#oh sweetpea

[haec-an]

mark lee weibo update : Valentine’s 💘

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,” he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

[banmitbandit]

more hedgehogswap!!! some really basic sketches, but proof i am still thinking abt them lol

curious about whats going on? me too! but my tag for this AU is #spindashswap. its not its official name, but for now, its the best name the au has v_v TLDR; A lot of character's roles are swapped, with the intent being to keep their personalities intact.

The original copy, Metal Shadow is Robotnik's greatest creation, a combination of Robotnik's mechanical genius and Shadow's Life Data, Metal Shadow is Shadow's 1 to 1 in practically every way! Running off Chaos Energy, Metal Shadow is capable of using Chaos Spear, Blast, and Control, and gives Shadow a run for his money in their proficiency with them. Like most things, however, they are not immune to a kick to the head.

Iblis is a fragment of the God of the Moon, Lunares, representing the harsh light that reflects from the moon's surface, it's counterpart being Mephilis, the moon's shadow. Whilst Mephilis is the retrospective and thoughtful half, it is also content to wait, for it is inevitable that they will be released, as the Princess Elise is doomed to shed a tear eventually. Iblis, on the other hand, is sealed within a sceptre, and is accidentally released by the Ultimate Lifeform, Sonic the Hedgehog.

(Whilst I speculate that Shadow's Arc in SA2, Heroes and 06 has been about his own agency and his desire to keep his promise to Maria, Sonic in canon doesn't really have that. He's always been a paragon of his own freedom and doesn't give that away to anyone. No one can stop him in his pursuit to do the right thing, and he can't really be manipulated into it either, unlike Shadow or Silver. All this to say that I think it's super interesting that Mephiles never attempts to manipulate Sonic, and instead relies on his consistency in his plan to make Elise release Iblis. He doesn't bother trying to get Elise to become close with Sonic because it's an inevitability he can rely on. )

Iblis, instead of attempting to manipulate Sonic, instead attempts to destroy him by openly mock about his fight against the inevitable. Sonic can run at the speed of sound, but surely he cannot outrun the speed of light. He are unable to save the world he desires to protect, and they stand in the proof of that, in Crisis City, the shrouded remains of Soleanna. Everyone that they have come to care about is long gone, and Sonic is finally (inevitably, Iblis might say) caught by GUN and sealed away. Wheras Mephilis attempts to break Shadow's will by trying to convince him that they will always be seen as a villain, and the world will betray him, Iblis attempts to break Sonic's will by trying to convince him that it is a lost cause. He wasn't strong enough to protect those on the ARK. His freedom was taken by GUN. It will inevitably happen again.

Of course, it doesn't end up working. Sonic fights anyways. There are people that are counting on him and he doesn't have time to entertain the possibility that he could let them down. Let Tails down.

As for what Iblis steals from Sonic. Maybe his reflection or something. This is a lot of word dump for a silly roleswap au.

(I am making this AU up as I go, so if you have suggestions, yell at me in my ask box if you want! Thanks for reading either way!

[ex0rin]

LOWER DECKS S01E01: ✨Second Contact✨ Hey brad! Good news buddy! It's just suckling you!

[pearthery]

will there be more chapters for your potpurri au? no pressure, just curious!

hopefully one day!!! i did have a ginzura-themed draft set in the potpourri au (it's still there ahaha i just haven't added to it in a long while) which was titled something like actually the strawberry flavour in your strawberry milk is really just sugar and red dye. i only got so far as ginzura bullying haggard old man hasegawa-san before i lost the plot of it but i aim one day to finish it!!! actually here is a snippet ahaha

After a long day at work ferrying customers back and forth through the endless streams of urban traffic, Taizou slams shut the driver's door to his cab, rolls his shoulders back and his head up, and then nearly bursts into tears. 

"Please stop sitting there," he begs to the demon perched on the wall outside his house. "Please. It gives me a heart attack." 

Yoshida-san's devil child, the one that the man dotes on incessantly, the one that likes to wheedle snacks from Taizou's sweet, innocent wife, the one that has tormented Taizou relentlessly without him even lifting a finger at least three times a week ever since their paths had tragically crossed, stares down dolefully. 

