#tw: riding

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was terrifying. 

Elliot had known the guy for a few years now, ever since Eddie had stepped into the Spellbound Bar with big eyes and a wild grin. The guy hailed from some small ass town in Indiana, but it was clear to see that he hadn’t hidden much of himself over there. 

So many kids blew into California freshly freed from their families, still dressed in clothes their old life had forced them to wear. They always had a sort of fragile, reborn look to them that made all the elder queers reach out their hands, welcome them in. 

Eddie, whose last name changed on a daily basis (his drivers license listed it as ‘Henderson’ but there were rumors that it too, was fake)  had too large of a wardrobe for all of it to be recently purchased, and moved too comfortably in clothes for them to be new to him. 

The guy wasn’t mean. His temperment wasn’t why he was terrifying, really, though the constant high energy he whirlwinded around the bar with often grew too much for some of their quieter regulars. 

No it was all the shit he casually talked about. How he took things in stride, and said he had to, given he used to be the president of a D&D club he named Hellfire. 

(Hellfire. In small town America. The sheer fucking balls on this dude.) 

He regaled them all with tales of his lost sheep and the fights he had with his high school principal long before Angel, the bar owner, agreed to take him on as a busboy--then bar back, then bartender, all in rapid succession.

Always winking as he spun a story about how he was caught flagging once from an out of towner stopping by for gas, the story somehow darkly hilarious. 

A lot of people didn’t like southern California, or rather, not the way they thought they would at least, but Eddie took to it like a duck to water. There was no denying the man belonged here, in a way he hadn’t truly belonged anywhere else. 

Elliot had been the one to help him find a local metal band. He himself was one of those quieter regulars (and not a musician let alone a metalhead) but he knew people. Could make some connections.

It helped that Elliot did play D&D, and was quick to pull Eddie into his orbit that way. Get him connected to others who loved the game like the metalhead clearly did. 

And damn, could Eddie DM.

It was here though, that Elliot first picked up that Eddie’s bluster wasn’t just that. 

Watched as his new friend's eyes went hard and flat when the Vecna campaign was mentioned, shut it down with such force that it left the table briefly stunned by the sheer venom in his voice. 

How he flinched once, hands reaching for the bat he’d hammered nails into under the bar when electricity had stuttered in a heatwave, lights flickering in the bar. 

(The bat itself, and the way Eddie had simply looked at the one Spellbound had as their only defense measure and declared it “fucking useless” had not helped the rough, survivalistic story they were all putting together.) 

Winter rolled back round to spring and then summer and whispers about his home life, about how he had to survive with all the rural cow farmers looking and acting like he did, how he obviously knew how to fight was practically old news by the time he first showed up in a cropped shirt. 

The scars that decorated his stomach still caught the attention of everyone at the bar, and more than once their little D&D group had tried to map out the shape of them, if only to figure out what the hell could cause such a dramatic injury. 

No one ever quite succeeded, but then, no one was brave enough to ask the man himself. 

What it did do, was cement the idea in everyone’s heads. 

Eddie Henderson/Buckley/Sinclair/Wheeler/and one time even Walmart--was a great guy, and one who could absolutely beat the shit out of almost everyone in the bar, hands down. 

Nothing he did over the years ever challenged that. If anything, Eddie only cemented it further, which is the only reason Elliot didn’t bolt the second the two of them came home from a shift and found a stranger in front of their door. 

Elliot, 5’4, formerly named Eleanor and still not on T despite making every clawing attempt towards it, wasn’t much of a match for an enraged, pissed off jock. 

But Eddie was. 

xXx 

The jock was the straightest looking man Elliot had ever laid eyes on. 

Bruises covered half his face and one eye, and he sported a nose that had clearly been recently bloodied. Judging from the scrapes on the back of his hands he hadn’t gotten them willingly--or maybe was just giving as good as he got. 

He was walking wildly back and forth in front of their garage, hands opening and closing, a look in his eyes that spoke of someone not entirely in control as he muttered audibly to himself. 

Given the preppy polo shirt, expensive looking shorts and shoes that practically shined, they were so new, he was comically out of place, even with the entire homicidal aura he had going on. 

(Given the descriptions of the assholes who had attacked Angel only four nights ago on their walk home, Elliot could only see the man as a monster preparing to attack.) 

He slammed to a stop, breath in his throat, entirely unsure of what to do.

Thankfully, Eddie was right behind him. 

Eddie, who could probably beat this guy and six others bloody. Eddie who carried a knife. Eddie who terrified Elliot sometimes, but not the same way the idea of getting hate crimed did, Eddie who--

Who was coming up besides Elliot, looking both alarmed and confused and not at all challenging the homicidal rich boy. 

“Steve!?” Eddie said, voice high and surprised.

They both watched as the figure spun to face them, crazed look crumbling down to something Elliot couldn’t read. 

“Hey.” The supposed Steve said, rather miserably, shoulders hunched right before Eddie shot forward, hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start. 

“What the hell Harrington--did you lose another fight!?”

“I don’t lose every fight you know.” Steve snarked back, sounding exactly like every rich snob Elliot’s ever encountered. 

It’d get his back up, except Steve’s entire body was curving towards Eddie in obvious relief. “Henderson exaggerates.” 

Which was doubly confusing, given Eddie was supposedly a Henderson.

“Sorry for dropping by like this. Wasn’t close to anyone else, so I didn't know where else to go.” Steve continued, as Eddie finally stopped waving his hands around and instead began herding Steve through the door and to the kitchen. 

Confused, Elliot followed.

(What the fuck else was he supposed to do?) 

“I thought you were on a cruise?”  Eddie challenged, sounding more and more normal as he and Steve traded banter. 

“I was. Clearly, I’m not anymore.” 

