost sounds... impressed. "Any deeper and it could have really been a pain in my ass."

"What happened?" You ask again, desperate.

"Just some kids waiting outside of the office." He rubs at the back of his head, and you notice another small cut there over a raised bump that seems to be swelling at the base of his skull. It must be tender, because he grimaces when he grazes it. You do too, just from watching him. "Trying to make some pocket money off of me and Uraume. They should have at least waited until we were both alone." When he pulls his hand away from his head, there's fresh blood glistening on his fingertips. He sucks his teeth. "Amateurs."

You take a deep, steadying breath- willing your heartbeat to slow.

You were the one who decided to fall for a man constantly looking for a good fight. At this point, you had only yourself to be disappointed with.

Without another word you turn your back to him and head straight for the shower. You needed him to wash off. You wouldn't be able to tell which parts of him needed attention in the mess that was currently coating his skin and you were already preparing mentally to tend to him. You spin the dial to ‘hot’ and turn back to him, trying your best to glare. You didn't think it was working very well. Especially because he's smiling softly at you.

"Get in." You command, pointing to the tub.

Sukuna scoffs softly, turning back to his needle and fishing line.

"It's fine.” He brushes you off. “I'm just going to rinse the cuts as I go-"

"Sukuna." You don't mean for it to come out as demanding as it does. Sukuna was hurt. You wanted to be gentle with him, but you can't help how overwhelmed you are at the sight of him battered to such a degree.

He slowly lifts his head like he was giving you time to think about the way you had just spoken to him before he meets your eyes again. You're too roused to take it back. "Get. In."

You can tell in his momentary silence that he doesn't recognize this shade of frustration on you. He's watching you like he's trying to take in every detail of it. Engrave it into his brain. Part of you is reminded in that moment that it wasn't Sukuna's anger you were in risk of pushing, but rather his excitement.

He folds up the fishing line and loops it around the sewing needle, placing it onto the counter without turning to look at it.

Your unrelenting stance falters a bit as he crosses the room after you, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he goes. His eyes never leave yours, testing your will.

When he makes it to you, he's brimming with pride. His belt clinks when he unloops the first notch. 

"Yes ma'am." He purrs.

...

An hour later, he's as clean as he can be and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat. You're perched in his lap, having already finished stitching shut the larger wounds that needed it. Now you're down to the last small cut left, which is on his cheek. It didn't require much attention, it was a tiny graze compared to the rest of the gashes you had tended to.

You can feel Sukuna watching you with a smitten little smile, like you had just spent the past hour silently telling him how much you adored him with your gentle but stern touches.

It ticks you off.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter, pressing the last of the steri-strips against his skin.

He doesn't even pretend to stop. You refuse to meet his gaze as you do a final examination of your handiwork. Finally, with him properly patched up and without a single drop of fresh blood in sight, the pain in your heart eases. He was okay. 

"...Why didn't you have Uraume help you with this before you came home?" You pretend to reassess one of the gauze strips on his bicep, but it's really just an excuse to nervously pick at the cotton while you're underneath his gaze.

There were plenty of people at the office who knew how to deal with wounds to this severity, professional medics that could have sewed him up twice as fast and sent him home just as clean as when he had arrived. So why did he wait so long for help?

Sukuna hums and his bandaged knuckles glide up and down the outsides of your thighs. "Maybe I like watching you play nurse."

"Kuna~" You groan hopelessly, letting your head thunk against his shoulder. "Quit teasing. I'm mad at you." You announce.

It only serves to widen his grin, which you can feel pressed against your hair as he kisses your forehead.

"But you're so cute when you want to be mad at me." He mocks your tone of voice and chuckles when you press your thumb into the bandage on his bicep in an attempt to punish him-just a bit.

Quickly, he snatches your hand, locking the both of your fingers together and gently nudging your head with his own. Silently asking you to look up again.

