#fic: hear me out

[camembri]

you wanted zoro to be on whole cake island to fulfil your weird desire to see zoro punish sanji. I wanted zoro on whole cake island because I think he's stupid enough to right place wrong time the plan and accidentally marry Sanji in full view of the whole wedding party in what becomes the most elaborately constructed comedy of errors ever written. we are NOT the same.

[ghostbsuter]

He'd moved to metropolis on a whim.

The city was big, he's earning good money via commissioned things (most people come to him for cosplay actually, who knew that knowing how to build a sci-fi gun that doesn't even work would be this wanted??) and he's got a nice apartment!

Superman and Supergirl were the active heroes, he didn't need to involve himself anymore with the world of heroes, he would continue as a civilian. It was better this way.

So how come LexLuthor, of all people, what is his luck?, sends him an invitation to LexCorp AND once declined, seemed to have created some sort of energy absorbing weapon that directly zoomed in on his immediate whenever around?

Civilian life is one thing.

Being rescued via Super for the 9th time is another.

"Hey Danny." Supergirl grins, they're floating to the side as Superman deals with Lex.

"Hey, Supergirl." Danny replies with a sigh, holding his bag.

[theminecraftbee]

“Mumbo, I think Grian and Gem are possessed!”

Scar bursts through the door of the iron farm is building rather suddenly. This is indeed rather impressive, on account of the iron farm not having a door. Mumbo wonders if Scar put on there for dramatic effect, or if bursting into a space while shouting manifests door-like qualities, or maybe if he forgot he’d placed an entirely unnecessary door down. It’s almost as unnecessary as the iron farm, given Grian still hasn’t forgiven him for the whole ‘trying to see how far he can make Grian go to trade permits’ thing, and—

“Mumbo, you aren’t paying attention! I think Grian and Gem are possessed!” Scar says, distressed.

“What? Er, I mean, yes, we’d all rather noticed, hadn’t we?” Mumbo says. “Really don’t know why you’re panicking about it. Bit old, that news is.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!” Scar says, making a dramatic hand motion. “It’s terrible! My builds, Mumbo! My beautiful train! I live right next to both of them! Oh, oh, my beautiful train!”

Mumbo squints. “Well that’s a bit rude. Grian was possessed last season and you were perfectly fine putting your base next to him then.”

“It was different, Mumbo! Oh, sure, he had a rock that ate bases, but not with him! And it only barely moved without asking. And the Rift, well, that didn’t move! That didn’t eat parts of my build! Mumbo, do you know how long it takes to make a train design real enough that builder’s magic will actually take to it these days? Standards are so high!”

“Ah. Is the ocean eating bases now? Because if so I admit that’s a little concerning.” Mumbo says, mentally trying to decide how to heist the prismarine permit into Grian’s inventory so he doesn’t have to deal with a self-destroying guardian farm. That would just be silly. He can destroy and rebuild a slime farm every other day, sure, but a guardian farm? Where would he keep the sponges!

Scar has conspicuously stopped talking, Mumbo realizes.

“Um,” Mumbo says.

“I said, why would the ocean eat bases?” Scar helpfully repeats.

“Well, you just said the thing possessing Grian and Gem might eat your train,” Mumbo says.

“What? Why would I be talking about the ocean? Mumbo, you said this was old news!” Scar says.

“That’s because it is! Gem was talking about getting the ocean to possess her even before we got here! It was her whole plan, some kind of spooky boat thing! I was really quite surprised you’d missed it!” Mumbo says.

“Why would I be talking about that? Psssh. That’s old news,” Scar says.

“That’s what I said!” Mumbo says.

“Anyway, I don’t know why you’re bringing our fishy overlords into this. I was talking about the snails.”

Mumbo’s thoughts crash to a blessedly silent halt.

“The what?”

“The snails that are eating everything. I think they’re possessing Grian and Gem.”

“There are snails that are eating everything?”

“Yes! That’s why I’m panicking!”

“Well great, now I’m panicking too! Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I did!”

Mumbo looks back at his iron farm. “Scar, what if they eat this before I realize how pointless it all was? Snails are small! I wouldn’t even notice until the zombie turned into a little pile of smoldering flesh! Why are Grian and Gem possessed by snails, they were supposed to be possessed by the ocean!”