"Hatsu doesn't mind," says Gintoki. "Besides. What's it my fault if pathetic old men die early? An old man who dies from something as lame as a heart attack is like a piece of dog crap stinking things up on the boot of society. An old man who dies from a heart attack is probably dying from something else already anyway, like crappy convenience store cigarettes or the weight of their own failures or their sunglasses leeching out all of their braincells like a cursed object."

"That's Hatsu-san to you," says Taizou, for lack of anything else. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, old men like that are already like zombies anyway. Even if they die, they'll still get up and go back home and leech off Hatsu." Gintoki pinches around the outsides of his nostrils thoughtfully, probably in search of stray boogers.

Taizou drags his hands down his face. He heaves a large sigh. His blood pressure has been climbing upwards for years at this point. "Aren't you too old to be doing things like this? Don't you have to get home? Don't you have anything better to do? Don't you have too much homework to be bullying poor, working men just trying to get by? God help me." 

"Pft," says Gintoki, twelve years old and mean as hell. "As if God would listen to dog crap like you." 

ooo

The first thing to ask, obviously, is why Gintoki is here.

"It's because he's run away from home again," explains Katsura-kun, politely letting himself into the kitchen through the back door. He gestures over at Gintoki (rifling through Taizou's refridgerator shelves for sweet treats) and beams at Hatsu (heading out to the garden) when she pats him on the head, even though the kid's almost as tall as she is now. 

"Yeah," says Gintoki. He settles down at the table with a cup of chocolate mousse. 

Taizou gazes wearily at the scene. 

"Don't just come into my house like that. Who even invited you? And you. I was going to eat that. I was going to have that for dessert tonight." 

Gintoki's eyes go wide and he makes a noise of surprise. "Hm? Oh, this l'il thing? Sorry. It just looked so lonely in the back of your fridge. I thought I'd keep it company. Anyway, I'm a growing boy, so I need all the sugar I can get." 

"I put it up at the front so I could take it out for dessert. I was really looking forward to that."

"It's probably better that you don't eat too much sugar anyway, old man," Gintoki adds. "I heard too much sweet stuff is bad for geezers."

"You know what. Fine. Go ahead," says Taizou.

"If you're hungry or peckish," says Katsura-kun, "then I'm not sure Hasegawa-san's pantry is the best place. It would really have been better for you to stay home and let Yoshida-san stuff you with, what's that he's been baking a lot recently? I think they were lemon rosemary cookies." He pauses and looks to his left, where Gintoki nods absently into his chocolate mousse. 

"Yes, that's right. Lemon rosemary shortbread cookies. They were quite good actually. Yoshida-san gave me a container to take home. I stopped by their house after school, that's why," he says to Taizou, whose expression must be showing the confusion bouncing around his brain. "He even sat me down to discuss the symbolism of the ingredients he used. He said: half a cup of sugar for the sweetness of existence, half a teaspoon of vanilla extract, a quarter of a teaspoon of salt for the tears shed in existence, a cup of butter, smooth and slippery, like all the things that slip out of your grasp—"

"Hey, what do you mean my pantry's not the best place?," says Taizou after a moment of realisation. "I work hard to feed myself and my wife, you know that, you brats? This whole day I was driving around rude, shithead city people who smoke in my cab and spill disgusting sticky soft drinks on my seats, and this is what I come home to?" 

"You're the shithead who smokes in your cab," says Gintoki. "If your car smells like smoke, then that's because you're stinking it up in the first place, so it's your own fault."

"Are you really a little kid?" says Taizou. "Why do you have such a crude mouth for a kid? Why is everything you say so mean?"

"Hey, you're the one who said 'shithead' in the first place. I'm just repeating what you said. I'm an impressionable young boy, so you should be watching your mouth, actually. You should be a good role model." 

"Don't your neighbours smoke? I see Tatsugoro-san with his pipe around all the time, are you this mean to him? Are you this mean to Ayano-san? You aren't, are you? You're only this mean to me. I'm the only one you call a pathetic old man, aren't I? I'm the only one you unleash all of your insults on, aren't I? You only call me dog crap on the boot of society." 

"—two cups of all-purpose flour, soft and bright, for all the things that are so delicate that they can be blown away in a single breath, rosemary for fidelity and remembrance, oh Gintoki, what have I done that I don't deserve your fidelity, oh Gintoki, remember me, won't you Gintoki, wherever you have gone to, away from me, preserve the memory of me in your soul, even when you so evidently can no longer stand to look at my face—"

"Shoyo has a dumb face," says Gintoki to Katsura-kun. "And I'm just going to stay at your house for a week or two. I go to your house all the time."

