#literally this is what the knuckles show should have been

[sirgawainofgalifrey]

Memory

"Knuckle's is a momma's boy" Well mayhaps there's a reason he's hesitant around father figures?

@year-of-the-echidna maybe one of these days I'll submit these within the timeframe.

[sonknuxadow]

jesus christttt im not surprised at all to hear that the knuckles series focuses on wade and other human characters a lot i saw this coming a mile away with how almost all the news we were getting before the trailer came out was about the human characters/actors and not about knuckles (or sonic or tails or any other animated characters) but the fact that somebody calculated how many minutes of screentime knuckles has and it came out as LESS THAN HALF OF THE ENTIRE SERIES' RUNTIME when the series is NAMED after him is ridiculous. after this show comes out wade will likely have more screentime and overall plot relevance in the entire scu than tails does. did they actually think wade is a popular enough character for people to be down with this. what the fuck

[giamee]

𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 '𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐓!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🍭 )

he just can't get enough of your pussy !

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | 🚨🚨🚨SMUT !! (f!reader receiving oral & fingering), uhhh pussydrunk hsr men who are MUNCHES <3, i think this is the first time writing smut on this blog so hereee we gooo, uhh clit slapping (only once thanks blade), overstim, nothin toooo crazy, ever so slight dom!reader for sampo (that man needs to get topped so bad) + you call him a pervert idk, squirting (shoutout luocha 😙)

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ I HAVENT WRITTEN SMUT IN AGESSSS SO PLS BE NICE AND TO MY MUTUALS SORRY THT THIS SHOWS UP ON YOUR DASHBOARD LETS STILL BE FRIENDS PLS 😭

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 JING YUAN.

this is a dangerous game when he's involved

as a general, jing yuan is very accustomed to being in charge, of taking charge and ensuring that things happen

and as a man who cares more about the hours outside of his work than during, who can blame him for wanting to commemorate each time that he comes home to you?

he's always been very giving as a lover, that much is true. and as a man with a tendency to be more on the... spontaneous side, you were no stranger to a quickie in a slightly less than convenient location. he just couldn't bear to leave you uncared for, after all.

so really, you should have expected that he would quite literally stoop to this level. one minute he was walking through the front door, you calling out a greeting to him from the sink as you washed some dishes.

and the next minute, he was on his knees behind you, your skirt flipped up over your hips and panties tugged to the side as he began to eat you out with some type of renewed fervour.

it had you slapping one hand over your mouth, the other white-knuckled as you hold on for dear life to the kitchen counter. your legs were very quickly turning to jelly due to his ministrations, the feeling of his tongue fucking into you rendering you unable to form sentences.

and even worse than the sensation was the sound of it- every lick and slurp reverbating through the empty room, every squelch of your pussy making you go a shade darker as jing yuan moaned, the bastard, and delved even further into your pussy. your hips pushed against him, his hands snaking their way around your thighs to keep you pinned in place while he ate you out like his life depended on it.

you bit back a squeal as you felt his tongue flick against your clit before running back through your folds, circling the hole before fucking back into you.

"fuck, i love this pussy so much," he moaned out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he came up for air momentarily. "love comin' home to you every day- you taste so good, so good f'me-"

any attempts at muffling your noises were extinguished as you let out a sob, tears welling up from the pleasure, making you fold over so that your torso rested against the counter. your legs were spread wide by now, giving jing yuan all the access that he needed.

he relinquished one of your thighs in favour of using his fingers to pump into you, curling them just right against that spongy spot that had you shaking like a leaf, feeling the pressure build inside you much quicker than you anticipated.

"fuck- fuck- i can't, 's so good-" you were babbling now, trying in vain to break free or push his head away, the pleasure bordering on too much. it was comically easy how ineffective your attempts to hinder him were,

"you can." his voice was some soothing reprieve, and the warmth of his hands squeezing against your hips helped to ground you as he otherwise brought you to the edge.

your thighs were trembling, barely supporting your weight and you could feel your release fast approaching, though something was holding you back.

"cum f'me." jing yuan's rasped voice is what finally coaxed you to let go, to let that string snap with a final cry as you collapsed fully against the countertop.

always diligent, jing yuan continued to eat you out, making sure not to miss a drop as you spasmed against him, hips finally stilling after you ride out your high.

"bastard." your voice is muffled, head resting on your forearms as your regain your strength. jing yuan merely chuckles, placing a kiss with his wet lips to your inner thigh again, one last jolt of pleasure running through you before he stands, fixing your clothes for you.

"but you love it."

you give him a halfhearted kick in the shin.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 SAMPO.

he's the type of man who's best in small doses

the amount of times you get annoyed while he's on another tangent or trying to scam you sell you a product is..... a bit more than infrequent

but there's ways around that

"sampo, do you ever shut up?"

ironically enough, you asking him that made him do just that, pausing for a second to lick his lips as his smile widened, cheshire-like, as you watched the cogs turn in his head.

"no, but for a small standalone price-"

if youuu put a buck in my cup i will shut the fuck up (sorry)

"sampo."

the man cackles, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to his side.

"sorry, doll, but a man has to make a living somehow."

you turn to glare at him now. you really weren't in the mood.

"either shut up or i'll make you."

you watch as his smile drops for just a second, his pupils dilating ever so slightly at the underlying hint of what's to come. and bless his heart, the man decided to push his luck.

approximately five minutes later, you were grinding on his face. the only noises that he really made now were occasional grunts and moans as you rocked back and forth, and you decided that you liked him much better when he wasn't talking.

the man with a silver tongue had his uses, after all.

he was so eager to please, too- from what you could tell with the way he was eating you out. if it weren't for the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling, you would be convinced that he was enjoying it more than you. his moans reverberated around your clit as his tongue flicked over and sucked it, leaving you keeling over and your thighs quaking against the sides of his head.

every moan you let out had him eating you out with a renewed fervour, almost desperate for you to reach your high. you let your hand snake into his hair, getting a full handful before yanking on it, hard. sampo whines from the sensation, and you almost miss the muffled plea for you to do it "again".

his fingertips are digging into your thighs almost painfully, keeping you seated firmly against him (not that you were going to move, anyway).

your eyes land on the tent in his boxers, and an idea pops into your head as you snake your hand past his abdomen to pull his waistband down, letting his cock spring free. it looked painfully hard, the tip already leaking pearls of precum, and you spat in your hand before starting to jerk him off, ever so slowly.

he whined again at the pressure, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand, desperate for any sort of friction.

"you're getting off to this, you pervert?" you laughed as he shook his head desperately, still plunging his tongue deep inside you even as his hips bucked wildly. he was already so close, it almost made you laugh.

you yourself were beginning to feel the coil deep within you start to tighten, a telltale sign that your own orgasm was approaching.

"so if i were to just... stop, you wouldn't mind?" to emphasise your point, you loosened your grip on him, grinning to yourself as he whined pathetically.

"hm... that's what i thought."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 BLADE.

blade's mean when he eats you out

he's one of those who eats it for his own pleasure, and whether it's until you orgasm once or multiple times, he's not stopping until he's satisfied, overstimulation be damned

"you still alive there?" the man between your thighs snickers at your fucked-out state, not even able to form a sentence to answer him.

how many times had he made you cum by now? six? seven? you'd lost count long ago, and you don't think it mattered much to blade. sometime after the second one, it began to dawn on you that his goal wasn't to simply make you cum then call it a day.

"c'mon, eyes on me." you squeal at the sensation of his hand slapping down against your clit, the raw flesh stinging for a few moments before his hand smooths it over, soothing the skin.

"you can handle one more, right?" you lift your head weakly to meet his ravenous eyes, somehow even hungrier than when he had first started peeling your clothes off. the look in his eyes made a shiver run down your skin, and you gave him a sheepish nod.

"attagirl."

blade's one to keep you on your toes, never knowing just what to expect from him. he ducks his head down, leveling it with your still pulsing hole, and you gasp as you hear, then feel him spit on it.

there's a blunt intrusion as he sinks two of his fingers into you, knuckles deep, crooking them just right to hit that spot inside you. your leg twitches as an automatic response, making the man snicker again.

"you're so sensitive," he coos, and you hide your embarrassed face with your arm. "i bet if i just..." your body seizes up as you cum, again, more sudden than you ever expected as blade presses harder against you. a strangled moan flies out of your mouth, writhing at the pressure.

he's nice enough to let you ride out your high, pathetically grinding your clit against his palm, whimpering at the tenfold sensitivity and the little aftershocks wracking your body.

and when you're finally breathing normally again, you hear his voice break you out of your stupor.

"one more?"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

what he lacks in experience is made up for doubly in enthusiasm

because let's be real, this man is too busy with the silvermane guards to have enough time to be dating and fucking around

but for you? he'd make the time. and he'd learn how to get you off while he's at it, too

"so if you just, slide your fingers in, slowly." gepard follows your instructions dutifully, and even then you still winced at the feeling of his large fingers stretching you out, the slightest of burns already kicking in.

"like this?" he looks up at you, all puppy dog eyes, so eager to learn. his face was too innocent for what he was doing.

"mhmm." you smile down at him, his face rested against one of your thighs as his gaze returns to your cunt, glued to the way it stretches around his digits. he feels you pulse against him and he shudders, trying to hold back for your sake. he was here to learn what you liked, after all.

"and then you kind of... curl them a bit? and move them too." his ministrations are soft to begin with, and even there's still an unmistakeable squelch each time he pumps his fingers into you, the lewdness of it all making him turn pink.

"does that feel good?"

"y-yeah, so good, baby."

he's so close to your pussy, you can feel each time he breathes, his little pants hitting your clit, making you even wetter. the anticipation of it all had you practically squirming where you lay propped up on your elbows, watching him.

his eyes are still transfixed on you, mouth hanging open at the way your hips rolled ever so slightly, meeting each of his shallow thrusts.