“I don’t know,” Scar says. “Mumbo. Mumbo you have to help.”

“How! I’m not qualified for this!” Mumbo says. “People always assume, oh you’ve known Grian forever, surely you’re qualified, but I’m not! I have a weak will, Scar, he doesn’t even have to bother possessing me before I go along with his schemes! And Gem is possessed too? Count me right out.”

Scar frowns. “Oh. I didn’t think you’d stop Grian. I wanted your help getting our own snails to be possessed by.”

“Why?”

Scar thinks for a moment. Scar shrugs.

“Yeah, you know what, fine,” Mumbo says. “Makes more sense than this iron farm. Um, I guess we build a snail shrine now? I have to say, very strange that this whole cult thing keeps happening to me.”

The two of them put their heads together and start planning. If they’re all going to be overtaken by snails, Mumbo figures, best to get a head start. Maybe then he’ll even get an excuse to start the unnecessary gold farm in the process.

[mahi-does-some-art]

What if, instead of the Sorcerers' Society being just a small organization with a headquarters, it was instead a hidden city or capital where not only could sorcerers go to for assistance and to get their licenses, but could safely live and learn without having to put so much effort into hiding their magic from general human public? (Something similar to Witch Hat Atelier perhaps)

A hidden away capital with houses and apartments and magical shops selling everything a sorcerer would ever need. Where they can safely converse on the street and network and apprentices can talk to each other and swap tales of their lessons and masters.

Out in the expanse of the human world, it's hard to come by each other so having a place to live like that would be great.

But also it would make Solomon getting chased out by a dragon so much funnier (or sadder) since he and the mystery apprentice would have been the ones to found the Sorcerers' Society in the first place.

He would probably own his own house there and come back there whenever there was a meeting he had to attend or some urgent matter to discuss. Solomon wouldn't stay there longer than he usually had to and his property is usually empty.

But when sorcerers usually take in an apprentice, that apprentice lives with their master in order to make the most of learning opportunities and a lot of them tend to move back to the Sorcerers' Society for convenience.

If Solomon was able to convince MC to live with him for "educational purposes" completely separate from the brothers and Devildom, who's to say he wouldn't give living amongst his peers an honest try once more?

[thisapplepielife]

Submitted for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Funko Corroded Coffin

Day #26 - Tour Date A diorama of a tour date for the Funko Pop versions of Corroded Coffin.

Info: We haven't had many "other" entries for CCF, so I decided to snap some pictures of my little custom Corroded Coffin display for fun, just to add something different to the event.

Road Manager Steve has his red milk crate to stand on, and is carrying a bag of cash. Gareth's drum set is a real Funko one, I just added the Corroded Coffin logo to it. (It's definitely Tuesday's-coded by including Di and the red milk crates.)

As for the figures themselves, Eddie is the only standard-issue Funko. Gareth, Goodie & Jeff were all custom ordered to be painted like themselves from S4. And I made Steve and Di myself by doing some head-swapping, lol.

And, yes, I felt like I was playing Barbies moving them all around to take pictures, haha.

[stsghrs]

satosugu crack fic where they are in the afterlife and satoru is trying to gaslight god into letting suguru to heaven

[seoulzie]

beomgyu's adam's apple

an apple i'd like to bite...

the gasp i let out cause this is the sole reason i opened my hard hours!! this'll be a small ramble tee hee

beomgyu tilting his head back, exposing his neck and the prominent curve of his adam's apple. your lips softly pressing kisses along his neck, working your way up to his adam's apple, feeling it move slightly as he swallows in anticipation !!! the way his breath hitches when your tongue flicks out to lick the contour of his adam's apple, tracing its shape with teasing strokes & lightly sucking on it, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

gently biting the skin around his adam's apple, careful not to hurt him but enough to make him gasp, the vibrations under your lips as you hum against it, feeling the resonance deep in his throat (this is actually crazy) beomgyu's soft moans growing louder as you continue your ministrations, your mouth alternating between kissing, licking, and sucking. your fingers lightly pressing against his throat, feeling the rhythm of his swallowing and the rumble of his moans

[pey-up]

You know damn well it'd be the most angsty one shots you'd ever read

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 08/08 // miscommunication 

wc: 2k // rating: M // cw: smoking, language, character death // tags: s4 missing scene, canon compliant, miscommunication, first kiss

divider credits @firefly-graphics

“Hey, Harrington, did we have any more nails? Think I can fit a few more on this bad boy.” Eddie swings his makeshift-trash-can-lid-shield around in an arc, whooshing under his breath. He feels a bit silly, but it’s what he does. Clowns around for the benefit of others.