"Well, you forget that Yoshida-san is possessed by a thousand spirits of melodrama," says Katsura-kun. "Also, lastly, lemon for bitterness. That said, I have a container for you as well, Gintoki."

Gintoki wrinkles his nose. "I don't want it, thanks." 

"I'll take it," says Taizou, having been demolished by a middle schooler. "I need a pick-me-up." The container is swiftly slid across to him. "Thanks."

He opens the lid to find resting on top of the pile of warm biscuits a small square note embossed with spiky leaves around the edge. It's covered with pen drawings of hearts and sad faces and reads: FOR MY STINKY LITTLE SWEETPEA WHO IS ALWAYS WELCOME TO COME BACK HOME AT ANYTIME HE DECIDES TO RETURN HOME MOST HOPEFULLY SOON. <3.

"I wonder what Hatsu's doing outside," says Taizou. If he arches his neck, he can glimpse through the window. She's tending to the flowerbeds, it looks like. She pulls out a couple of weeds. Katsura-kun looks as if he knows exactly what is contained in Gintoki's care package (kid probably watched the note be written) and is politely ignoring it. Gintoki's face is very bland.

"Looks like there's some paper in here. With some writing on it. And some little pictures." He takes a bite out of what really is a good biscuit, sweet and buttery and still warm. Yoshida-san seriously is a good baker. "So these are kind of like fortune cookies, yeah?"

"Huh, says Katsura-kun. "I didn't get anything in mine."

"Huh," says Taizou, with maximum discretion. "Weird. Maybe something happened at the fortune cookie factory and they had a mix-up. Welp, since I'm an old geezer and I've had enough of both sorts 'a fortune, good or bad, in my lifetime, I guess you kids can have mine."

Silently, he folds up the note. Gintoki's hand is already open and outreached, though he refuses to look at it. Underneath that note is another one, which is a mournfully calligraphed poem about the temporary nature of happiness and domestic bliss that has additionally been annotated. He passes that one over as well.

"Anyway, Katsura-kun," he continues, "what was that recipe? Can you say it again, or maybe write it down? Hatsu might like it. She's mentioned wanting to try her hand at baking these days." 

[inkykeiji]

clari. yes.

i love him toooooo anon!!!!!

tw: incest/pseudocest, toxicity, coercion words: 422

sigh he would be such a good big brother, such a stern big brother, wouldn’t let you get away with anything (*/ω＼*) you can never get a single thing past him, can never sneak out to see your friends or that stupid boy he hates so much, can never surreptitiously slip past him when you’re stupidly intoxicated, can never smuggle something you definitely shouldn’t have, something he tells you no good little boy or girl should ever possess, into your room without him noticing immediately.

he’ll promise not to tell mom n dad if you promise to stay his precious baby sibling—his and his alone—forever and ever and ever <3 but he keeps all of these incidents stashed away safely between the folds of his brain, always ready to conveniently whip one out and dangle it over your parents’ heads, held precariously between a slim forefinger and a thumb, the moment you step a fucking toe out of line, the moment you do something nii-san doesn’t like, something nii-san doesn’t approve of.

it’s for your benefit, he promises you, after you inevitably appear in the threshold of his bedroom door (just like you do every night, just like you have been for years now, routine and right on schedule) with tear-glazed eyes and a twitching nose, begging to know why he’d do such a thing, why he’s so mean and cruel, yet running into his arms the moment he holds them out for you, makes a space for you, pats his thighs and draws you into his clutch.

nii-san only ever wants the best for you, he tells you as your chest stutters with poorly stifled sobs (shh, be quiet, we don’t any anyone to hear, now, do we?) and warm salt water seeps into his neck, dampening the collar of his worn t-shirt. and if you have to learn the hard way then he will teach you the hard way. it’s up to you, really.

except it doesn’t feel like a vow of sincerity, doesn’t feel like a choice you get to make. it feels like a threat.

dread unfurls stinging and sticky in the pit of your stomach, but you nod and hum and agree anyway, clinging tighter to your big brother as his palms rub soothing circles into your back and hushed praises drip syrupy sweet from his lips, a sick type of thrill jolting your blood, because you want to be good for him, his good little baby, always and forever.