"you see that bit above? if you lick it, it'll feel really good f'me." gepard nods, all too eagerly leaning forward, licking a thick stripe from your hole to the clit with his tongue, before starting to flick his tongue against it gingerly.

"yeah, fuck, you're good at this." he hums against you, starting to move his tongue with a little more fervour, his hand still pumping into you. he always had been a fast learner.

he settles into a rhythm, one that has you steadily building the pressure in your core, soft moans escaping your lips.

"just like that, fuuuck," you pant out, letting your head roll back and your eyes closed as you focused on the feeling. it's then when gepard decides to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking ever so deliciously to make your toes curl.

you let out a particularly loud moan at the sensation, one that your ever so perceptive boyfriend latches onto, increasing the pressure in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"geppie m'gonna cum- don't stop-" he obeys your every word, slurping at your cunt with a hunger that sends you over the edge. you convulse, hips raising off of the mattress to buck against his face, his fingers curling around your quaking thighs.

"use my face, darling," he murmurs into you, so eager to please. the way the ridge of his nose bumps against your clit helps you ride out your high, grinding against his mouth a few more times before you finally flop back down against, the bed, limbs turning to jelly.

"no fucking way that was your first time eating someone out." gepard merely grins, wiping some of your juices off of his face before crawling up the bed to meet you.

"'m sure it was, now give me a kiss."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 LUOCHA.

your life will be CHANGED after this man eats u out for the first time i just know it

like.. he's got skills. he's a certified munch i know this in my SOULLLLL

"just relax, honey, let me take care of you." his velveteen voice is what has you finally lying back, letting the tension in your body leave you as his nimble fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, sliding them off of your legs ever so tantalisingly.

he groans at the string of slick that stays connected to them- no surprises there as you had been sat on his lap kissing him for the past half an hour- and you covered your face in embarrassment.

"don't go shy on me now, hm?" you peek between your fingers, catching the glint of his emerald eyes, the way his smile widens when he makes eye contact with you from his place between your legs.

"hi, pretty."

"hi."

"we can go as slow as you want, okay? tell me what you're comfortable with." luocha's thumbs rub gentle circles into your thighs, coaxing you to open them and let him settle more comfortably.

"do you want me to touch you?" you nod, watching as luocha's smirks almost imperceptibly.

"use your words, darling." you whine, kicking at him lightly.

"quit teasing me."

"do you want my fingers or my tongue?"

"luocha!" he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

"i'm sorry, love, you're just so cute when you're flustered." he presses another kiss to your thigh now, lips inching upwards ever so slowly, holding himself back as he waits for your go-ahead.

"could you... eat me out?" your face feels so warm just from asking the question, but the nerves are quelled as luocha smiles brightly, shifting his weight on his hips to lower himself down closer to you.

"gladly."

there's a few seconds of anticipation, of his breath hitting your core before another entirely new sensation- something wet and muscled sliding against you as luocha licks a flat stripe through your slit. his tongue sharpens, flicking against your clit as he pulls away after his experimental first taste.

you're already feeling something inside you coil in anticipation, and it tightens even more at the blissed out expression on luocha's face.

"you taste divine, my love."

and then he's delving in for more. your usually so composed boyfriend lying flat on his stomach, buried facefirst in your pussy and eating it like a man starved.

the slurping and squelching noises are obscene, echoing off of the walls and filling up the room along with your wails and moans. your head was in the clouds right now, too fucked out to even scream his name. and he hadn't even put his tongue in yet.

as if reading your mind, luocha finally shifts his attention to your hole, his tongue circling it, teasing it open, before he plunges in along with his fingers, the size of them and his fingertips grazing against your g spot bringing you to the verge of tears.

everything just felt so good, and he was going to make you cum hard and fast.

the regular pressure of an impeding orgasm kept building up, more than it regularly would, until it became an entirely new sensation altogether.

"w-wait, baby, i'm gonna pee or something-"

luocha pauses, pupils blown wide with lust as he meets your gaze.

"you're not, honey, just trust me, alright?"

and because it's him, because you'd do just about anything for him right now if it meant continuing to feel this good, you lie back down, feeling him bring you back to that point again.

his fingers are drilling into you at an almost inhuman pace, the sound enough to make you cum, let alone the sensation. his soft lips suction around your clit, warm tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you squeal and throw your head back.

"'m gonna-" luocha nods encouragingly, his nose bumping against your clit in a way that has your vision go white as you writhe in ecstasy. there's an odd feeling, of something shooting out of you, and you look down to see a spray of clear liquid. luocha's fingers rub against your pusy frantically, making you writhe again, prolonging your orgasm as he milks you for every last drop.

you finally come back down to earth, vaguely feeling a warm wet cloth wipe away at you, at the mess you had made.

and luocha's gazing at you with nothing but adoration, a pussydrunk smile on his lips.

"aren't you glad you trusted me, love?"

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist

[starlightsearches]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[jaggedamethyst]

clandestine

viktor (arcane) x stripper f!reader

pairing: viktor (arcane) x f!reader

content: 18+ minors dni, smut, not thigh but lap riding, strip club obviously, some cursing, porn some plot idk, established relationship, secret relationship, not proofread

notes: i am not personally a stripper, but I have somehow seen a lot of movies and youtube vloggers explaining the culture and mindset they have…about doing this to get them to a next phase of their life. some people may not feel that way at all, and just do it to feel empowered….or literally just because its a job. no reason is more valued than the other, and I hope I did this justice because I have the utmost respect for every job. please let me know if anything isn’t hitting the way it should in that regard and i will make the edits <3

also, not an au… this was kinda inspired by lest. idk if it was ever confirmed, but the character kinda reads to me as a sex worker and I do love that. normalize including those stories in media.

word count: 2.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Stepping into the building always felt particularly specific for Viktor. The music was melodic but slightly too loud. Flashing lights almost always sent him off balance, leaning into his cane. A vibration pulsed—bouncing off every wall hard enough to make him physically swat the feeling away with his head. Yet, whenever he’d find his seat and glance across the room—all of it faded away.

Had there not been a physical spotlight, Viktor could still find you a mile away. He was completely entranced, mesmerized by the way you moved—even more so by the fact that it was an act. You were sweet, saccharine even, and you never showed it. That side was all for him. Only him.

When you were at the club, there was a veil over you—projecting a unique exterior. Dancing allowed you to disconnect and channel an identity you didn’t in everyday life. Often, you were misunderstood. Even more common was for you to be ignored—it wasn’t like that at work. You were respected and held at the same regard as everyone else. There were rules, and everyone followed them. You were an equal and you appreciated that.

Regardless of that feeling on stage, the money was also damn good. You grew up in the Undercity and you knew what it was like to have nothing. This fact was something you and Viktor bonded over initially. Later, both of your intellect and fondness for academics. He empathized, too, with you having no family…even more the fact that you started this venture to pay for your studies. That’s how the two of you found yourself dating. There was an unwavering kindness about Viktor, you loved that. The secrecy made every interaction all the more interesting, especially in the confines of the Piltover club.

The shift started like any other. You were on stage, moving to the rhythm of your song, Lest in your peripheral. You’d often recall how she was the first person to make you feel truly comfortable. She’d linger during your sets, calling security when needed, even speaking up for you when she realized you couldn’t. Lest gave you the push to take control, and the money really showed it.

You glanced down a bit, seeing some of your money get swept to the side. Lest had your labeled basket in her hands, grabbing some out of the way for you. In that split second, you saw a glint toward the back corner. You smirked, seeing your boyfriend spread on a chair—observing you through low eyes. You sped your tempo up, the stage now cleared enough for you.

Viktor noticed your arched a brow and stifled a chuckle. As you picked up the pace, he leaned back more comfortably in the chair. A hand held onto his cane, knuckles paling at the forceful grip. His other hand rested on the chair. His legs spread entirely, something he knew you loved. He was locked in, eyes roaming over every inch of your body as you danced. Your back was to him, then, ass shaking seductively in a way he’d always appreciated. You bent simultaneously, making a show of your legs before dropping into a split. You rolled your neck, looking toward Viktor. He watched your hand trace over your leg before tapping on it twice with a smile.

You’d definitely seen him back there.

Lest gave a knowing smirk, nodding over her shoulder “I see you spotted your regular.”

“Sure did.” You laughed at that, swinging your legs around. “It’s gonna be a fun night.”

“Oh I can tell.”

Lest didn’t know the two of you were dating, nobody did. That was the allure. Viktor could be the “regular” who showed up and dotted on you while you played the helpless stripper who so desperately needed his money. Neither were true, except that Viktor did love to spend his money on you.

Lest spoke up again, “You should head back there, before he gets restless…you know how they are.”

You moved to stand, doing a final spin and wave to the audience. “You’re right…can’t miss out on the money.”

“Exactly.” You moved to help add the rest of your money to the basket, Lest gripping it for dear life. “I’ll put this in the usual spot. We can do count after you rake in the big bucks.”

You high-fived Lest, watching as she turned immediately. You turned away, too, knowing that the chance of any of your money being taken was close to zero. You’d trust her with your life—so much so that you often debated telling her more about yourself outside of the club. Part of you figured she knew about your relationship and just played along. The thought of that made you love her friendship even more.

There was a drag in your step. You purposely made your strides slow as you inched toward the corner Viktor had chosen for tonight. His eyes had yet to leave you, but his free hand circled the arm rest. He was pent up, which was perfect, you thought.

He watched as you finally reached him, standing over his seated figure with your hands on your hips. You spoke first, yelling a bit over the music. “Funny seeing you here.”