“Steve.” Eddie said, voice almost pleading as he patted the only empty spot on their counter, before turning to fish a bag of peas out of the fridge. 

(Had Elliot ever heard him plead like that? Had he thought Eddie even capable?) 

Steve jumped up on it like a dog that had been asked to perform a trick, while Elliot hovered in the living room, watching it all go down across the little half wall that separated the two spaces. 

“Did I just see pop tarts in your freezer?” Steve asked instead of answering. 

“Don’t distract me, you dick. Put this on your face.” 

And so they went, instantly and immediately comfortable, two people who clearly had known each other for a long time trading insults and catching up while Eddie tried unsuccessfully to pull what happened out of Steve via an increasing number of ridiculous nicknames. 

He’d worked his way past ‘Stevie’ and was well on his way to calling the stranger things like ‘big boy’ by the time Anders came home from her shift at the record store. 

Swaned through various other, mildly incriminating nicknames until he saw something that made him start cursing, at which point he rapidly fell down the nickname rabbit hole, landing at a final; 

“Come on Sweetheart, you look like someone tried to kill you! Just tell me what happened!”

Jake, who had just waltzed in the front door, blinked wildly. 

“Eddie has a guest.” Anders informed him, handing their roommate an open beer from the pile she’d put on the floor as he slammed to a halt. 

Took in their intruder so starkly out of place on the kitchen counter, nestled between twin pride flags and a poster for Eddie’s band like a misplaced catalog model.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Jake said flatly, as Steve grumbled something lowly at their fearless DM, and Eddie flicked his nose in retaliation. 

"He's from Indiana," Elliot offered, the closest thing to an explanation he had. "Same town as Eddie."

He hesitated, then added, "I think."

It was all he’d managed to piece together, the conversation had been all over the place.

“Steven Madonna Harrington,” Eddie snapped finally, spinning to pin his guest with a glare, “you either tell me what happened or I’m calling Robin.” 

‘Madonna?’ Anders mouthed at Elliot, as if that was the weirdest part of this entire situation. 

Steve kicked at Eddie lightly. “She has finals this week you jerk.”

Eddie slammed both his hands down on the counter, one on either side of Steve’s hips, staring up challengingly. 

It put him almost directly in between Steve’s legs, bringing their faces intimately close together. 

“And she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out her platonic with a capital P soulmate ditched off that family cruise he’s been dreading for months, looking like he decided to take up backyard boxing, and then came to my place instead of calling her first--” 

“Fine! Fine, you underhanded asshole. Tommy was on that stupid Alaska cruise. Decided he wanted to reconnect.” 

“Hagan did all this!?” 

“Oh no, this is from my dad.” Steve motioned to himself, a grim sort of amusement curling around the words. “He caught me and Tommy making out. Decided to have a little chat about how he disapproved.” 

“That is awful and we are returning to it immediately but first--Steve. Babe.” Eddie stared at him in clear dismay. “Tommy Hagan?”

Another eye roll, this one earning a wince from Steve as it agitated his bruises. “Not the time Mun--” 

Eddie coughed loudly right over the rest of whatever Steve was about to say, getting a weird look from everyone around him. 

“Henderson.” Eddie corrected softly. “They changed it to Henderson after all the uh.” He paused, as though trying to recall the word he wanted. Went with; “Earthquake.” 

That got some glee out of Steve. 

“You picked Dustin’s last name? Does he know?” 

“Fuck no dude, he’d never shut up about it.” Eddie put a hand on Steve’s thigh, jostling it lightly. “We���re not talking about me right now though. Your dad disowned you?”

“Supposedly.” Steve shrugged, like this was normal and not a huge ordeal. “I’ll check on my credit cards tomorrow, see if he’s serious.” 

Eddie’s stare was growing flat, fast. “Even if he isn’t, he beat the shit out of you.” 

“Yeah, well, everyone kinda does, I guess it was just his turn.” 

“Steve.”

“I’m kidding!” Then, in a far more serious tone; ‘I am sorry about crashing in like this. I can get out of your hair.” 

Eddie was already waiving a hand dismissively, head shaking, but Steve plowed forward anyway. 

“I mean it. The cruise stopped at a port near here and I needed to get off it before my dad decided disowning me and throwing all my shit over the rails weren’t enough.” 

Steve finally looked up, taking in all the people who were watching this play out like a TV sitcom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game night.” 

“There’s no game, they all live here.” He turned and glared, and got one embarrassed face and two entirely unapologetic ones in return. “They’re just enjoying the show.

‘It’s getting a five star rating so far.” Anders snarked at him. “Might lose a star, if one of the main actors keeps breaking the fourth wall, though.” 

Eddie flipped her off. 

“You’re not going anywhere looking like this. You are at minimum, staying here for the rest of the weekend.” 

“If you’re sure.” Steve said hesitantly. To the group at large, he added; “And no one minds me taking the couch.” 

“The couch is a shared communal space.” Eddie shot back instantly, before anyone else could protest. “You’re staying in my room.” 

“Oh.” Steve said, like he’d half expected, wanted even, Eddie to make that offer. “Okay.” 

“I am so confused right now.” Anders muttered, and Elliot could only nod along because, well. 

Yeah. 

Him too. 

“Come on, let’s get your stuff, I’ll show you around. Keep the peas on your face.”

“Eds, man, I don’t have any stuff. I was lucky to escape with my wallet.” Steve vollied, but hopped off the counter anyway, following Eddie as he was led up the stairs, towards the metalheads room. 

“This is the weirdest day of my life.” Jake announced when they’d disappeared. 

“It’s not over yet.” Anders said, cracking open another beer.  “Give it a bit.” 

“How on earth could this get any weirder?” Elliot muttered. 