Steve snorts, before looking around. “Uh, yeah, I think so.” He shifts a crate of bottles over. “Somewhere around here…” Finally spotting the box of nails, he underhand tosses it over Robin’s head.

Eddie catches it easily, earning a raised brow from Steve, and points the box back to him with a nod. As Steve turns back to Robin, Eddie lets out a low whistle. Waiting for him to turn back, Eddie tilts his head, gesturing to the other side of the RV in a not-so-subtle follow me way. Frowning, Steve glances at Robin, who gives him an equally quizzical look in return, then moves toward him, following around the front of the vehicle.

“You good, man?” Steve asks as Eddie leans up against the side of the RV, dropping the shield and the nails at his side.

Eddie hums in the affirmative as he pats at his pockets, locating a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pops one between his lips before holding the box out in offering. Steve hesitates for only a second before taking one. Clicking on the lighter, Eddie waves him in. Steve leans closer, letting the end of his cigarette touch Eddie’s, both of them lit under the flame. Neither of them moves back immediately, caught in a smoky haze where their eyes are locked onto each other. 

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had caught Steve staring at him, hazel eyes travelling from his lips back up to his eyes. It happened the day prior, in the Upside Down, where Eddie had been running his mouth, talking endlessly about being not-a-hero and unambiguous signs of true love, all but shoving Steve in the direction of Nancy Wheeler. Despite this, Eddie got the sense that Steve wasn’t listening to a word he said. Barely responding, eyes locked on Eddie instead, who wanted to ask—because, hey, what’s that about?—but they were cut off by the freak earthquake.

Then earlier, when Eddie jumped into the driver’s seat of the RV to start hotwiring, Steve was right behind him. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was being magnetically pulled into Eddie’s presence. Like they’d constantly found themselves since the boathouse—in each other’s bubbles. Steve never once pulled away from the invasion of his personal space. Not when Eddie got right up in his face again, not when Eddie had blatantly flirted with him—don’t ya, big boy?—and not now, when their faces had no reason to be this close together.

It’s Steve who pulls back, who finally breaks the spell between them, taking a shaky inhale of his cigarette. “Robin’s worried… thinks maybe we might not make it out this time.”

“Shit…” Eddie says with a puff of smoke. “But, y’know. Who else is gonna do it?”

“That’s what she said too.” Steve taps the ash off to the side, before taking another drag. “D’you ever feel like… I dunno, like you might be missing something that’s right in front of you? Something that everyone else sees, but you just… don’t?”

Eddie snorts. “Only every day, Harrington.”

“I think maybe…” Steve hesitates. “Maybe I am. Missing something.”

“And what is it,” Eddie says, tapping his ash. “That you think you’re missing?”

Eddie turns his head when Steve doesn’t respond, finding those hazel eyes boring into him. He feels it again, that magnetic pull, that electricity that seems to fire up between them any time they’re near each other. It wasn’t like Eddie to second guess something like this, to wonder if he might be wrong. By all accounts, he knew when someone was attracted to him. But for some reason, when it came to Steve, he couldn’t help but question it. That said, Eddie felt… something. It was there, palpable and pulsing between them.

“Enjoying the view?” Eddie’s voice drips with sarcasm as he gestures down at himself, knowing he looks a mess.

Steve jolts, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he looks away. “I don’t know. What I’m missing,” he quickly clarifies. “That’s kinda the problem, right?”

Eddie hums as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Anything I can help with?”

Looking at him like the answer is right on his lips, Steve falters. “You—you don’t—no, I couldn’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off softly. “It’s okay.”

What exactly is okay, Eddie isn’t actually sure. But if he’s right—and god, he hopes he is—then he’s willing to take the chance. And fuck, if he can’t find a little bravery right before jumping back into hell, then when will he ever? Eddie flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground, turning to Steve fully, stepping right up in his space again. Steve’s eyes widen, and Eddie spots the green flecks in them, but he doesn’t step back. Watching as Steve’s gaze jumps from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up again, Eddie feels a small smile pull at the corners of his lips. From the edge of his vision, he notices Steve drop the remainder of his cigarette.