He played along, eyes raking over your body. “I frequent here relatively often, do I not?”

You shrugged, looking away, “One could say that.”

He smiled, moving to stand up. You were a bit shorter than him, but slightly taller now thanks to your heels. He glanced down at them in adoration, loving the feeling of looking up at you. “You were stellar, love.”

You raised your head, flicking your hair. “Thank you, baby.” Your eyes lingered on one another, the genuine feeling of affection sitting between you both. Leaning down to whisper in his ear, you broke that sweet feeling. You played to his true intention; you knew why he was here. “Wanna go somewhere more private?” You let your lips linger for a second, hands coming up to rub his neck and behind his ears with your thumbs. “I know a place.”

He watched you pull back, looking up through his lashes. The smile on your face absolutely melted him. He reached down, slowly searching his pocket. He flipped up a bill that was settled between two fingers. “Lead the way.”

You plucked the money from him and grasped his now empty hand. The exchange had its own unspoken rules—Viktor would always pay, you would let him. The inherently degrading nature never found its way to your relationship but was instead a way to keep up appearances. For Viktor, it was yet another way to show his love for you. He’d give it all if he could—you deserved it.

He followed you, stalking behind your enticing figure. You’d shift every so often, your reflection moving with the tone of the lights. The sound reverberated off of you both, pulsing between your interlocked fingers. The bass slowly faded as you walked down the long hallway, even more so as you entered the secluded room.

The lights were low, a quiet music lulling in the room. Candles lit the area and added a hint of vanilla to the air Viktor appreciated—it smelled like you. He closed his eyes at the thought, enveloped by the scent and feeling of your skin on his palm. You glanced up, observing that the light on the cameras had been switched off. You huffed gratefully, knowing you had to thank Lest again later.

Viktor felt the pull of your hands and mindlessly followed until his back met the couch. He cleared his throat, looking over to you beside him. “So,” he paused, “How was your day?”

“Do you actually want to know how my day was?” You pursed your lips, sarcasm riddled all over them. “Or are you just indulging me so you seem like a gentleman?”

Viktor was frazzled at that, “What? No…” He brushed a hand to move his hair out of his face, “No! I would like to know-“

A kiss to his cheek interrupted him, “I know.” You nodded slowly. “But you should just ask for what you really want…I’m a busy woman after all.”

The flicker in his eye was one you genuinely loved—the switch from caring boyfriend to infatuated client.

“And what is it you think I want?” A hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb slowly finding its way to your lips. He looked down, rubbing his fingers across your skin.

You reached down, then, a hand firmly landing on his thigh. You maintained eye contact as you spoke—sliding a hand further up his leg. “I think I have a pretty good idea…”

“Is that so?” Viktor leaned back further to adjust his lap and purposely push his hardened length into your palm.

The two of you leaned in closer, the pull of each other undeniable. Slowly, your lips collided. There was an urgency, yet neither of you acted on it—an attempt to savor the moment. You maneuvered then, lips still connected. Viktor hummed against your mouth—a sound that left you smiling as you pushed a leg over his lap.

The once soft push of your lips together was now bordering on frantic. Every so often, Viktor would move to pull and suck on one of your lips—urging you on. You were lost in the motion—in him. Your hands snaked up the back of his neck and tangled with the hair at the base of his neck. With a forceful tug, you pulled him back. He was looking at you now, face flushed and lips completely swollen and glistening. Looking at him this way already had your underwear dampening. You refused to break eye contact, lowering yourself just on top of Viktor. Sucking in a breath, he tilted his head back—leaning into the couch cushion.

You began to circle your hips. The friction of the restrained material had you feral. “Fuck…” You continued, slowly circling and moving up and down his erection. “Fuck, Viktor.”

He matched you motion suddenly, circling his hips up into you. The motion had your insides pulsing. You couldn’t keep up the act, leaning down into the warmth of his neck. You felt him kiss and suck on your neck. He trailed kisses up and around your ear—moving around your hairline. His hands found your back, pulling you into him even more. Erratic breaths filled the room. All that was missing, you thought, were the lewd sounds of slapping you so desired. You’d give anything to be fully naked right now, letting him work all over you. But there was no time. The thought only spurred you on.

He spoke suddenly, “I needed this.”

“I know,” You push and pull into him faster, “Me too.”

The fabric barrier between the two of you was soaked now, a mixture of both of you. You slid back a bit, arms length distance away from Viktor. His mouth was agape from the lack of sensation, but quickly lost any will to argue when you began to swirl on his tip. He was always so sensitive there—and you were close. The rubbing on your clit had your breath shallow, your motions less rhythmic. He noticed, grabbing your waist to guide you to a speed that had both of your eyes rolling back.

“I’m close….”

Viktor pulled you into a kiss and mumbled into your mouth. “I am too.”

With a few more pumps against each other, you were finishing all over each other’s clothes. You accidentally broke the kiss, gasping for the breath that escaped you at the burning sensation in your body. Viktor didn’t stop, though, pulling you in impossibly closer. He worked the both of you through, choking out a whine as he shot out ropes into his pants.

The two of you sat there, embracing each other for a while. The feeling of each other was enough in the moment—drowning out the sensory overload of the club. Your finger tips traced over his features. You smoothed over his brows, the moles by his eye and lip, the divets in his cheekbones. He was entirely mesmerized by you—a devotion all over his face.

Light taps at the door broke the moment. You knew it would be Lest; she’d often drop by when you took a bit longer than management would like for just one customer. Opening the door a crack, you saw a pile there—a change of clothes for you and a smaller hand towel. You scooped them up quickly, moving back into the room.

Viktor was still watching you, a hand finding its way back to his cane. His grasp wasn’t as tight as before, you smiled to yourself at that.

You stripped quickly, moving to clean yourself and change your clothes. “Missed you today.”

Viktor pushed himself forward in the seat. “And I, you.” He staggered over to you, a hand pushing in and out of his pocket. He held up a bill again, “We should do this again sometime.”

A small chuckle escaped you. “Sure, baby.” You pecked a kiss on his cheek as he walked by you. “I’ll see you at home.”

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

OK Guys. I get the skepticism esp after the Knuckles disaster, but we also need to keep in mind "this is a trailer that won't spoil literally everything about the movie." ESPECIALLY in regards to GUN. They're not gonna put in the trailer "the military shot a little girl and that's why Shadow is mad so Sonic is going to never work with them ever." That's a great way to get parents to bring their kids to the theater, especially in America. (/s)

It's WAY more effective as a plot twist halfway through, where Sonic thinks that he's finally being accepted onto Earth via working with the government only to find out that they're exploiting him and Shadow the same. I can't guarantee this is gonna happen obviously but it's like a 90% chance just knowing how, like. writing works.

Esp considering the government has not had a good track record in the last two movies, I dunno if they'd do a heel-face turn into "actually they were always right" in the movie where a little girl needs to get shot by the government.

And I'm not gonna say "trust and form a parasocial relationship with a film director" but we should keep in mind that Jeff Fowler got his start working on Shadow's title game and has stated in interviews that he understands how important Shadow's backstory is to his character. Not to mention how the internet has been exploding the last two years with enthusiasm over this story actually getting shown onscreen, enough that a studio would fucking notice at the very least that this is what the people want. I can't guarantee they'll actually listen, but saying that they're absolutely not because "Sonic was in a GUN helicopter in the trailer" is insane. Especially with the fact that GUN is not with Sonic when he goes to Eggman. We just see Team Sonic alone meeting with Stone, and I will bet you it's because there's no way in hell GUN would let them near him, what with the Robotnik connections to the ARK.

Also the Gerald thing is rather worrying, esp with the lack of shit they gave Pachacamac in the miniseries, but honestly I think that was just a marketing push of "Jim Carrey will be playing TWO characters!!!" Considering he's only seen in one trailer scene AT the ARK (where all of Gerald's technology was and, more importantly, where the Eclipse cannon he needs someone to set off is) AND we know from movie 2's credits scene that there was a fifty-year timeskip, I severely doubt that's the real Gerald who's just completely unaffected by his granddaughter being murdered.

And ofc there's things to be concerned about in the trailer. The lack of Rouge for instance– I obviously keep posting my theory that Krysten Ritter's character will be her undercover but the fact we don't know how much time she'd actually have with Shadow, if at ALL, is worrying. The fact that Rouge might not be here period. The weird pacing of the Knuckles show and the fear that could bleed over into the movie. But there's also stuff to get excited about– the epic fight scene choreography, the brief glimpse we got of Maria and Shadow's bond. Reeves's voice actually fits Shadow and at least from what the trailer showed us it looks like the Green Hills storyline is taking a backseat to the action and mystery of Project Shadow.

tl;dr guys calm down for like five minutes. if the movie sucks in december we can riot then. right now let's just band together against mufasa

[multifandomfanatic02]

"You Don't Own Me."

pairing : Alastor x overlord!reader

summary : A new overlord has came to play in Hell, you. Alastor took notice in how many souls you've accrued in such a short time. He has to let you know where you stood in the overlord hierarchy, however things don't go the way he originally planned.

warnings : slight blood play ig? Idk. Author trying to edge the reader :)) not proofread

word count : 900

You hadn't been in Hell for long but it felt as if you belonged. It didn't take long before you started catching the hearts of the sinners. A lot happily giving up their souls to simply breathe the same sulfuric air as you. The way you used these souls was unique. You weren't mean or evil in anyway shape or form. In fact, you were often seen as an inspiration.

The overlords in Pentagram City were a different story. None of them liked the way you shot up the hierarchy without even trying. Instilling fear was what got them where they were at and they weren't going to give up their seat to a goody-two-shoes like you. Your methods interested one overlord in particular, Alastor. Despite literally being stuck in the past, he was quite the open-minded demon.