“Well thanks Elliot.” Anders told him flatly. ‘If it wasn’t guaranteed before, it is now.” 

“How!?”

“She’s right bud, you challenged the fates.” Jake responded. “We’re in for it now.” 

(Given Steve never moved back out, they absolutely were.) 

Bonus

“You know.” Eddie said, and his voice was quiet but the house was fucking ancient and not in the best of shape, and thus Elliot heard him loud and clear through their shared wall. “I kiss a lot better than Tommy Hagan.”

“Not letting that one go anytime soon, huh?” Steve rumbled back. 

“I’m just saying! If you’re going to get disowned for a kiss, it should be a damn good one and not whatever limp noodle bullshit Hagan does. I saw him with Carol, he kisses like a puffer fish.” 

A low snicker, followed by; “He did kinda kiss like a fish.”

“See!?” Vindicated, Eddie grew louder in volume. “I could give you a kiss that would actually be worth all this shit! A proper kiss!” 

“You offering, Munson?”

“Well if the good knight Sir Harrington doth allow it--”

An ‘mmph!’ noise that took a moment for Elliot to translate as Steve kissing Eddie, which made this entire fucking day suddenly make a whole lot more sense. 

“If you stop all the nerd talk we can take it beyond a kiss.” 

“I can do that.” Eddie said, voice breathless. “I can definitely do that.” 

“Good.” 

Elliot snorted in amusement, before reality of their paper thin shared wall and the fact he was going to hear fucking everything asserted itself. 

He decided to go sleep on the couch.

[kingkaisen]

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃! — JJK.

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: what it’s like when they’re about to finish . . . featuring gojo, geto, choso, nanami, & toji.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY // MDNI — fem reader, smut, riding, creampie, oral, swallowing, roughness, manhandling, hair gripping, penetration, unprotected.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃!

Your poor neighbors.

Apartment living wasn’t a suitable lifestyle for you, the girlfriend of Satoru Gojo.

That white-haired man was a loud lover. More often than not, he was filling your bedroom with the sounds of his moans and groans all night long, and tonight, he planned to do it yet again.

“You have to be more quiet, Satoru,” you glanced up at your boyfriend as you positioned yourself on your knees in front of him. “The walls are thin, and you can’t-”

Satoru interrupted you by leaning down and kissing you sloppily. He swirled his tongue around yours, getting your mouth nice and wet before burying his cock in your throat.

When he pulled away, a string of spit falling from your connected lips, he said, “If neighbors complain about the volume level, then that’s your fault. You’re the one making me feel so damn good.”

Satoru pulled his cock out, giving it a few pumps with his hand before guiding it towards your lips.

“Open wide,” he teased, pressing his tip against your closed mouth — and he, of course, moaned when you softly kissed it.

“Oh my god . . . shit, that feels amazing,” Satoru moaned.

He built a steady, fast-paced rhythm as he shoved his cock in and out of your throat.

Gripping your hair as he face-fucked you, Satoru tossed his head back, overwhelmed by the warm, fuzzy feeling that he had only ever received when his cock was in your mouth.

“Mmm,” he moaned yet again, and endlessly. “I think your mouth was made just for sucking my cock, don’t you agree? And that throat . . . shit . . . your throat’s for swallowing my cum.”

Satoru’s orgasm was approaching, and it was a big one. He could tell based on the way pleasurable warmth ran through his veins, his cock twitching in preparation.

But, you could gather that he was about to finish thanks to the sudden increase in volume. Loud moans and calls of your name escaped from between his lips.

He gripped your hair even tighter, thrusting down your throat a bit more roughly.

“Y/N,” Satoru moaned. “Baby, I’m cumming, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Swallow it.”

His thick cum was poured down your throat, and you gulped everything from the massive load to the little spurts that came afterward.

Satoru pulled himself out of your mouth with a grin.

As he got ready to toss you on the bed and eat your pussy until you were moaning as loud as he was moments ago, there was a sudden, aggravated knock at your front door.

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒!

Suguru enjoyed savoring the taste — saving the best bite for the end of his meals.

Never would he rush things, believing that patience was the only way to achieve true satisfaction and joy.

Therefore, it was no surprise to learn how much he enjoyed foreplay.

He removed your clothes as if he was unwrapping a special gift. After taking off your bra, he pulled you sideways onto his lap, and attached his mouth to your nipple, sucking on the little button and swirling his tongue around it, moaning so you knew just how much he enjoyed it.

That large hand of his reached between your legs as he did so, rubbing your clit through the cloth of your underwear that he hadn’t yet removed.

All of this only came after making out with him on the bed, tongues swirling around one another. He dominated your mouth, of course, hand clasped around your throat as he sucked on your tongue.

“Face down on the bed,” Suguru ordered after removing all of your clothes.

The bed squeaked a bit as he positioned himself behind you. He gripped your waist, raising you until your ass was even with his hips.

But he couldn’t fuck you. Not yet.

Instead, he buried his face into your wet pussy from behind, leaving you to do nothing except bury your face into your pillow and muffle your moans.

His tongue toyed with your clit and hole. Hands gripped the cheeks of your ass.

After that, he flipped you over and fucked you nice and slow, filling your hole with deep strokes. You felt every inch of him as he slid in and out of you, moaning beautifully.

He was close — had been teetering on the edge of cumming ever since he ate your pussy, as giving you pleasure always made him feel good as well, but he held back, of course, wanting to enjoy every second inside of you.

But he was starting to lose control.

He was done savoring the taste. It was time for the last bite.

Suddenly, Suguru flipped you over into the position you were in before — face against your pillow, ass lined up with his hips — and he continued to fuck you.

Only, this time, it was faster, rougher.