Eddie brings a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw, leaning in closer, watching closely for any sign that he’s wrong, that he should stop. He feels Steve’s breath on his lips, and watches as his eyes become hooded. Eddie closes the distance. Steve’s lips are a little dry, but he moves softly, tentatively, gently. It’s almost… romantic. Feeling a hand come up to the side of his neck, then into the back of his curls, Eddie presses a little harder, just slightly parting his lips. He feels Steve’s tongue swipe at his lower lip, and can’t hold back any longer. 

Eddie surges forward, mouth opening and tasting Steve fully. It’s sloppy and frantic, teeth knocking and lips bruising, a sense of urgency suddenly taking over their movements. The hand that was cupping Steve’s jaw is now gripping, holding him in place, the other placed against the wall of the RV, pinning him there. Steve is twisting Eddie’s hair between his fingers, other hand pulling at his waist, bringing their bodies flush against each other. Their tongues slide together and Eddie thinks he could get high on this feeling. Whatever spark was between them has grown into a wildfire, and Eddie wants to chase it and burn up in it. The desperation they hold each other with, the desire that they kiss with, the sheer need that runs through both of them, it consumes him.

“Steve…” Eddie groans against his lips.

Steve lets out a muffled whimper. “Eddie…”

Eddie moans low in return. He wants to get closer, to feel more, to live in this feeling until his dying breath.

“Eddie,” Steve pants. “Eddie—stop. Stop-stop-stop.”

Once the words register in his mind, Eddie jumps back like he’d been electrocuted. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he breathes, chest heaving, heart racing.

“No, no, it’s—” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, it’s fine, I just…” He exhales heavily, lips shining with spit. “I just, I’m not—I don’t…”

Eddie’s heart drops as words seem to fail Steve. Oh… Oh, he was wrong. He doesn’t need to hear the rest of what Steve was trying to say, doesn’t need to hear I’m not into men, I don’t like you that way, I’m not like you, I don’t want you, or any other sentence that’ll tear his heart out. Taking another step back, Eddie tries to look anywhere but Steve’s face, mentally kicking himself for having read the situation so badly.

“It—I’m sorry, I just thought—” Eddie stumbles his way through his words as he backs away. “It’s okay though, uh, just. We can—we can act like it never happened.”

“What? Eddie, no, it’s not—” Steve sounds like the words are getting stuck in his throat, eyes wide and glistening. He looks lost.

“It’s alright, Steve,” Eddie cuts him off. “I don’t, like, blame you for, y’know, trying something at the end of the world.” Fumbling to grab his shield from the ground, Eddie creates more distance between them. “It’s fine. Like I said, didn’t even happen. Take it to my grave.”

Reaching out, Steve grabs for his wrist. “Eddie, please, wait, just—”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie cuts him off again, yanking his hand out of Steve’s, unable to stand the feeling of the heat between them any longer. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” With one final glance at Steve’s hurt expression, Eddie does what he does best, and runs.

He wants to go back. He wants to ask. He wants to know what Steve was going to say. But Nancy approaches soon after and tells them they need to get moving. Eddie tries not to watch as Steve and Robin huddle together, whispering to each other. Tries not to think about what they’re saying. Tries not to imagine that it’s something good. Maybe… there was a tiny chance it could have been… But no, it hurt enough to think that Steve didn’t want him. Eddie didn’t want to have to hear the words aloud. Ultimately, Eddie picked protecting himself over everything else, that’s how he survived this long. Did that make him a coward in his own opinion? Yes. But it’s what he did. 

Still. Eddie wondered. Maybe he reacted too quickly. Got scared too easily. Wouldn’t be the first time for him. Wouldn’t be the first time he ran his mouth and got himself into more trouble than if he’d just kept quiet. Wouldn’t be the first time he jumped to conclusions. Wouldn’t be the first time he bolted to avoid a hard conversation. Maybe he should have stayed. Maybe Steve was going to say something else. Maybe Steve wasn’t going to shatter his already fragile heart. Maybe, if Eddie hasn’t completely fucked this up, there’s a way through this for them. Him and Steve. Maybe, just maybe, he can fix it.