He didn't know whether or not to applaud you or challenge you. Your talent would be useful. He wanted you for himself. And for years he fought to claim your soul and make a deal. And not once out of the hundreds of proposals did he convince you it was a good idea. The two of you slowly started to develop a strange relationship. Nothing romantic but there was definitely tension. While he didn't own your soul, you were often in each other's company.

It was like mutualistic relationship. He staved off the overly pushy overlords constantly offering you a job; jobs that would obviously make you uncomfortable. In turn, you offered your assistance in a lot of his business. It came with pros and cons like any other agreement. He was extremely possessive of you. You were treated like precious property. You had enough. There was no reason for this behavior. Typically it didn't bother you, but something snapped.

"Alastor. You do not own my soul. I'm not property that you can toy with. I should be allowed to go wherever I please." You crossed your arms in frustration hearing him explain why he didn't want you in the Vees territory.

"Darling, you know I hold you with upmost respect. It's got nothing to do with you being property. I understand you are immune to Vox's hypnosis spell. It's not him I'm worried about. My worry is of Vox's plaything, Valentino." He gripped your wrist, leaning ever so slightly to place a kiss on your knuckles. "Understand that you are a sight to behold in the entirety of Hell. Valentino, is not honorable in his job as I, my dear. Without the proper protection, you might as well be an easy target." His breath ghosted your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

It's like he forgot who you were, what you were capable of. It was time to show him how that talent of yours has affected him over time. And trust when you say, it did.

"Oh Alastor, I think you forget as to how I became an overlord in the first place. The feminine charm that you oh so fear backfiring on me is why you have been by my side after all these years." You wrapped your fingers around his bow tie, pulling him down to your level. An enchanting smile creeping up on your face as Alastor's expression glitched out from the bold action. The other hand running through his hair making him let out a soft purr. His eyes focused on yours trying to determine your next move before you could decide.

To his surprise, you gently pressed your lips against his. His head was dizzy with confusion and guilty enjoyment. Your lips trailed down his neck, biting down a bit. Enough for his blood to trickle down. Your hands were now trading between playing with his hair and drawing small circles on the back of his neck. Your lips returned to his, smearing the blood from your tongue as if it were a beautiful crimson lipstick. The poor guy was so touch starved, he gave in to the sudden intrusion of affection. He couldn't do anything but allow you to press his buttons.

Your tongue ran over your lips, swallowing whatever blood was left on them. You took a step back to view the obvious mess you've made. Alastor's eyes were dazed as if he was in another world. His face beet red nearly matching the color of his suit. It was such an unusual sight to see on him. And you managed to do it.

"My my, Alastor, you look like you would be willing to sell me your soul just readingthe look on your face." You held your hand to your lips to cover the laugh attempting to escape. "How the tables have turned, dear." A joke of course, he would never actua-

"Yes." His ears dropped to the back of his head, still standing at your level. No sign of humor on his face.

"I'm sorry, what?" You blinked dumbfounded, mouth agape.

"I will give you my soul, but only if I'm the only one to experience that from you." Your face flushed from his proposal. Alastor had actually submitted to you because of a single kiss? But it wasn't JUST a kiss to him. It forced out desires he had been holding in for a long time. Now more than ever was he determined to have you be his. It didn't matter as to how anymore.

"You've got yourself deal, Al."

a/n: I know this one is short, it was more of an experiment because of a dream that I had. However if you like this concept, I'd be more than happy to build upon it in the future.

[beekeeperspicnic]

Can't believe this blog has existed THIS long, and I've somehow never shared this Sherlock Holmes fanfic by PG Wodehouse. As far as I know it predates Conan Doyle publishing any stories which mention Holmes retiring to keep bees, which presents the delightful possibility that ACD discussed his future plans for Holmes with his young friend Plum, whose first reaction was to go off and write (and publish) a cute parody of it.

The Adventure of the Missing Bee

Sherlock Holmes is to retire from public life after Christmas, and take to bee-farming in the country.

"It is a little hard, my dear Watson," said Holmes, stretching his long form on the sofa, and injecting another half-pint of morphia with the little jewelled syringe which the Prince of Piedmont had insisted on presenting to him as a reward for discovering who had stolen his nice new rattle; "it is just a little hard that an exhausted, overworked private detective, coming down to the country in search of peace and quiet, should be confronted in the first week by a problem so weird, so sinister, that for the moment it seems incapable of solution."

"You refer—?" I said.

"To the singular adventure of the missing bee, as anybody but an ex-army surgeon equipped with a brain of dough would have known without my telling him."

I readily forgave him his irritability, for the loss of his bee had had a terrible effect on his nerves. It was a black business. Immediately after arriving at our cottage, Holmes had purchased from the Army and Navy Stores a fine bee. It was docile, busy, and intelligent, and soon made itself quite a pet with us. Our consternation may, therefore, be imagined when, on going to take it out for its morning run, we found the hive empty. The bee had disappeared, collar and all. A glance at its bed showed that it had not been slept in that night. On the floor of the hive was a portion of the insect's steel chain, snapped. Everything pointed to sinister violence.

Holmes' first move had been to send me into the house while he examined the ground near the hive for footsteps. His search produced no result. Except for the small, neat tracks of the bee, the ground bore no marks. The mystery seemed one of those which are destined to remain unsolved through eternity.

But Holmes was ever a man of action.

"Watson," he said to me, about a week after the incident, "the plot thickens. What does the fact that a Frenchman has taken rooms at Farmer Scroggins' suggest to you?"

"That Farmer Scroggins is anxious to learn French," I hazarded.

"Idiot!" said Holmes, scornfully. "You've got a mind like a railway bun. No. If you wish to know the true significance of that Frenchman's visit, I will tell you. But, in the first place, can you name any eminent Frenchman who is interested in bees?"

I could answer that.

"Maeterlinck," I replied. "Only he is a Belgian."

"It is immaterial. You are quite right. M. Maeterlinck was the man I had in my mind. With him bees are a craze. Watson, that Frenchman is M. Maeterlinck's agent. He and Farmer Scroggins have conspired, and stolen that bee."

"Holmes!" I said, horrified. "But M. Maeterlinck is a man of the most rigid honesty."

"Nobody, my dear Watson, is entirely honest. He may seem so, because he never meets with just that temptation which would break through his honesty. I once knew a bishop who could not keep himself from stealing pins. Every man has his price. M. Maeterlinck's is bees. Pass the morphia."

"But Farmer Scroggins!" I protested. "A bluff, hearty English yeoman of the best type."

"May not his heartiness be all bluff?" said Holmes, keenly. "You may take it from me that there is literally nothing that that man would stick at. Murder? I have seen him kill a wasp with a spade, and he looked as if he enjoyed it. Arson? He has a fire in his kitchen every day. You have only to look at the knuckle of the third finger of his left hand to see him as he is. If he is an honest man, why does he wear a made-up tie on Sundays? If he is an upright man, why does he stoop when he digs potatoes? No, Watson, nothing that you can say can convince me that Farmer Scroggins has not a black heart. The visit of this Frenchman—who, as you can see in an instant if you look at his left shoulder-blade, has not only deserted his wife and a large family, but is at this very moment carrying on a clandestine correspondence with an American widow, who lives in Kalamazoo, Mich. — convinces me that I have arrived at the true solution of the mystery. I have written a short note to Farmer Scroggins, requesting him to send back the bee and explaining that all is discovered. And that," he broke off, "is, if I mistake not, his knock. Come in."

The door opened. There was a scuffling in the passage, and in bounded our missing bee, frisking with delight. Our housekeeper followed, bearing a letter. Holmes opened it.

"Listen to this, Watson," said Holmes, in a voice of triumph.

"'Mr. Giles Scroggins sends his compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, an' it's quite true, I did steal that there bee, though how Mr. Holmes found out, Mr. G. Scroggins bean't able to understand. I am flying the country as requested. Please find enclosed 1 (one) bee, and kindly acknowledge receipt to 'Your obedient servant, 'G. Scroggins.

'Enclosure.'?"

"Holmes," I whispered, awe-struck, "you are one of the most remarkable men I ever met."

He smiled, lit his hookah, seized his violin, and to the slow music of that instrument turned once more to the examination of his test tubes.

Three days later we saw the following announcement in the papers: "M. Maeterlinck, the distinguished Belgian essayist, wishes it to be known that he has given up collecting bees, and has taken instead to picture postcards."

[luxcuriousao3]

Did somebody say Ghoap angst?? No? Well here's some anyway. May or may not turn this into a longer fic, tell me your thoughts.

-

“What are we doing, Simon?”

Soap regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth, already guessing how Ghost will react—but he’s apparently not only a masochist in bed, so he doesn’t take them back. Ghost is quiet for a brief moment, shoulders tensing up as he stands with his back to Soap, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, muscular form outlined by the light from his private toilet. Soap is still in Ghost’s bunk, naked as the day he was born, sweaty and covered in both his and his Lieutenant’s come. Ghost never cleans him up, just tosses him the towel after he’s done using it, before dismissing him from his room like they’d just had a briefing and not sex. Soap tries not to let that bother him. He really does. He fails, but at least he keeps it from showing. Usually.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

Ghost’s voice is flat when he speaks, but there’s a hint of a warning in it. He’s giving Soap a chance to walk back his words. He’s giving him an out.

Soap, as he so often does, barrels on ahead anyway.

“This. Us. What are we, to you?”

The words hang heavily in the air, and slowly, Ghost turns around to face him. His face, for once uncovered by his mask—a sight Soap only gets to see in these private moments between them, a sight he cherishes—is blank, eyes dark and cold like onyx.