“I’m so close, I can feel it.” His voice was rough and low, fingers digging into your hips as he slammed into you, your ass smacking against him, chasing the feeling your cunt gave him rather than savoring it. “You know I have to fill you up now, right? Make you take every last drop? I’d hate to be wasteful.”

“Please do it, please, I’m begging- Ah!”

Suguru suddenly gripped your hair, pressing your head further into your pillow, and leaned over a bit, thrusting into you with such great force, he was certain the bed would break.

“Oh, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” he moaned your name sweetly and pumped his pearly white cream inside of you, not pulling out until he was certain you had taken every last drop.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑!

Perhaps, it was his time as a salaryman that led Kento into developing such . . . leadership skills.

Maybe it was seeing how sweet you were for him, following every request and being so obedient.

Who knew?

Whatever it was, it was the reason he felt the desire to guide you through every move he was going to make.

“I’m putting two fingers in, sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear as he slowly pumped his digits in and out of your hole, purposely rubbing his palm against your clit as he did so. “That’s it, keep moaning for me, there you go. I’m going to move faster. Are you ready?”

Every question, every command — his voice alone — it all nearly drove you crazy.

That was why it was no surprise when he continued to speak as he felt his orgasm approaching.

Kento fucked you like a gentleman, whispering sweet praises into your ear.

“You feel so good around me, sweet girl. I’m not sure I can last much longer. Not if you keep milking my cock like this, baby.”

His thrusts never slowed, but his grunts and groans grew louder as he approached his orgasm.

“I’m about to cum now, okay?” He warned. “I’m going to cum right inside of you. Take it for me. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes!” You moaned beautifully, and your eager reply was rewarded with a deep kiss.

The sweet drag of his cock in and out of your hole made you reach around for anything to hold on to, switching between the bedsheets, his blonde locks, or his muscular back, which you dug your nails into as he pounded away at your pussy.

“So good . . . You’re doing so good . . . Such a good girl,” he praised, suddenly overwhelmed by the pleasure your pussy had given him.

His hips stuttered, and he paused briefly to make sure every drop of his cum was inside of you, where it belonged, but he quickly resumed bucking his hips.

After all, he could tell that his lovely girl was about to cum for a second time, and you deserved it.

“Cum for me. Give it to me,” he said. “I want your cum, do you understand me?”

Feeling your sweet juices mix with his and coat his cock was heavenly. He paid no mind to the fresh scratches on his back either.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 — 𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐘!

There was a difference between a shy person and a quiet person, which was evident with someone like Choso.

Other people didn’t make him nervous or anxious — qualities associated with shy people — but he simply liked to observe. Liked to keep his mouth shut and watch how other people behaved.

After all, that’s how he wormed his way into both your heart and your bed — by noticing your little hobbies and habits and making you feel seen.

Now, your pretty, brown-haired boyfriend was once again watching you. His eyes scanned over your beautiful body as you slowly sank on his cock. As he felt your warmth, he couldn’t help but whimper.

“Go faster,” he said plainly with a bit of a whine.

Of course, you couldn’t deny such a sweet request. Thrusting yourself up and down along his cock had reduced the man into nothing more than a moaning, whimpering mess. It was behavior he never displayed unless he was underneath you like this, feeling your warm hole clench around him.

“Please . . . Faster, Y/N. Make me cum.”

This time, you were the one watching him. You studied the way he furrowed his brows. The way his mouth was slightly agape in pure bliss. You felt his fingers dig into your hips, guiding your every thrust, and although you couldn’t see it, his toes were clenched from the pleasure.

Already, he had started to orgasm embarrassingly soon.

He couldn’t even warn you, as before he knew what was happening, ropes and ropes of his cum were painting your walls white.

There was so much of it, he had started to worry about when and if he’d stop cumming.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, breathless.

“Don’t be,” your smile only made his pale cheeks turn into a soft shade of pink. “I’m glad to know you’re enjoying yourself.”

He didn’t respond, only blushing as he darted his eyes away from you, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact.

Only you could turn that quiet man into a shy one.

But, perhaps, he wasn’t completely embarrassed, because he glanced up at you and mumbled, “Can we go again? Can you ride me again?”

Reaching down, you ran your hand across his face and soft lips. You pushed your fingertips into his mouth, just a bit, feeling his wet tongue before pulling away.

It was simply a sign that he was willing to do anything, and gratefully at the mercy of you and your amazing riding skills.

With a grin, you started to move your hips up and down once more, and his blushing cheeks darkened.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 — 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓!

Toji has often talked about sex and such vulgar topics with his friends, typically after having a few drinks in a boring, action-less bar.

Why was it such a popular subject for discussion?

Because everyone wanted to know what it was like to fuck you.

And, if his greedy friends couldn’t have you — Toji would kill them if they even looked at you too long — they wanted to, at least, hear about what it was like to be with you.

He wasn’t one to brag verbally. Or, at least, he liked to let his actions speak for him — by letting his friends see his scratched-up back.

But, one thing he often said when talking about sex was that he liked noise.

Squeaky mattresses. Headboard smacking against the wall. Loud moans and shouts of each other’s names.

And that night after returning home from the bar, it was no different.

Toji’s large hands were hooked underneath your knees, holding your legs back, as close to your chest as they would go.

As he did so, his big cock slammed in and out of your tight hole. The lewd sounds of your squelching wetness from your hole sinking him in nearly drove him crazy.

Your moans were beautiful. Sweet, occasional whispers of his name pushed him further towards the edge.

Every noise only furthered his desire to cum.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” Toji smirked down at your face, eyes darting from your closed eyes to your mouth, which hung open as you moaned.

“You like how this feels? Yeah? ‘S that why you’re making all those noises for me?” Toji grunted, skin slapping against skin. “Shit . . . I’m so close, I’m right there.”