They don’t get a chance to talk about it. Eddie catches him more than once, staring at him with those eyes, filled with an unreadable expression—Hurt? Guilt? Longing?—before they both quickly look away again. They have to focus on the plan, have to put on the front for everyone else, for the kids. This can wait until after.

Once they’re back in the Upside Down, plans in motion, they share their parting words. Steve tells them not to be heroes, big-brother mask perfectly in place for Dustin’s benefit. Eddie tries to match it, going for a joke—that they’re not heroes—but a cold sick feeling travels down his chest as he says it. Steve already knows Eddie isn’t a hero. He can’t just leave it like this, so he stops Steve again. The mask has slipped now, and Steve looks close to tears.

“Make him pay,” Eddie says, finally looking Steve right in the eyes, begging him to hear the meaning behind his words. Make him pay. End all of this. Come back to me. We can try again. Maybe we have something. All the things he wishes he could say but doesn’t have the courage to.

Steve nods like he understands, and Eddie hopes to god he does. Hopes that he’ll give Eddie another shot, an opportunity to fix whatever was between them, a chance to show that he’s not the coward he claimed to be.

They don’t get to find out.

Because Eddie needs to save Dustin. Because Eddie runs out to distract the bats. Because Eddie regrets a lot of decisions he’s made—running away from Chrissy, leaving her for Wayne to find; not getting a chance to say goodbye, to tell his uncle how much he loved him; running away from Steve—but not this one. 

Because Eddie chooses a hell of a time to not be a coward for once in his life.

[ronnierosest]

Zakkura "So he never initiates, never asks, and waits." - inspired by a fanfiction we're friends, right? (very adult) by totosheadset

[samodivaa]

Soul-debasing Interrogation

Winter Soldier x Agent!Reader

Both his mentality and body can withstand anything—to err is...human—you are the human in this situation.

Warnings - smut, rough sex, choking

Words - 2900

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

His face is a reflection of the past, of what is left of his life before, but his humanity has long forgotten where it belongs. You are now looking at something resembling a semi-death state, you can’t even comprehend the present condition of his soul, the mental pain or unbearably oppressive suffering he has been put through—a living creature, somewhat both broken and whole at the same time.

His eyelids slowly open, dark orbs focusing on the floor as he lets out a loud groan. He has the violent urge to move, but behind his back, both hands are bound with rope designed to eat away at the skin when he moves, even slightly. His ankles are as well bound to the legs of the chair—he makes an internal scoff at his current state.

“Here we go” you are already standing in between of his wide spread legs, grabbing his chin in a painful hold, waiting to speak when his glossy eyes are fully focused on yours “Try not to let this room scare you.”

A slumbering rage is stirring, rippling just beneath the surface. You are on the borderline, caught between the tides of fear and fury—him looking at you without blinking dismembers you mentally, but at the same time convinces him of the necessity to fight your fear.

It’s been days and nothing works, he seems unbreakable.

“Talk”

his jaw between your fingertips, grip still painfully tight, fingers turning white.

You are so sweet with your business-like tone—just imagine ripping out the tongue, so you could never speak again.

You study his features for a moment longer before letting go of his chin to slap his face hard, frowning in a sign of dissatisfaction.

“I said talk!“

„Ты так красива, что я забыл что хотел сказать тебе“ (You are so beautiful that I forgot what I wanted to tell you)

He finally says after a dramatic pause, his voice carrying its mocking undertones.

„You sick son of a bitch!“

You slap him again, he doesn’t show any reaction.

„White clothes, белый как снег?” (white as snow)

You put your hands on his knees and bent down, to whisper in his ear.

„I will fucking kill you”

A thin line closes around his throat and goes through, slowly cutting into his skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. After this, his head flies back, manicured fingers whirling around his hair, the little hairs on the back of his neck prickling. A groan escapes his dry lips, one that he doesn’t realize he’d been holding.

You drop the thin plastic line and place one nail under his chin, moving slowly, fascinated, nova-flare blue eyes blazing into your own.

„Will you talk now?“

he just sighs, shifting uncomfortably.

„Fuck…“

you whisper, a hint of exasperation and affront in your tone. You almost laugh, guilt twines with another failed attempt of getting any information out of him—you looks down at his trousers, then your eyes widen

„You are enjoying this”

In a full-fledged case of desire, Soldat is able to form both mental and physical representation of the thing he wants now and you don’t plan on initiating action to diminish his state.