“We are teammates,” Ghost replies, low and intense. “Colleagues that fuck each other to relieve stress, every once in awhile. Don’t make this into something that it’s not, MacTavish.”

Soap swallows, mouth dry, throat still sore from the beating Ghost’s cock had given it. Normally, Soap enjoys that, savoring the reminder of his time with the other man. Now, it just makes him feel hollow.

“Right then, Sir,” Soap says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wait for Simon to throw him the towel clenched in his white-knuckled fist, wiping himself off on his Lieutenant’s sheets, suddenly desperate to leave. It’s petty, and the spark of irritation in Ghost’s stony eyes is satisfying. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need it again, and this is done, Sergeant,” Ghost warns, grabbing Soap’s clothes and tossing them at him hard, in retaliation for the sheets and just as eager for Soap to get the fuck out of his room, probably. Or maybe he just can’t stand the thought of not throwing something at Soap after fucking him. Bastard. “Understood?”

“Copy,” Soap responds as he stands up, clipped. He pulls on his jeans and t-shirt in silence, Ghost’s glare feeling like a physical thing as it burns holes into the side of his head. Soap ignores it as best he can, but his cheeks are flush with humiliation and anger simmers just beneath his skin. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knew what Ghost would say when he did. But Soap is a bloody fool that’s gone and fallen for the most emotionally constipated fuck in the entire SAS, and he’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

The worst part is that as hurt as Soap feels right now, as pissed off as he is at Ghost—he knows he’ll go crawling back to him. He won’t put an end to this like he should, won’t protect his stupidly fragile heart. He couldn’t if he wanted to—it already belongs to Ghost. And Soap doesn’t think he can ever get it back.

So he’ll put up with the coldness and the callousness. He’ll put up with being held at arm's length, never being allowed inside Ghost’s walls even when he’s literally inside Soap. He’ll put up with the hollowness in his chest and the curl of shame in his belly when he’s kicked out of Ghost’s bed time and time again, never allowed so much as a five minute cuddle.

It’s fucking pathetic, but Soap’ll take whatever he can get.

He’s a big boy. He can handle some hurt feelings.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he leaves Ghost’s room, the door slamming shut behind him the second he crosses the threshold.

***

Things are tense for a few days between him and Johnny.

Ghost has his guard up, walls freshly reinforced. His Sergeant had thoroughly unsettled Ghost with his questions, and for days, his skin feels like it's crawling everytime the other man is near. Ghost doesn’t let people get close, and Johnny is no exception.

Except that’s not quite true, and that’s what scares him.

Somehow, Johnny has wormed his way into Ghost’s life with that obnoxiously charming grin and his stupid fucking mohawk. He’s gotten closer to Ghost than any other living person, and instead of pushing him away, Ghost pushed him into his bloody bed instead.

He thinks about ending it, in the days following their last conversation. Seeks out Johnny once at their smoke spot to do just that—but he can’t bring himself to do it. And he knows that’s a problem, that he’s in too deep, that he needs to make a tactical retreat and regroup.

Instead, he offers Johnny a cigarette, and ignores the way his heart squeezes in his chest as he’s graced with the first smile he’s gotten in days from the other man.

Ghost should end things, he knows that. But he doesn’t.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

continuation

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

prompt. loquacious devil gets his cake and eats it: telepathy during cunnilingus.

When he offered you a reward and you told him what you wanted, you didn't expect him to agree. So when he did, since you've been such a good little mouse after all, you couldn't contain your excitment, giddily scrambling onto the bed. The devil laughed at you, a little mean, observing you languidly.

"My, my. How eager you are to see me on my knees - metaphorically or not. Perhaps I should be concerned..."

"No," you said, aware of the line to tread around Raphael. He liked it when you begged, when you simpered, when you wanted him. He liked it when you were bold. He didn't like when you were audacious. When you dared to push above your station. "I just - your mouth on me...it's..."

"Oh?" An eyebrow raised on Raphael's handsome face, a sly smile spreading his pretty, thin lips. "Is it a fantasy of yours, pet? A naughty thought that has kept you warm at night when you're lonely in your bed?"

"Yes," you murmured. Fought not to combust with embarassment at the salacious way the devil smirked at you. He was delighted by this information, you knew. His tail swayed to and fro.

"Well," he purred, "far be it from me to deny you something you've longed for."

Like a huge red panther, Raphael crawled onto the bed after you. His feline smile never faded. His big wings flexed. His size dwarfed you. You watched him, your heart pounding with anticipation. Blood roared in your ears. You let your thighs fall open for the devil's broad frame, gasping in surprise when he clicked his fingers and your trousers and small-clothes disappeared. You stuffed your knuckles in your mouth and bit them. To have Raphael between your legs like this was as electric and arousing as you imagined, but in hindsight, potentially dangerous; a predatory gleam in his eye, sharp teeth so close to your softest, most vulnerable parts...he had less penchant for biting than his incubus, but you knew from experience the possibility definitely wasn't off the table. A testament to how doomed you were that the threat didn't frighten you.

(You had no idea.)

"What's this?" Raphael crooned. Tilted his head. Dragged one claw through the softness of your pubic curls to brush over your clit and between your mons. You took in a sharp breath, but Raphael simply pulled his finger away to show you it was coated in slick. He was deeply amused. "Wet already and I haven't even started yet...how utterly pathetic your desperation for me is. But fret not, my sweet, wanton little mouse. I can keep a secret."

Before you could say anything, he sucked his claw clean, humming as he did so. "Not bad. This won't be as much of a chore as I thought."

Raphael, squatting in the space between your knees, grabbed the meat of your thighs and widened their spread, stretching almost to the point of pain. You liked the discomfort. The threat of ten sharp points, ten cambion claws piercing your skin and drawing blood. The devil stared at your sex, so close each hot puff of his breath tingled, raising all the baby hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. He stared until you began to squirm.

"Raphael," you whispered.

The devil chuckled, a deep and throaty sound that, quite literally, went to your cunt. Without fanfare, his rough warm tongue lolled out and licked you from the base of your sex to the top of your clit in a single, harsh swipe. You whined, biting deep into your own knuckles. Your other hand longed to grip one of Raphael's mighty horns, but you knew that you weren't to touch him until he allowed it, so instead you twisted your fingers into the sheets beneath you. He squeezed your flesh in his big red hands tighter, claws scratching light welts. Again he licked, and again, and again, and again; hard, harder, sloppy, effortlessly rolling the meat of his tongue against your entrance, teased it with its separate forked tips, spreading your gooey slick around as he pleased. Your back arched, pushing your aching sex into his face. Encouraging him to enter you. Lick you inside and out.

"Yes, please please please..."

So greedy. I'm already rewarding you with my generous service, and yet you're still asking for more. Perhaps I've spoiled you too much.

You twitched. You heard the devil's voice clear as day, but his mouth was occupied. You opened your eyes (you didn't know when you had closed them) and glanced down. Though he was buried in your snatch, Raphael’s reptilian eyes, onyx and fire, were fixed on you. His gaze was searing. What a fucking sight. Your stomach dropped, and then it roiled with shock and desire. He was in your head, you realised. Sifting through your thoughts like sheets of paper, projecting his words directly into your consciousness. Of course he would find a way to keep talking despite having his mouth full of pussy.

Crass.

"It's...mmm, ahh, my mind..."

Wrong. You belong to me, don't forget. What's yours is mine.

That shouldn't have thrilled you as much as it did. You felt Raphael's amusement and satisfaction about that as though it were your own. Your body trembled, guts taut. He was sucking on your labia, flattening his tongue to rub on your slick flesh everywhere except where you wanted.

Suck my clit, you thought, please, I need you to suck my clit.

You couldn't control your thoughts, though, mind racing about how gorgeous, how handsome, how beautiful he looked all the time as though he'd been carved to life by hellish angels, how fucking incredible he was between your legs, how you could come just by watching him down there because he painted such an erotic portrait lapping at your pussy that you'd be masturbating to the memory for the rest of your life but it would never feel as good as it did now, oh please suck my clit...

Hells. It was a groan, gruff, a tad irritated, but you sensed the desire in him, the fire you were igniting in his blood as you stroked his ego. Your thoughts are so chaotic, so loud. I'm tempted to lobotomise you, my needy little pet, but then whose desperate, carnal fantasies about myself would I indulge in, if not yours?

Finally, at last, he took pity on you. Enveloped your swollen clit in the moist cavern of his mouth. Sucked hard. So hard his fangs scraped you. You squealed, you couldn't help it, your legs clamping around his head. He seemed to like that. His arousal, his true fiendish nature, began leaking into his projected thoughts.

So warm. So pliant. How good your sopping quim tastes. I can smell your sweet mortal blood pumping through your veins, you know. You would let me tear you open and drink straight from the still-beating source, wouldn't you? Yesss...such a good little creature you are...

You'd let him take you to pieces. You'd do it yourself if he asked. You rutted against his face, rolling your hips in desperate pursuit of the violent orgasm you could feel pulling at all the strings that made you a person. Strings held by this devil, the puppeteer of your ruin, and your salvation. You loved him. You adored him.

And now he knew. Shit.

This time you physically felt his dark, smug, infernal satisfaction like the scuttling legs of spiders across your brain. The cruel smile pulling his lips around your fat clit. How utterly you had ruined yourself. He had ruined you.

Oh, you poor thing. You can't keep a secret at all. He cooed to your very quivering soul. Slid his serpentine tongue up your entrance suddenly, a selfish invasion, groaning in dark delight when your insides clamped around it and you shrieked. Grabbed his horns reflexively. He let you, fragmented thoughts drifting by of you split on his cock and screaming as he writhed and rutted and emptied his balls, filled you and fucked you and bred you over and over and over. You were taking his tongue so well. You'd take everything else, too. So, so greedy. But that's alright. We're going to have such fun together...aren't we?