Oddly enough, as the noise-loving man felt that tension of pleasure building up inside of him suddenly snap and his orgasm started to overwhelm him, he placed his hand over your mouth, silencing your moans.

Then, he buried his sweaty face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting lightly at your delicate skin to quiet his own sounds of pleasure.

He was completely still.

As ropes of his thick, white cum poured inside of your clenching, awaiting cunt, it was silent.

He wanted it to be that way because, right now, the only thing he wanted to hear was the sound of your pussy milking him as he came in heavy loads.

It was music to his ears.

♡ — 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 || want to join my taglist?

[aropride]

[vitikka]

New Arthur Lester outfit just dropped and a new friend

Close ups under the cut

[balfeys]

Moiraine vs Lanfear showdown in "The Wheel of Time" S3 finale trailer

[ratwithhands]

My friend send me this tweet and the resulting conversation led to this sketch. Ingo is using the "I'm gonna hit you with a train" version.

I had so much fun drawing the 🖕, that's lowkey the best thing of Ingo I've drawn in ages

[nitefise-art]

It will last forever Eternally x

First | Prev | Part 8/8 | Bonus

[9-1-1-8]

Best Friend Duos of the 118: Chimney & Hen vs. Buck & Eddie

Chim & Hen solo version / Buck & Eddie solo version

2x09 / 2x01 ∙ 2x09 / 2x01 ∙ 2x17 / 3x03 ∙ 3x08 / 7x04 ∙ 5x11 / 7x05 ∙ 5x17 / 8x06 ∙ 6x16 / 8x11 ∙ 6x16 / 8x11

[themadzarka]

Someone asked me about the Huntsman and I accidentally deleted their ask... Please come back to me, asker.

There are a few characters I didn't talk about yet, and one of them is the Huntsman. The only way to know is that the Huntsman kills Flowey in the end. Clearing this up, the fourth figure is

[caycanteven]

You've been caught~ Pose idea thanks to @aylish91! This guy lives rent free in my head ya'll.

[sable-skies]

okay okay okay i get the symbolism of link's cursed form being a wolf. i really do, and i love it so much. the whole "being noble but perceived as a monster" thing, i love it.

however, may i propose a fucked up wolf-creature instead.

[carnivorachiroptera]

Erik is about to get milked so hard.

[parasolladyansy]

DxP REWRITE - Dishonor Among Thieves

Back when I was figuring out the brothers’ early friendship with Ansy during her PKMN Black run, I had the thought that Rain (Eevee), a very rare, foreign Pokémon, would be a target for Team Plasma (until N tells them not to touch her again). From there, I figured a good first meeting was them teaching Team Plasma exactly what happens if they try to cause trouble in their subway.

There are a lot of people in our world who don’t see mental illness - or “mental injury” as I like to call (C-)PTSD - as a real health condition, let alone a disability. Some say ugly things to shame others they label as “entitled” or “weak”. Sometimes they’re raised that way, sometimes they’re confused or have some sort of inner resentment, or sometimes they’re just plain awful.

If you struggle with mental illness / injury, you’re not entitled or weak for needing extra help navigating life, whether it be a service animal, therapy, a trip to the hospital, or just a friend. It’s real, even if people around you can’t / won’t see it. 🩵

PS: my headcanon is that evil team Grunts have little themed codenames, too (knights for classic Team Plasma, maybe meteoroids / asteroids for Team Galactic, etc).

🔼 Diamond x Pearl REWRITE 🔽

<<Previous / Next>>

[itsguysnightitsironic]

Vulture dimension? More like, *goes into a rage* *goes into a rage* *goes into a rage* *goes into a ra-

This video clip will be big evil next season I think

All I know of Fantasy High is fan compilations while being in a feverish state that made me see people in the shadows, and I think I don't need to know anything else.

Peak experience.

[jisuto]

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

tl;dr hotboxing the v with stoner!suguru getou [prev] [nxt]

“You gotta stop fidgeting on my lap, you’re gonna make me lose.”

“I’m bored,” you whine.

Nestled snugly in Suguru’s lap, you cling to him like a koala, face buried in his neck. The rich, earthy scent of his cologne—sandalwood, your favorite—does little to distract from the fact that you’re getting zero attention.

You know who is? Gojo (derogatory).

After a long day at work, the thought of unwinding with Suguru was the only thing that kept you pushing through your exhausting shift. Now, thanks to the spare key Suguru gave you, showing up unannounced had become routine. You’d imagined finding him napping or lounging so you could snuggle, but instead, you were greeted by the thunderous sounds of Suguru and Gojo yelling over a video game.

Ever sweet, Suguru greeted you with a warm smile—but not an ounce of eye contact as he hunched over, aggressively mashing buttons. He’d invited you to sit on his lap, promising it was “one last round.”

That was four rounds ago.

At this point, you’ve resigned yourself to either falling asleep to the rhythmic sounds of button-mashing or waiting for Gojo to rage-quit. But a surprising third option presents itself in the form of Suguru’s phone ringing.

Suguru nudges you with his controller. “Mind answering that for me? It’s in my right pocket.”

Rolling your eyes, you reach into his pocket, fishing out the phone. The caller ID reads: 

Toji (Neighbor/Nuisance)

Suguru groans. “Ugh, who knows what crazy-ass shit Toji’s about to unload now.”

Eager for a change in pace, you accept the call and press the phone to Suguru’s ear. “Here, Sugu. I’ll hold it for you.”

Toji’s boisterous voice is loud enough to catch snippets like “no kid tonight,” “get wild,” “casino,” and “can’t say no.” Suguru exchanges a few exasperated grunts before sighing in defeat. “Okay, okay. Meet you down there in 30.”