Winter snorts at your words and looks at you with a smirk. He is obsessed with the situation, fascinated by you, infatuated with you. He hungers for your taste, your smell, the feel of your skin touching his. He is burning with desire, but keeps quiet about it—that’s his punishment he brings on himself, but there is no way he is begging his enemy—even in this state.

“Yes, I am” he says, with a venomous sneer “My eyes are up here, darling” he breathes.

That uncomfortable feeling is spreading over you as your eyes lift up to his lips, watching them part, taking deep breaths, the longing for him grows especially strong. You stand as though hesitating, suddenly the blood rushes to your head and sends a glow to your cheeks.

You are unable to endure his persistent stare, but you raise your downcast eyes and you finally smirk triumphantly at him as you struggle to breathe, suddenly straddling his thighs, loosening all of the ropes.

Winter watches with growing interest as you lean down, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

Soldat’s eyes are the interpreter of the animal lust beneath, there is an unhealthy sallowness in the color of his orbits, he doesn’t even blink—his body is tense, a steel trap just waiting to be sprung open, but you don’t know that.

Your greedy lips are on his skin, devouring everything you can—licking, sucking, and kissing, not holding back your throaty moans. You drag your lips up his throat, along his jaw, back toward his mouth.

Eyes meet again.

The smirk on his face has disappeared and leaves an intensity behind in his eyes, narrowing into a glare. He is a silent fury who no torment could tame—but the finest fury is the most controlled, there is a murderous look in his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

you cry, face white and distorted, with a wan smile.

He laughs spitefully “It's either kiss you or kill you, that's how I see it”

His soul is overflowing but with mingled feelings, no single sensation stands out distinctly, but there is a need in his heart and his body. He grabs you by the hips and gets up with an unexpected growl. Sexual perversions mix with lust and adrenaline as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity, dropping you slowly on the cold floor.

The moment your feet touch the ground, you want to scream, but you are cut off with a rough kiss on your lips. He grinds his pelvis into you, so you can feel his hard length against your lower belly, and grips your ass through the flimsy pants.

“I will fuck you” he croons his plans into your ear, and then places a cold palm around your neck “But you need to beg me”

Dominance. Control.

Winter has lost control over everything, even the places in his head… it's paralyzing…of course he has an obsession about female obedience—his human fingers start teasing the crotch of your panties.

You gasp into his mouth, and the opening of your lips let his tongue slide through.

Your arms come up around his neck and he pulls you against him, hands flatten against your back…and you are up on the tips of your toes, kissing him as fiercely as he is kissing you.

He pulls away from you briefly to say gruffly “Come on, I want to hear it” his soul, overflowing with rapture, yearns for your pleas, skin, touch “I know you want me” he whispers with implicit faith in his words.

A whirl of the most fantastic notions takes possession of his brain when your eyes meet again—he clings to you more tightly, knotting his hands in your hair, wordlessy begging, hands sliding down to your waist.

He raises the metal hand to his mouth, sucking on his fingers before the slightly damp digits are sliding into your panties and teasing your aroused folds and you exhale sharply, turning into a whining mewl as he circles your clit with ease.

“Say it”

he chuckles ruthlessly as the other hand bruises the skin on your waist, while his thumb circles down under your clit, closer to your entrance, fluids start to leak out. Your eyes meet again and something dangerous sparks, you suddenly feel your legs growing weak under you.

“Please-” you whisper, trembling with need and delight.

Winter almost stops when he hears you, his own breathing hitches a bit. He is watching you with an icy expression, voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself

“Keep begging” a dark edge creeps into his tone.

“Please, don’t stop”

You shamelessly lift your leg up, placing it across his lower back and he swipes his thumb over your now throbbing clit before using two fingers to spread your lips apart. You never felt such stretching. It is cold and uncomfortable, but he forces his fingers inside as far as he can. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath, your skin breaks out into a pale sweat as he eases into a slow rhythm, curling his fingers inside, fracking, until your body twitches and walls clench around his fingers.

“Need me more” He pistons in and out of you as you clench around his fingers “Beg me more”

Every synapse in your brain short out—the gut-wrenching terror you feel, with a balance of sweet pleasure slide into mindlessness—

“Please, I need more, I need you-” you are cut off with an involuntary moan of rapturous pleasure, you are so close.