[niiwa-angel]

"Optimus doesn't take time off because he's too self sacrificing"

Wrong!

Optimus can't take time off because he knows the second he isn't white knuckling the riens, Elita-One, Ironhide, Jazz, and Prowl are going scorched Earth on the Decepticons. It will end the war but it may also classify as a total annihilation.

Optimus, sleeping slightly deeper than he usually would: 😴

Prowl: Optimus is out of commission, I am now in charge. Elita, break out those plans we told him we didn't make, Ironhide, ready the acid bombs, Jazz, grab us a jet. We're ending this war tonight.

Elita "the ends can justify the means" One: You know, I don't think we've properly considered the elegance of germ warfare. We wouldn't even have to get our hands dirty.

Ironhide "I'm just showing him my cannons" the Weapons expert: That'll take too long. Nukes, that's the best way to go.

Jazz "I lead the most lethal fighters on this team" the Spy: We've got one shot, I can sneak in and stash some explosives in their barracks, they'll never catch me. Blow their whole base sky high.

Optimus, waking up in just the nick of time: I am begging you to stand down!

Ironhide: Told you we should have slipped a sedative in his high grade.

~~~~

Optimus, literally fighting to get out of the Medbay: You don't understand! They're plotting!

Ratchet: You have a broken leg and a head injury, sit your ass down!!

First Aid, who's been secretly trying to help the four of them end this thing: I'll grab a sedative. He may need a week of bedrest.

Meanwhile

Elita-one: Now, I did some research and did you know that half of our war crimes aren't considered war crimes on this planet?

Jazz: Fascinating. What a creative group.

Prowl: Indeed. And Optimus does want us abiding by the laws of this planet.

Ironhide, nodding along: He does.

Prowl: Whelp! Gotta follow orders obey the laws of this planet. It's not a war crime here, Jazz, get the rust bombs.

[essycogany]

Small Things Can Make Big Differences 🩷

Hi, Fans Of Amy Rose!

This is my opinion and we don’t know what could happen between now and Sonic Movie 3. Anyone can disagree. I’m 100% fine with that and this isn’t going to tarnish my enjoyment of the film at all, but I’ve got to get this off my chest. I’d love to see Amy Rose in Sonic Movie 3 and would be disappointed if she wasn’t in it. Yeah, she’d probably not have a HUGE role or time to develop as much. I get it, but at the same time, I personally don’t think we should shy away from characters having small arcs.

Tails had one in Sonic Movie 2 and I wouldn’t say the movie would’ve been better without him. I don’t think we should have to justify a main character like Amy who’s existed before KNUCKLES (and debatably Tails) being in a movie about her own franchise. We shouldn’t have to wait a whole year for it either. Stuff takes time sure, but other movies with Pokémon, the Avengers, Mario, My Little Pony G4, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and many others did it and did it well for the most part. Most of these have tons of characters that they wasn’t afraid to show in one movie. Characters with smaller roles still impacted the movies and in a memorable way too. We shouldn’t be so timid in bringing Sonic characters in Sonic movies. They’re just as marketable as these other franchises. The successes of the Sonic trilogies proved that.

Without Amy or other characters it doesn’t feel as full as it could be. Not saying we should’ve got all of them from the get go but a little more would be nice.

I’m saying this respectfully but that doesn’t make sense especially if we have enough time to flesh out the human core characters/side characters who aren’t even part of the main franchise and not the ones most audiences came to see in the first place. I’m neutral and understand both critiques and defenses so you can decide where to go to on that.

Back to before, you don’t need long drawn out character development in order to be written well. Tails turned out fine despite his small role. Heck, Amy’s roles in the GAMES were usually small but not less impactful because of it. Amy practically helped save the entire world with her “small roles” and one for an emotional and impactful moment with Shadow. Even small things can make big differences and that’s one lesson you can learn from Amy.

Amy’s interactions with Gamma in SA1 impacted the robot to the point of him sacrificing himself to free a Bird he needed to stay alive.

Amy believed in Sonic when the whole world (or Silver) was against him in Sonic 06.

Amy showed kindness to Sonic as the Werehog and gave her closest friend encouragement. She still loved him regardless of how he looked.

There’s more examples, but these are the most well known. Do you notice how most of them were small actions or small moments of development in small roles. And still managed to make Amy a wonderful character while impacting the stories?

I’ll also just show this too.

Also, don’t worry about her stealing time from Shadow. The film’s called Sonic Movie 3 not Shadow The Hedgehog. He can share the spotlight. Knuckles did in SM2. There’s no excuse in my opinion.

The movie doesn’t have to have Amy and wouldn’t be worse without her, but I think we shouldn’t overlook her importance to the franchise even if what she does is small. Or feel bad for being more aware of what little we get in these movies. It’s okay to admit certain flaws. Nothing’s perfect and not above criticism as long as we’re respectful about it. And for the kiddies who would like to see a cartoony animal girl character for the first time in these films, Amy would be a fantastic way to start.

Amy debuting in Sonic 3 and interacting with the boys would be a lovely way of establishing that close connection between the core four of the franchise. They’d literally have the definition of love at their sides. Again, small changes can make big differences. That’s all I have to say. Now I’m going to continue to be excited for the 3rd Sonic movie.

[gamblersdoll]

Is it possible for you to write an ex bf sukuna fic where he shows up at psychiatrist y/ns office, as a patient, to win her back after months of her not reaching back to him 😭

This could end up being fluff or smut wtv u prefer 😛

ogey! toxic! sukuna semi nsfw

oh my fucking god, dude.

you would think that because he is the one who broke of the relationship, sukuna would just leave you the fuck alone..

nope! instead of that, he just texts you when you leave him on read, an obvious sign that hes bothered by the fact that you dont reach to him anymore. he lived for it, it was pathetic for both of you.

merely pathetic of him, moreover.

you had more important things to worry about, like your patients at the hospital that were worried about their own health and needs.

“okay, how are we doing —“ you were looking at your little pretty notepad, thinking that you were attending to the same old man who dealt with hallucinations and voices, but no..

its your delusional ex boyfriend, sukuna.

“im doing better now, doc.” he grumbles, a shit eating grin and he crosses his legs. “why dont you respond anymore? aren’t psychiatrists supposed to do that?”

you could punch him.

literally. like, you could punch the fuck out of him.. and unfortunately, he would like that.

“to patients, not to ex flings. you grunt, turning your back to him to reorganize your desk. you feel a pair of hands on your hips, breathing on your neck.

had you both stayed together, you would be soaked.

“and to me, because im a patient now.” he chuckles, sitting back down and expecting a professional smile. “well, arent you going to help me, doc?” it wasnt really a question, more of a snide.

it takes everything to not break him.

“ohkay, ryomen.” you address, he hated when you called him by that. “what’s been going on? any new medication youve been taking.”

he sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes. “well, i have this asshole of an ex girlfriend.” he starts, noticing a vein popping out of your neck. “but, cant get mad.. had the best pussy ive had in years.”

how poetic.

“hmm, okay, and how does that make you feel?” you coo, seeing three veins pop from his knuckles. seems like he could lose this game he started.

“it pisses me off,” he starts. tapping his foot, he stares into you. “she acts as if she can win this little ‘ill have him crawling’ game. yet, shes using her pussy as some pawn.”

now that confused you, but, if he says so.

“has it made you feel.. down? blue?”

“the fuck are you asking me?” he growls, a eye twitch and his fist balls up. you hold back a chuckle, professional, professional.

“have you been having suicidal thoughts, ryomen?” you mask your voice with that customer service voice, knowing damn well it pisses him off so bad.

“no, i havent had— fuck you!”

“ryomen, why are we angry?” you press again, eyes lowering to his and a small smile.

youre fucking with him, he knows that. he knows that you are toying with him, he knows that. why does it make him angry? he used to do the–

fuck, he taught you that shit.

“fuck you, ill have you lose your job.” he growled.

“for what? being too nice? for good customer service?” you chuckle, “ryomen, is there someone i should call to come retrieve you?” you suggest, “any nephews? brothers?”

oh, you fucking bitch.

“we aint done.” he says, storming out and slamming the office building door. you chuckle, immediately looking at your phone to see the missed calls and texts from him.

you pussywhipped fucker, sukuna.

[yezhi1k]

Flowers & Cherries chp.2.5 (Jinx x Reader)

Notes: hey guysss.... so half-way through this chapter I got super-duper wine drunk and was not in the condition to finish this chapter... so sorry besties, the smut will come in the next chapter I promise.

Summary: you went to the meeting with Silco, and something bad happened... that's about it.

“You look like you were dunked in shit. Lighten up.”

You were sitting on a boulder with your elbows on your knees, spinning the full cylinder of a gun. Your eyes traveled up in the direction of the voice; Smeech was looming over you, looking smug and careless as usual.

The two of you, along with the rest of the gang, were stationed at a desolate courtyard in front of a, seemingly, abandoned building. The reality was different; inside was one of Silco’s many shimmer production plants, churning out more and more of the purple hellish liquid by the second. You found yourself in that courtyard, sitting on that very boulder, every month. Every month, Silco, accompanied by Sevika, would announce all the modifications he wanted done to your protection plan, where people should be posted, which areas the Firelights migrated to, and so on. You didn’t quite understand why he wouldn’t just write all of this down and let you read it to your goons, maybe he felt that showing himself in the flesh would maintain an air of fear and discipline in your ranks. Who knew what Silco was thinking? Not you, especially not that morning.