Suguru signals for you to end the call, groaning as he explains, “So… here’s the deal. Toji’s kid is with his mom, and he just scored ten grand off some hustle. Now he wants to hit the casino. And since Gojo dumped his drug-dog onto him, we kinda owe him.” He grimaces. “We can’t exactly say no.”

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically. “Why does everything I do come back to bite me in the ass?! I need my chakras aligned.”

“You need your brain cells aligned,” you retort. “Let’s just get ready for whatever nonsense Toji has cooked up.”

You twist around, reaching for the zip on the table to “prepare” yourself for Toji’s rough personality. Just as your fingers brush the bag, Suguru puts his controller down, catching your arm in a smooth, practiced motion.

“Nah, we’re good,” he says, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “Toji’s gonna smoke us out. Said we could hotbox his car.”

Gojo pauses mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up as he grabs his navy half-zip from the back of the couch. Tugging it on over his shirt, he lets out a dramatic scoff. His bright blue eyes are wide with disbelief.

“The Honda?!” he exclaims. “Only bad things happen in that Honda.”

You shrug, unfazed. “Tough shit, Mister ‘I Make Impulse Purchases When High,’ Satoru.”

He narrows his eyes at you, dramatically clasping his hands together as if summoning divine wisdom. “Chakra. Alignment,” he intones, deadpan, before zipping up his jacket with a flourish.

Thirty minutes later, you’re stepping out of Suguru’s apartment building to find Toji leaning against his black Honda Accord. He’s decked out in Amiri jeans and a smug grin, fanning a stack of cash.

Toji’s eyes flick to you, shamelessly sizing you up. “Didn’t know you were bringing your little friend along. Not that I’m complaining.”

Suguru steps in front of you, voice low and sharp. “Eyes up here, Toji. She’s not interested.”

Gojo saunters past them, LV messenger bag swinging as he slides into the passenger seat. “Like that’s gonna stop him. He's a menace to society,” he mutters.

Inside the Honda, the smell is… questionable. The seats bear faint stains, and there’s a musky undertone, despite Toji’s claim he “Febreezed it earlier.” Suguru rolls down his window before Toji even starts the car.

“Better enjoy that fresh air,” Toji warns with a grin. “Once we hotbox, no weaklings breaking the seal.”

Gojo scoffs, pulling down the visor to adjust his hair. “How’s Gojo Junior, by the way? You find him a loving home yet?”

“Funny you ask,” Toji smirks. “Sold him to a buddy who coordinates underground dog fights. You can catch him in the doggy ring on Tuesday.”

The car goes silent. Your jaw drops as Suguru sputters. Gojo’s tinted Ray-Bans slip down his nose, his face frozen in horror.

“WHAT?!” you and Suguru exclaim in unison.

“Relax,” Toji chuckles, taking a sharp turn that throws you into Suguru’s side. Suguru steadies you with an arm around your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck. You shudder instinctively, shaking your head as Toji continues. “You said you needed it gone. I did that, didn't I?”

You interrupt, “Let’s circle back to what the fuck that was later. Right now, I need to know where you copped the weed, Toji. Getting laced isn’t exactly on my bingo card.”

Toji chuckles darkly. “Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he says, reaching into the center console with his free hand. He retrieves a blue mylar bag and dangles it between two fingers. “Picked up some gas from the dispensary.”

The car swerves slightly, and Gojo snatches the bag out of Toji’s hand.

“Toji, dear God, focus on the road! I can get you whatever you need!”

Toji smirks, undeterred. “Ah, you don’t worry that pretty little head either,” he teases.

Gojo fake-gags, clutching his throat and miming an exaggerated retch before snatching up the bag.

“Oh shit!” he exclaims, holding it up triumphantly for you and Suguru to see, his bright blue eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “This strain? Mine.” He taps at the fine print on the back of the bag, where, sure enough, his name is inscribed as cannabis breeder.

Grinning like a kid showing off a gold star, Gojo shoves the bag back in Toji’s face. “Cultivated by yours truly.”

Toji playfully jerks the wheel, making Gojo lurch back into his seat, wheezing.

Despite the casino being thirty minutes away, it feels like you get there in ten, bumping into Suguru’s side more times than you can count as the car winds through the streets.

Toji parallel parks right in front of the strip, snugging the car into a tight spot. You cringe with every movement, bracing for the sound of metal scraping metal, but it never comes.

He leans his seat back, invading your already cramped space, and pulls out two rolling trays. One gets passed to Suguru while the other balances precariously on the center console.

“Gotchu doll,” Toji says, swatting away Gojo’s hands as he picks up the mylar bag and starts grinding the weed.

You lean your head on Suguru’s shoulder, watching as he expertly packs the blunt, his fingers flexing with practiced ease. His brows knit together in concentration, and you absentmindedly trace the slit in one of them with your fingertip. The flick of the lighter precedes the soft flare of a flame as Suguru seals the blunt with a lick and lights it with a calm efficiency.

He passes the blunt to you first, winking, his lashes low and dark against his cheekbones. “Ladies first.”

Toji smirks and rolls up the windows. “Get your last breath of fresh air, everyone.”

You comply, taking a deep inhale before the blunt meets your lips. The first drag is warm and sweet, the earthy blueberry flavor lingering on your tongue. By the third, Suguru’s lips press against yours, his tongue sneaking between them as he kisses you deeply, tasting the smoke still in your mouth.

Drawing back, he hums appreciatively. “Mmm, Gojo, your strain’s flavor is so distinct it’s kiss-transferable. Truly one of one.”

Gojo whoops. “No way! I need to start charging more for my work. I’m in the lab cooking like Professor Utonium.” He grabs the blunt from Suguru and hands him the second one that Toji just finished rolling.