Those who constantly hunger for control outside of self are undoubtedly starved for peace inside of self—it doesn’t fucking matter, does it?

You’re powerless, weightless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his gaze as he is staring at you, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, this is what makes you cum, he looks at you like he owns you.

The orgasm has gutted your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp, he rasps something in your ear as he mouths against the skin of your neck, but you are too lost to hear it.

You are pushed against the wall, he tilts his head back and lowers his lips to yours and they get bitten to the point of bleeding. Winter feels a metallic taste on his tongue as he pulls back to admire his work, licking his lips, smiling disgustingly.

The sharp taste of blood only whetting his appetite. Winter wraps long slender fingers, around your throat, squeezing slightly and the feeling is too cold for it to be a human hand. His mouth is so close to your ear it makes your hair stand on end as he presses his hips against you, licking along the shell of your ear.

It is arousing, but dangerous—very dangerous.

Your other hand trails down his abdomen to his belt, and a finger dips in before you retrieve it—teasing him, the other hand still rubbing small circles on the tip. He shifts closer so his hardness presses against your hand unwillingly to your plans.

His right hand digs fingers into the flesh of your waist, the grip turning bruising and hard as before—the metal one now resting on the wall close to your head—as a warning, a reminder of the power he holds.

„Don’t you dare stop“ he whispers, the bite of his threat lost somewhere in his need for you to touch.

You need moments to unbuckle his pants, and Winter continues to trail your skin with kisses and whines when a hand slides into his boxers, the other holding closely to take the large cock in your small hands, covering it as much as you can.

You look down at his slick cock and nearly gag at the idea of just having it in your mouth, you want to be on his knees for him.

Drops of pre-cum drop to the floor.

Winter clenches his metal fist, trying to resist the urge to moan loudly, closing his lips he inhales through his nose, face contorting with openly weeping pleasure. He groans in reply, unable to fight your gentle touch, trying to fuck himself against the grip of your hands, too small to cover his whole length, throbbing with delight of that thought, orgasm begins to creep up on him.

You can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to come, all he can do is tighten the grip against your waist—to urge you to please him.

He lets a choked moan escape his lips as you start to move your hands up and down, languidly stroking at his cock—his metal fingers whirling naturally around your neck, squeezing, not enough to break it, whines and whimpers escaping him as if he has no control over them any longer.

You observe every reaction and sound with wide lips and sultry eyes—heavy breathing from both of you as the pleasure hadn’t stopped yet—mesmerized yet almost confused as you’d never seen a killer be so needy for an orgasm, but you don’t dare comment.

“Don’t slow down”

He breaths out, eyebrows furrowing, his eyes shut, only grunts fill the cold air.

He opens his eyes, glossy and unfocused, and his face is deeply flushed—he is faced with your eyes stained with tears as you struggle to breathe—you nearly lose consciousness, how fragile your body is and how strong his is.

He chuckles at the sight—lust twisting his features, the grip around your neck finally loosens, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by erratic breathing.

He uses the moment to prise his tongue into your open mouth, forcing himself into you. You try to push and trash, but he holds you firm against the wall, his tongue sweeping over your lips, against your teeth, claiming you—leaking your tears.

Tasting the life he can easily take away from you.

You wiggles slightly, when he rips off your pants off, those piercing blue eyes trying to get a glimpse of your nakedness as his cock is still out, his fist tightening around the base, stroking slowly as his eyes drift south—dragging his metal finger slowly through your slit, the other hand once again moves on the waist in the same place—it hurts, bruises already forming from his tight hold.

It is obvious that Winter is not human, his body, his dick is too big to be human. You shiver at the sight of his length, hard and needy. His eyes are completely blue, with no pupil or white, two seas full of desire—he will drown you in them.

Soldat lifts your leg to gain a better angle to your hole. Your lips are slick and swollen, but the opening is stretching tight around his cock, trying to enter you completely, you cry out, your back arching at the pain. You freeze, blood running cold as he slaps you hard across the face.

The dark-haired man stares back with ill-concealed suspicion.

He is big, wide and fills you deliciously—every time you assume that he's fully sheathed, he pushes in a bit more and makes you moan loudly.

You buckle your hips as best you can despite his rough movements, meeting him thrust for thrust, desperate to feel him buried inside of you.