Smeech was awoken by a frantic pounding on his front door. Grabbing the nearest weapon, which happened to be a bat one of his goons left behind, he creeped up to the door as silently as his squeaking limbs let him. He waited at the door for a moment, listening as the pounding continued. After a few seconds, he swung the door open so hard it almost fell off its hinges and brought the bat over his head in the general direction of the pounder. To his surprise, he didn’t find a violent intruder. Only you. You looked disheveled, your eyes were wide and bloodshot with grotesque shadows casted underneath. The color was drained from your face. Smeech would’ve been furious, if he wasn’t so intrigued. He had almost never seen you like this.

“Have you slept?”

You shook your head and pushed past him. Smeech cast several cautious glances up and down the street and, satisfied that no one else was around, shut the door. He found you wildly pacing back and forth. Neither of you spoke until you suddenly stopped in your tracks and stared at him with the two scarlet saucers that were now your eyes.

“We can’t go to the meeting today.”

Smeech let out a huff and dropped himself onto the sofa.

“Why not?”

You started pacing again. Smeech’s tiny pupils followed you.

“Don’t know,” you muttered, biting the nail of your index finger, “Don’t know, but Silco is planning something. That fucker is planning something bad.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, damn it!” your voice broke off into a hoarse yell, “First he called me into his office, and offered to essentially buy me off you, and when I said no Jinx cornered me and practically begged on her knees that I wouldn’t come today!”

You suddenly made a sharp turn and stormed up towards Smeech’s sitting figure. As you reached him you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in.

“What did you do?” you hissed, eyes wild, knuckles turning white from the pressure, “What the actual fuck did you and your half-baked goons do to piss him off? I literally did everything for you, I built rapport with him, I negotiated with him, I run to his office to kiss his ass every week just so you fuckers would get paid more. What did you do, you son of a bitch?!”

Before you got the chance to strangle him, Smeech ripped your hand from his collar and pushed you back, before jumping to his feet again.

“Have you gone crazy? Calm down!” you took deep, ragged breaths as you watched him adjust his collar, “We didn’t do anything.”

It was your turn to collapse onto the sofa now. You put your elbows on your knees and cradled your head in your hands. Back home you have emptied your medicine cabinets trying to battle another migraine. Silco’s stuff was good, no doubt about it, but it turned out it wasn’t at all long-lasting.

“Smeech, be fucking real.”

“I am!” the yordle threw up his mechanical paws, “When have I ever let you down?”

You were about to narrate the monstrous list of every single time he had let you down, but he kept going.

“As for Silco and Jinx… Everyone knows you’re Jinx’s new favorite toy now. No offence.”

You scoffed.

“None taken.”

“So maybe she just nagged her daddy into trying to get you… fully. And when you didn’t budge, she threw a tantrum,” Smeech continued. You glared up at him.

“Do you even believe what you are saying?”

“Fully,” he nodded and plopped onto the cushion next to you, “Silco has a soft spot for Jinx, Jinx has a soft spot for you. She’s probably throwing a fit because she can’t have your undivided attention.”

Your shoulder slumped and you shook your head. You didn’t believe him. He was wrong.

“We shouldn’t go, Smeech. Please, let’s not go. It’ll end badly.”

“It will end really badly if we don’t go,” said Smeech. He was still rubbing his neck, trying to alleviate the pressure left behind by your grip on the collar, “You know this. If we show up, things might go fine. If we don’t show up, Silco will definitely have it out for us.”

Smeech had the capacity to be right sometimes; rejecting Silco’s request for a meeting was the equivalent of signing a death sentence. But everything inside still screamed and gnawed at you, telling you to run the other way, that you are walking into some sort of death trap. You didn’t believe Smeech’s theory one bit, despite the fact that you really, more than anything, wanted to. If only it was as easy as Jinx wanting to see you more and convincing Silco to get you on their team to achieve that. If only.

You sighed and buried your head deeper into your palms.

“Alright… but we have to be a lot more careful this time,” your eyes shot up at him from underneath your fingers, “Really careful, Smeech. No fucking around, no dumb jokes, no stupid deal propositions. Keep your eyes peeled, make sure the others do too. If anyone notices anything out of the norm, we go.”

The yordle just waved at you in dismissal. Something bubbled over in you.

“Listen to me! This could be a matter of life and dea–”

The migraine tore through your brain from the base of your skull; a hot knife dug at your eyeballs from the inside. Collapsing onto the floor, you held your forehead tightly, desperately, trying to use the pressure to alleviate the pain. You couldn’t see, vision streaked white. Every blink felt like sandpaper.

As you rocked back and forth, stifling whimpers, you heard Smeech leave in the direction of the kitchen. He rummaged through the cupboards, then, after a few minutes, you heard his footsteps approach you. They stopped several inches away from where you curled up on the floor. You looked up at him, and through a milky film which was blocking your vision you saw him pass you a vile of something. Your shaky hand found the vial in the air above you. As you consumed all of its contents in a single swig, you anticipated immediate relief, akin to the one you experienced in Silco’s office several hours prior. That didn’t happen though. It wasn’t shimmer that Smeech gave you. Despite the fact that you knew his cupboards were full of the stuff, in every form you could imagine. Liquid, in syringes, powdered, pressed into tablets, in gas canisters, as primordial crystals. A part of you wanted to believe that Smeech simply remembered and honoured your disdain for taking shimmer. A larger part of you knew that wasn’t true. He just didn’t want to give it up.

The pain dissipated unbearably slowly. You thought hours had passed by the time it subsided enough for you to open your eyes. A glance at the clock told you that, in reality, only about thirty minutes had gone by. Smeech was long gone to his bedroom, presumably resuming his slumber. You looked at the time again, having to squint to make out the numbers and hands. It was still several hours before you had to leave, and you suddenly felt very tired. The last of the adrenaline wore off and you collapsed, face down, onto Smeech’s sofa. ‘This dumbass is going to get us all killed’ was the last thought your brain managed to produce before a heavy, silent darkness enveloped your mind.

From your position on the boulder, you could see all your goons as if they were in the palm of your hand. They were as disorganized as ever; some lazily sent streams of smoke into the morning air, some were kicking around a rock in a game resembling one you’ve seen some kids play upside many years ago. What was it called again? Soccer?

As your eyes followed them, you tried to untangle the amorphous bundle of emotions stewing in your chest. You never ended up acclimatizing to your gang, and they have never accepted you as one of their own. They simply followed your orders because, over the years, they have figured out that that was easier than thinking for themselves. There was something about you, something that clung to your skin, that stunk on your breath in a way that was entirely alien to them, in a way which they rejected on every level of consciousness. They weren’t your family. Sometimes, when you walked Jinx home after a long evening out at the Last Drop, you listened to her ramble about Silco; how often he went on entirely unsolicited tirades about the injustices of life, about how hard he had to fight to bring Zaun up from its knees deep in the fissures and about how it was up to her now to continue his legacy, and you couldn’t help but feel scorching jealousy rise from the pit of your stomach. You knew very well that, despite the sleepless nights and grueling days, not a single goon in your ranks, and especially not Smeech, saw you as anything other than a convenient life raft. You weren’t continuing anyone’s legacy, you weren’t anyone’s pride or joy. You were useful, but, ultimately, entirely replaceable. And the most horrifying part was that, putting aside the indifference of your gang towards you, you yourself didn’t even see a point in anything you were doing. You weren’t fighting for anything, and your death wouldn’t be tied to any cause. You were just running. Running as fast as you could, running until a film of sweat blocked your vision, to make sure that you didn’t have the opportunity to look back. Looking back would mean facing the fact that, up to that very moment, nothing you did had any meaning. You would die in some ditch, they would tear your wanted posters down, and that would be the end. Simple. Pragmatic. The world would go on, sterile of you.

And yet, something bound you to Smeech. You told Silco it was pride and weren’t completely lying. But it wasn’t the whole truth. Your pride would most likely not suffer terribly if you were to finally grow a backbone. But what would you do if you left? What would you be? What would stop you from letting the polluted water of Zaun creeks envelop you?

A groan ripped out of your throat, and you rummaged around your pockets for another vial of painkiller. Three empty ones were already discarded by your feet. You weren’t particularly educated in the topic of human health, but you could still tell that the amount of pain medication you were consuming was most likely not healthy. But your brain felt liquefied from the pain, and you didn’t care. You squeezed your eyes shut as the bitter liquid slipped past your lips and coated your throat. Fuck this day. Fuck this day big time.

A strange rustling caught your attention. You pried your eyes open and tried to find the direction of the sound.  After a few moments you heard the rustling again, from a far corner of the courtyard. You glanced around; no one else seemed to notice. Of course they didn’t.

The sound seemed to come from a half-dead shrub that somehow managed to sprout between the concrete tiles in the corner of the courtyard. You approached it carefully as its leaves vibrated. Your breath caught in your chest. Time seemed to stand still as you found yourself several centimeters away from the plant.

And suddenly, everything around you erupted in a cacophony of sounds and colors. An overpowering, invisible force threw you off your feet. The next thing you knew, you were plastered on the cold concrete; your body suddenly felt very heavy.

With a great deal of effort, you managed to turn your head onto its side and look behind you. For a moment, you couldn’t make out anything. Then, you saw rubble. Massive chunks of concrete and rock laid on the ground, enveloped in streaks of dust. Another moment, and you could make out limbs poking out from under the ruble. Lifeless. Your frantic eyes suddenly found a mechanical paw. It was bloody, detached from the body it once served. Smeech.

Strength refilled your body quickly. Your head was still spinning as you tried to return to your feet. Everything around you swayed and shook. He might still be alive, you thought.