By now, the car is heavy with smoke. The faint buzz in your limbs morphs into a warm tingle as Toji launches into a monologue about his latest scams.

“—And if you make a big purchase, I’ll get your money back—ten percent cut for me, of course,” he explains, passing the blunt.

Gojo, giggling uncontrollably, wheezes. “Panhandling in a hotbox is CRAZY work.”

Toji’s reclines in his seat, legs spread wide, “What can I say, I got kids to feed.”

Suguru taps your thigh, drawing you out of a daze. You pass him the blunt with a shaky hand, shooting him a lazy grin. His gaze lingers, warm and heavy, before he takes a long drag.

You take a deep breath, but your lungs only fill with thick smoke, leaving you coughing softly. 

Blinking through the haze, it dawns on you—each of you is now holding a blunt, four in rotation. The air is dense, swirling with the acrid sweetness of burning weed, and the car feels like a hotbox on steroids.

Toji shifts in his seat, the humidity inside making his dark hair cling to his neck. He fiddles with the radio, pausing on a 90s hip-hop station. The bass-heavy beat fills the car as he nods along, a small grin playing on his lips.

“This used to be my shit,” he mutters, lost in the music.

“Old head,” Gojo chimes in, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Without missing a beat, Toji fires back, “I prefer DILF, thank you.”

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message. Suguru notices and leans over, smirking as you open the group chat:

last 3 braincells

sugu: so are we just gonna ignore how toji’s macking on gojo rn HARD

toru: mom pick me up im scared

You bite back a laugh, shoulders shaking as Suguru chuckles quietly against your neck, his breath tickling your skin.

you: am I the only 1 who heard him say kids? as in plural…

toru: YOOO WTF yr right he did!

sugu: aint no mf way

Meanwhile, Toji is oblivious, drumming his fingers on the console and humming along to the music. 

He casts a glance back at you all. “Whatchu kids know ‘bout this?”

toru: 3 minutes

sugu: huh?

toru: 3 min until I crack open my window I feel like I’m suffocating

sugu: nonononononono

you: omg toru me too I’ve choked down 9 coughs you: it hurts so bad

Gojo snakes his hand between the seats, holding up three fingers as he starts a silent countdown. 

You reach over, squeezing his hand in solidarity, your chest burning from suppressed coughs.

Suguru leans into you again, his lips brushing your ear. “I’m officially faded,” he whispers, voice light and hazy.

Finally, Gojo rolls down the window, and chaos erupts.

A dense cloud of smoke billows out, so thick it looks like the car’s on fire. Toji yells, “THE FUCK?!” scrambling to lock the windows, but it’s too late. The night swallows the smoke, leaving the car reeking and Toji fuming.

Outside, you stretch, your movements sluggish as your lungs finally catch some fresh air. The world feels surreal, every sensation heightened and slightly off-kilter. Smoke continues to waft out, curling into the night sky like some supernatural fog.

Toji glares at Gojo, shaking his head. “Y’all are lucky I’m feeling nice tonight,” he grumbles, popping the trunk with a sharp click. “Let’s head in now.”

He grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as Gojo circles the car, unzipped bag in hand and a fistful of gummy bears in his mouth. “Welf,” Gojo mumbles, barely intelligible around the candy, “thas was… interessing.”

You swipe a couple of gummy bears from his bag, popping one into your mouth and offering another to Suguru. The sugary burst soothes your throat, and Suguru hums appreciatively as he takes the gummy from your fingers.

Suguru holds up the gummy bear. “Here’s to playing bystander while Toji speedruns going broke.”

Gojo cackles, tossing a gummy into his mouth. “And thus, the world restores its natural order.”

The inside of the casino hits you like a sensory overload in your inebriated state. Flashing lights blur and disorient, leaving you dumbstruck until Suguru’s firm pull steadies you. The air buzzes with energy, a cacophony of laughter, shouts, and the constant chime of slot machines. The sharp scent of liquor mixes with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. High ceilings and regal gold detailing loom above, exuding opulence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being out of place. Self-consciousness creeps in, tightening around your chest.

Suguru’s hand threads through yours, warm and grounding. You follow him as he trails behind Gojo, weaving through the sea of patrons toward the slot machines. The upturned glances from passersby sting—a mix of judgment and amusement no doubt drawn by the pungent scent of weed clinging to your clothes. You square your shoulders and decide to own it.

Settling next to Gojo, you watch him whip out a wad of cash with zero hesitation. He gleefully feeds the glowing red slot machine, his movements full of fervor. You and Suguru exchange a knowing glance, both having agreed earlier to sit out on gambling. The likelihood of loss was too high for your liking.

But Gojo? Gojo thrives on chaos.

He strikes out again and again, spinning and losing sixty consecutive bets. The grating whirl of the slots feels louder than ever in your ears.

Then, miraculously, he hits a match. Gojo’s eyes light up with disbelief and excitement, his grin infectious. Without missing a beat, he stuffs another ten bills into the machine.

Suguru groans, rubbing his temple. “I want the record to show that when Satoru complains about losing hundreds tomorrow, I’m absolutely saying, ‘I told you s—’’”

“COOME ON, SEVEN! C’MON! COME TO DADDY!”

The booming voice is unmistakable. Toji.

You and Suguru whip your heads around, craning to see where the commotion is coming from. A large crowd clusters near the craps table, and you catch a glimpse of Toji gesturing wildly. You nudge Gojo’s shoulder, but he waves you off without looking up.

“Can’t stop. I’m on a roll.”

Rolling your eyes, you follow Suguru as he pushes through the crowd. People mutter complaints, but you’re too curious to care. Finally, you reach the front.

Toji is at the center of it all, shooting dice with the swagger of someone who owns the place. A hefty stack of cash rests on the table, and the crowd cheers as he rolls another seven. Chips clatter as side bets are placed, the table a kaleidoscope of frantic energy.