He is rough with you, not taking his time, not easing you into it.

“Please, slow down, it is too much-”

“Shut up and take it”

he trembles at the way you say beg, because of him, his mind was a blank canvas accosted by nothing—now, it is all about you, about pleasure.

And you tremble like a downy rabbit caught in the clutches of a wolf—he seizes you as boldly as if you are his prey. He thrust with force, you don’t even have time to adjust, he is too eager.

You moan both from pleasure and pain—It's so tight, squeezing the life out of his cock and he loves the idea of hurting you, it is too erotic not to think about it. He fucks you with lazy, slow thrusts, just enjoying the sensations of sex.

“You are taking me so good” he pants against your throat

he enjoys the suction feeling onto his cock, pummeling your cunt ruthlessly, hitting over the tender spot and you groan, loudly. Your throat feels raw from all the moans.

You exist there, whimpering, taking a fortifying breath, feeling the approach of your own orgasm, compressed by him as he ravages you, marks you.

Hard, long, deep trust that forces moans out of both of you.

You immediately bite your lip, panting, stopping yourself from moaning more, but your spine bends back and your body stretches taut, insides clenching and spamming around his cock—the sound that escapes your lips is so unearthly that it drives him to the edge.

He slams into you as his cock explodes in an endless amount of cum, overflowing out of you, dripping on the floor. He groans as he continues to slam into you, even as you feel overly sensitive as your own orgasm reaches its peak.

He leans down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushes feather-light against your face, his metal hand is around your throat, squeezing tightly—you lose consciousness, thinking that he is killing you, but you just pass out.

Sex is another practiced art to him. Each move is calculated. His brain is programmed to perform, his body seducing his prey with ease, noting each response of his target.

Fear and seduction, repulsion and attraction—that's how corruption is spread, turning squalor and nastiness into thrill, seduces the target into his own web—and leaves with the corpse on his hands.

What a devilish creature, master of the art of Death and Seduction, all its nuance, all its depth and complexity—but he spared your life?

[chaoxfix]

the ancients were largely made of water and chaos (deity) appears to be extremely chaos sensitive. meanwhile chaos (little guys) need gardens with perfectly pure water

chaos appear to be water reliant, but is it also possible that water is just a conduit that exacerbates chaos sensitivity to the point of harm?

what about other chaos sensitive beings? would they also be sensitive to water?

anyways in this essay i will determine causation between sonic's water intolerance and chaos sensitivity-

[steddielations]

pre s4, Steve is Eddie’s queer awakening

A sudden burst of radio static buzzes from somewhere. While it startles the shit out of Eddie, Steve just yawns and fishes out a walkie talkie from the inside pocket of his jacket lining.

A kid’s voice cuts through when Steve raises the antenna, followed by a jumble of frantic code words.

Steve tonelessly replies, “Yeah, yeah. It’s probably nothing, dude, just like the last 5 times you had a hunch … Okay I’ll come check it out … No, don’t touch it … Fine, say goodbye to your fingers first in case it really is radioactive goo … Yeah I always have the bat.” Which may as well have been code language for how much it baffles Eddie.

“What do you need a radio for?”

Steve shrugs, shoving it back inside his jacket. “Uh, you know, babysitting business.”

Right, Jesus, Eddie still can’t process the whole babysitter thing. But Steve’s being purposely cryptic for some reason and Eddie knows he should back off but his curiosity is getting the better of him.

“Who’s Henderson?”

Steve snorts, “A pain in my ass and soon to be yours. Enjoy it while you can.”

Okay, less cryptic, so it’s one of the nerdy kids he mentioned, the future Hellfire prospects. “What’s Code Yellow?” Or radioactive goo?! And why does he always have ‘The’ bat?!

“Probably nothing, you know, kid’s imagination,” Steve hums, getting to his feet, “But I’m gonna check it out, don’t worry your pretty head.”

Pre-pre-pre… Pretty?

It’s just a saying. It’s just a saying. It’s just a saying.

Read on Ao3

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

yeah, botl-tlo was messy. yes it was chaotically angsty. but you know what would have made it more messy and chaotic and angsty? if rachel was a guy 👀

(I've ranted about this in my reblog go check it out)

[skitskatdacat63]

Every time I read Fernando cursing in fic, I can only think about this clip and then my brain short-circuits