But before you could make a step, a moist cloth, reeking of harsh chemicals, came over your nose and mouth. You felt a pair of lean, warm arms wrap around you. You struggled, but your limbs were no longer under your control. Through your rapidly diminishing consciousness, you made out only a few raspy, yet melodic words.

“Shh, don’t worry. I got you. I got you.”

Tag list:

@kiaralee25

[sinsdaycorp]

I know for a fact that Wednesday bites Enid randomly.

Fluffy (in my opinion?) Drabble. WenClair. Ft some nightshades.

Tw: biting ? (Brief mention of sex easily but skippable)

P.S idk what happened. I literally only had a brief flicker of the idea for biting to happen and I spiralled. I’m sorry.

They’re holding hands, Enid’s chattering away to the nightshades, her arms over Wednesdays shoulder, one of Wednesdays threaded through it, allowing the show of affection around Enid’s… their friends… except, Wednesday was bored. Enid had been happy enough to fill all conversational and comfortable silences with chatter. Wednesday turned her head, stroking her thumb along Enid’s in warning of her attention wavering on their talk, and the music so loud around them as the students danced and sang along.

Enid stiffened as Wednesdays lips brushed along the knuckle of her thumb, bracing herself for the bite she knew was coming when- Wednesday pressed a kiss to the thumb and curled closer to Enid as the blonde sighed in relief, figuring Wednesday was just tired after a long day, hiding her face in the blondes neck.

“Silence-“ Wednesday blindly pointed at Yoko before she could say anything about her becoming soft. She stuck her middle finger up and the fang chuckled before continuing on with their conversation.

Wednesday tightened Enid’s arm around her and nuzzled, brushing her nose along Enid’s collarbone. Enid shivered, nails pressing into Wednesdays waist, a warning of her own to her raven.

Wednesday pressed up on her toes, mouth opening and teeth latching into the exposed skin of her shoulder, clamping down.

Enid yelped and pulled away quickly, Wednesday unlatching at the first motion of the shove. “Bored now,” she drawled with a boredom filled tone.

“Alright, fuck,” Enid huffed and pointed to the stairs. “Yoko, we’ll talk later. I have to go this demon some food and a nap before hangry becomes rage demon.”

Yoko just nodded with a chuckle, shaking her head as she waved to Wednesday and watched them leave. “They’re so fucking gay,” she said as Bianca brought over a drink for the fang. “How long was your bet on them marrying after school?”

Bianca thought for a moment. “Engaged by graduation, married the second Wednesday turns eighteen was my bet. That would be romantic for the Addams clan, I’m sure. The only legal tie up would be them not being eighteen because Enid’s mum is a donk-“

Yoko nodded. “I see that, and because Enid would already be eighteen cause she’s older… damn, I should have gone in on that too. I guessed engaged by eighteen and married like a month later.”

“How many days till graduation?” Divina asked from the other side of Bianca, Yoko sighed.

“Six months.”

“So my bet still has time.”

Yoko raised an eyebrow.

The siren grinned. “Enid’s almost eighteen. No doubt there’ll be a ring on her finger by midnight on her birthday, and married by the midnight Wednesdays eighteen.”

— —

The early morning hours after the dance, Enid’s body pleasantly bruised and sore, the goth straddling her lap as she pressed her hands to Enid’s chest to hold herself up, staring down at the black tungsten band around her left ring finger.

“You’re staring again,” Enid chuckled, swatting her hand against Wednesdays thigh. “You said you could go six rounds before sunup, you’re halfway through five.”

Wednesday shivered as Enid demanded she keep moving, her thighs shaking. “I think you may win this bet, my love. I don’t think I can move.”

Enid flipped them, pinning Wednesday to the bed. “I think you should just let me take care of you,” Enid whispered, kissing her fiancé sweetly before rolling her hips forwards.

— —

Yoko’s jaw dropped at the sight of Wednesday’s hand with a ring on it. The nightshades sharing looks as Yoko spoke up. “Who had bets on them getting engaged after the Raven?”

Ajax held a hand up. Grinning. “First half, for me! Hey, ‘Nid? Wed her by graduation, yeah?”

Enid grinned. “A fall wedding, my Raven?”

“How miserable, I’ll contact mother to start planning… we are marrying on home soil, right?”

Enid pressed a kiss to Wednesdays forehead. “The vision is yours for creating. I’ll put input wherever you need it, but I know for a fact your family has the best party planners. I trust you to make how you know I’ll love it.”

Wednesday leaned against the blonde.

Ajax grinned as the group slapped money into his hand at the fact he’d win for sure with the couple loving his idea.

He then turned to the couple and held the money out, a nice stack of cash from a group of the richest kids on campus. “Here, put this into your planning as my wedding gift or whatever.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow as Enid took the money and patted her ex on the shoulder. “Thanks, Ajax. That’s very cool of you, bud.”

Wednesday tucked the money into her zip-up pocket at Enid’s insistence and pressed a kiss to Enid’s lips before turning in her embrace and leaning back against the taller teen.

[writingouthere]

Nanami is Your Best Friend But Wants More

Implied smut, pining, 1.1k

Nanami couldn't help it, he'd been trying to ignore the feeling rising in him for months now and it was only getting worse. He felt worn down by guilt, guilt for how he felt about you and how he felt like he was violating your trust by looking at you how he did when he knew you trusted him to not do that exact thing. Guilt for how in this moment he couldn't hear a thing you were saying, too distracted by how watching you cook in his apartment was making him absolutely fucking feral.

"Kento? Ken, hellooooo? Are you even listening to me?"

"Hm?" He asked, in fact not listening. He usually gave you his undivided attention but currently his attention was taken up by the way the apron you were wearing brushed against your bare thighs, the pajama shorts you were wearing so high up on your legs that they certainly weren't going to protect you from fuck anything.

"I was telling you about how Gojo tricked Yuji into literally banging pots and pans around the classroom today. I thought it was a good one."

"Mmhm." The apron moved with your hand gestures. He would have found it cute if the knife in your hand didn't move along with it. He got up as you continued talking.

"-I mean I get why he is the head of the department, but also should we take a second to think about how being a genius doesn't mean you can't also be a fucking idiot-what are you doing?"

He took the knife from your hand and turned it down to the floor, away from you.

"You cannot swing the knife around like that, you'll hurt yourself."

"I talk with my hands, you know that." You rolled your eyes but you let him push you gently to the side and start cutting the vegetables you had laid out. "It said to slice the onions, not dice babe. We're going to caramelize them."

The knife dropped out of his hand and he just stood there listening to you hum along to the pop song you had blaring from your speaker.

You were his friend, maybe his best friend and there was no one in the world who knew him better, that he wanted to know him. But, this, this was too much.

"Kento?"

"You can't call me that."

You scoffed. "Little late for that, I've been calling you Kento for years."

"Babe, you can't call me babe." He turned to look at you, finally and you were looking at him, confusion and hurt swirling in your beautiful eyes. You were leaning against the counter and if he didn't know better, he would think you were just casually speaking with him. But he did know better, he knew you better. The fingers on your right hand were wrapped around your left wrist, the knuckles showing the tension. He could see where your thumb pressed against your pulse point, a tick that you showed whenever you felt anxious.

"Sorry, didn't realize it would offend you so much. I call a lot of people babe, it doesn't have to mean what you think it means-"

"And if I want it to mean something? If I don't want to just be people."

He saw your chest hitch and your hands dropped the fiddle with the strings of the apron behind your back.

"You don't fucking mean that, don't say shit like that. That's not funny."

"I'm not joking and I do mean it." He walked up to you and placed both his hands on the counter by your waist. Your hands dropped the apron and they tentatively landed on his forearms. Your eyes landed on where your fingers brushed his skin and he leaned down so he could press his nose against your temple.

"What are we doing?" He sighed against your skin, watching as his breath ruffled your hair.

"I-I don't know what you mean. You're the one doing something." You were trying to say it with your usual sass but he could hear the nerves distorting your tone.

"I'm not doing anything you didn't make me do."

"Make you do-"

"Yeah babe, you made me. You with your little apron welcoming me home with dinner on the stove. You with your candles and your terrible taste in music and these shorts, fuck these shorts, why even bother to wear anything at all?"

"I wore these because they are comfortable and what do you mean my shitty taste in music-

"Babe-

"If you interrupt me one more time Kento, I'm going to leave." You hissed and your hands dug into where they were on his arms. He laughed and leaned back so he could look at you.

"Fine, what did you want to say?"

You bit your lip, obviously not thinking this far ahead. You hesitated and he almost apologized, backed away and got to his knees to beg you to not walk out of his life no matter how crass he just got with you.

"I love you. That's what I would say." You looked him right in the eye for the first time since he had cornered you on the counter and he felt a sense of relief that had him leaning further over you, his hands digging into the counter.

"You love me?" You nodded and he let out a soft laugh before pressing his lips against your forehead. He heard your hitch in breath and brought his lips down to your cheek, the gesture chaste but every thought in his head anything but.

"Is that why you're wearing this and making me dinner? Because you love me? You already here spoiling me, making me imagine what it would be like to come to this every fucking day. My sweet little wife welcoming me home after a hard day." You whimpered as his lips finally came to the corner of your own.

"Kento, that-I just said I love you. You haven't even said it back and you're acting like I proposed." He stepped back and grabbed your chin in his hand so he knows you will hear the next part.

"I love you. I have for a long time and I plan to marry you." You laugh a little this time Kento pulls your thighs apart so he can step in between them as he goes to lower his lips to yours, with intention this time.

"You can't just say that, Ken."

He smiles against your lips, brushes his hand up your thighs and under the apron you had so sweetly put on for him until he could play with the hem of the shorts that had started this whole thing.

"Babe, I just did."

He kissed you, finally. He figured he would just have to convince you he was serious.