“Blow for me, sweetheart,” Toji purrs to a blushing young woman beside him. She complies with a shy smile, and Toji winks before tossing the dice with practiced ease. They land with precision—a perfect seven.

“FUCK YEAH!”

Cheers erupt again, only to be cut short by a voice crackling over the speakers:

“Good evening, patrons. Could the owner of a black Honda Accord parked out front please make their way to the front desk? You are wrongfully parked in VIP. Thank you.”

Toji curses under his breath, scanning the crowd until his eyes land on you. “AYEE, Suguru! Be a dear and handle that for me, huh? I’ll give you a cut of this sweet cash.”

Suguru sighs, extending his arms. Toji tosses the keys, which Suguru catches effortlessly.

You make your way back through the crowd, calling out over the commotion, “At least we’ve got an excuse to leave now! This is insane!”

Outside, the cool night air hits your face, bringing instant relief from the chaos inside. You slide into the passenger seat, sighing as you pull Suguru’s arm toward you and snuggle into his warmth. He hums softly, the blinker ticking as he maneuvers the car toward the parking lot down the street.

The headlights flicker, casting dim light on the uneven pavement. Suguru squints, searching for an open spot. After a few minutes of frustration, he backs into a secluded space far from the casino.

“It’s even farther than I thought,” you mutter, not looking forward to the walk back.

Suguru reclines his seat with a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You nuzzle into his bicep, stroking his fingers.

“What’s wrong, Suguru?”

“This just isn’t how I pictured tonight going,” he admits, tilting his head back with a wry smile.

You kiss along his arm, teasing, “Oh, come on. You’d just be playing video games all night anyway. Don’t act like I didn’t save you from yourself.”

He chuckles, his eyes softening as he glances down at you. “Neglecting you, was I? My apologies, baby.”

He juts his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, and the mischievous glint in his eye makes your heart flutter. “Come here,” he murmurs, guiding you onto his lap.

You crawl over to the driver’s seat eagerly, letting Suguru’s hands guide your legs until you’re firmly settled on his lap. His palms trace the curve of your thighs, warm and deliberate, as he pouts dramatically, his expression expectant.

Turning your face away, you catch a lock of his long, black hair between your fingers, twirling it absently. He reaches up, cupping your cheeks and squeezing gently, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss you, firm and unyielding.

You refuse to meet his kiss, turning your face further away in defiance. He exhales a quiet laugh, releasing your face to pepper soft kisses on each cheek before cradling your jaw with both hands. His dark eyes lock onto yours, half-lidded with a mixture of fondness and heat. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, his touch languid as it draws teasing circles along your thigh.

The resolve for your bratty act falters under his touch, and your resistance melts. You lean in, capturing his lips roughly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Teeth graze, tongues intertwine, and the kiss grows hungrier, his low groans resonating between you.

Your fingers trail to the sensitive shell of his ear, stroking lightly. His breath catches, and he grinds against you in response, lips trailing down to the curve of your neck.

“You gonna finally take care of me, Sugu?” you whisper breathlessly. “Right here, in Toji’s car?”

He groans against your skin, biting gently before pulling back to look at you. “Yeah? So needy you need me right here?”

His hands slide under your shirt, palms splaying against your bare skin as he presses a kiss to the base of your throat. His hips buck upward, grinding into you, and a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Want you, Sugu. Need you now,” you murmur, tugging at the waistband of your leggings.

Suguru chuckles low, kissing you again as he helps slide your leggings down, lips never straying far from your skin. You tug at his zipper, freeing him from his boxers. His cock springs free, thick and glistening at the tip, the deep tan of his skin contrasting sharply with the flushed pink of his head, already leaking.

“God,” you whisper, staring at him through your lashes as you lean down, kissing the velvety head. 

Your tongue flicks over the slit, savoring the salty taste of him as he groans, head falling back.

“Pretty girl,” he rasps, “don’t make me wait.”

You smirk, letting your spit drip down his shaft, spreading it in slow strokes before positioning yourself over him. His hands grip your hips as you sink onto him, inch by inch, the stretch stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding you steady. “That’s it, baby. So tight, so perfect.”

You bottom out with a gasp, the fullness almost overwhelming, and he grinds you against him, his hips rolling to drive him deeper. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you bite into his neck to muffle a moan.

He responds with a sharp slap to your ass, the sting making you squeak. “Move, baby. Need to feel you.”

You begin bouncing on him, your pace faltering as pleasure wracks your body. Suguru takes over, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, his movements deep and relentless. You’re reduced to broken moans, your nails clawing at his chest beneath his shirt.

“F-fuck, Sugu—ah touch me,” you whimper.

He obliges, one hand sliding to your clit, rubbing in tight circles. You cry out his name, trembling as the coil in your stomach snaps, leaving you gushing around him.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his heated gaze as he thrusts up into you, chasing his own release. 

His grip tightens, and with a low groan, he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core.

You collapse against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as you both catch your breath. His fingers stroke through your hair, and you hum contentedly, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Then his phone vibrates, breaking the quiet. You retrieve it, holding it up as Suguru unlocks it.

Satoru: SOS Toji is down $5k in the hole, and I gambled away all my cash. Satoru: Please come get us. /srs Satoru: Pull up to the front ASAP. Satoru: Now he’s down $6k. Hurry!!!

Suguru reads the messages aloud, his voice tinged with amusement. You both glance at the mess you’ve left on Toji’s seat and exchange a sheepish look.

“Well,” you say, smirking, “he can’t be that mad. Not when he’s already lost sixteen grand.”

Suguru laughs, shaking his head as he pulls you close again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

[taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen @m0rgui <33]