You're trying your best to pout at him, but you're surprised to see softness where you expected to find mischief in his expression. There's a warm fondness to his gaze. One you usually only see him wear when he's watching you talk about something you're particularly passionate about.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." The genuineness of the statement softens the hard lines of your face. And just like that, you completely forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him. His fingers trace the space between your brows where he had just made an angry knot disappear. "I do hate it when I do that."

Maybe it was a tactic to get off the hook. But it was a good one. It even has you feeling guilty for being hard on him. 

"I don't like seeing you covered in blood." You whisper, finally meeting his eyes. The glimmer there is triumphant.

"I'll hose off out front next time, how's that?"

You bite back a laugh at the image, trying to keep your stern disposition. You lean in, so as to impart the severity of your tone. "No next time."

Sukuna leans in closer, "And I'll have to get you a nurse's outfit."

"No next time!"

You were in love with the epitome of mischief. There was always going to be a next time.

[moonyflesh]

[🚬]

no thoughts- just Logan smoking some big ass cigar at any given moment.

[solarmorrigan]

Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

-

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

[tiafrye]

🔮 Lavender Haze 💜

[ceaseless-watchers-special-girl]

i'm... *inhales* happy you're happy

bullshit detector: BEEP

[mikonez]

no one look at me I had a difficult day alright

[ririarts]

Wyll's new kisses are just so... *dies*

[territorial-utopia]

Oh hey look another wip from like, 2022 that I never shared 8,D So here's the next one in my animation study series where I try to copy a piece of animation I like (but use my own characters as the models instead)

Anyway, they're dumb, they're idiots, they're in love.

[willowser]

i feel like bakugou is maybe a bad liar. at least to you.

he buys you a birthday gift super early and stows it in the closet, and then one day you're digging in there to collect some clothes you've been meaning to donate and he's just—hovering.

and you see him standing there and ask, "oh, did you have some clothes to get rid of, too?"

"uh, yeah," and he looks kinda awkward, with his shoulders tense and hands curled. "yeah, move it."

so you do, and you hold your bag full of clothes and stand behind him and wait, as he sort of half-ass fiddles with the shirts he has hanging up. you don't walk off, just keep waiting, and he glances over his shoulder at you multiple times and he's not really...doing anything. certainly not looking for clothes.

you raise your eyebrows at him and his own furrow, before he throws out his hands like he's offended.

"what? gonna watch me the whole time?"

"well," you frown at him, "how long is it gonna take you?"

"i dunno, what's it matter?"

"...do you have a lot of clothes to donate?"

"i'm try'na figure it out, but you're just standin' there."

"why does it matter if i'm standing here?"

"i don't like you lookin' over my shoulder."

"why? because you're hiding something?"

there's a brief pause before he snorts, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he shakes his head. the look he gives you is so—unconvincing; mouth open a little as he thinks, taking a deep breath before he says, simply. "no. what the hell would i have to hide?"

you narrow your eyes at him, and then he finally turns around to pretend to mess with his clothes again. 'i don't know...you tell me."

katsuki snorts again and just shrugs, like you're being ridiculous. "dunno what y'r talking about. should maybe...eat, or somethin'."

[jkvjimin]

STRONG BABIES 💪 | for @heybaetae [16/?] random gifs of maknae line cr. namuspromised

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

Ibispaint eyestrain palette Johnny I kept forgetting to post

[ardensregias]

their kisses are the ones that stole your breath away, the ones that are spontaneous, sudden, also unexpectedly long that it has you gasping for oxygen when they finally let go, their eyes gleaming with mirth at the dazed look in your eyes.

and they didn't care about who sees, where you're currently standing, what time is it—they just need to have their lips against yours, or your skin, doesn't really matter—they just need to kiss you silly or they'll lose five years of their lifespan.

[ʚ♡ɞ] wriothesley, heizou, itto, beelzebub, kaveh, sampo, aventurine, childe, ayato, jing yuan, satan, mammon, leraye, rafayel + your faves <3

[gd-dollopole]

I should find another hobby

Anyway, if Merlin was set in modern times, Arthur would have called Merlin his “gay awakening”.