[chilapis]

The one good thing they did in the current music festival in Genshin was adding Hu Tao’s theme, I truly adore that well-intentioned girl with all my heart.

[autisticredhood]

oughghg. being stoned is like drunk girl in bathroom gender i love you everyone. love you people in my phone !!! love u when u post things i dont understand or non-comics things im not interested in. its like woagh thing u like thats cool u like stuff 👍👍👍we are all multifaceted isnt that beautiful!!!! also u guys never leave me for catboy posting 🥺 i love you 

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Ray! I love the idea of Sweetpea turning up in a handmade denim jacket with patch and Ian is like 🧐 “where did you get this?” And Mickey is like… “um, dunno. Guess I’m just popular and people wanna make stuff for me.” And it turns out there’s a bunch of people making things for Sweetpea, thinking their the only ones. Maybe there’s a group chat for their neighbourhood that Ian has to send a message to - like, hi hello Sweetpea has many things, thank you! And everyone’s sending messages about Sweetpea but also using their own names for him.

hehe Crabby Neighborhood Legend Sweetpea with his fanclub. sometimes it gets annoying but he can usually navigate all stealthy, slipping through bushes and stuff, if he just wants to be out and about without getting bothered by the paps

there's the denim jacket and patches from the lesbians across the street, who call him Mr. Baby

some spikey things from the teenager a few rows behind them, who calls him Eddie. they're actually his, but he gives them to sweetpea because sometimes he comes and watches stranger things with him in his room because he's kind of a loner. (absolutely no solidarity there stfu)

of course there's his calm down sweater from liam, who is sweetpea's second favorite human on the planet so jot that down.

liam is actually who starts the group chat. sometimes ian will look at his phone during work and it'll be popping off with something like 'anyone got eyes on eddie?' / 'we've got him. having some leftovers. he's really bitchy today - beware.' / 'when is he not bitchy' / 'maybe if SOMEONE would feed him properly.......' and ian is just like 😑😑😑 knowing damn well he and mickey just splurged on like fifty bucks worth of chinese food last night.

[deliveringcandypizza]

What Flavor Is Your Soul?

rosemary

ah, the old soul, nice to meet again. the time of ages is etched into your bones, you see clearly. you've watched the heartache in this realm and sworn to solve it. but kindness without limits is self destruction. oh little leaf, strong and wise, you seek to bring peace with your presence. I'd be wrong to say you fail at this effort, but you mustn't set yourself on fire to keep others warm. you wish to please everyone, to protect them all. but if you shield the saplings from the sunlight they will never grow, and you one day will wither. protect yourself too. you know there are no happy heroes, so don't be one. be a friend. your loved ones will not forsake you for not being perseus slaying all their demons. you have your own monsters, why not meet them first before you conquer anyone else's nightmares. oh true-hearted paladin you are brave, and you are good enough. you know that right? be true to yourself, one cannot do anything saintly if they did not tend to their own wounds first.

salt

ah little kraken, bold are you. restless sailor, dauntless fighter, lower your sword, let me see your shield. ah, of course, they are but the same object. oh wave-tossed ruffian, lend me some of your mettle would you? you have been struck by the sharpest of spears yet you still stand here proudly. but off your guard, elsewhere of the battlefield, you will find your spirit can parch others. your words are but weapons crafted from your soul. little lion, sheathe your claws, or the ones you love the most will suffer. you do not have to be strong all the time love, there's nothing wrong with being soft. vulnerability is not weakness, and if it were, what's wrong with that? strength is not always your greatest tool, your heart is good. put down excalibur, and use your words. you'll find they will carry you much farther. not everything in life is a battle.

[noctuathene]

why do humans have two hands? simple. one hand to hold sandwich, one hand to pet cat.

[excessdeliquesce]

Your moron son has 1 (one) skill. Our tired father on the right is Cyrus from @casusfabulae

[hoshigray]

But like…sugar daddy!Nanami bending you over his pool table and just fucking your brains out🙈‼️

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: missed writing for nanami, let's gooo!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: sugar daddy! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sex on a pool table - finger sucking - lingerie - breast fondling + nipple play - standing (bent over) position - praise - Daddy kink - pet names (baby, good girl, honey, love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - protected sex (bc he's a gentleman, lol) - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

“—Mmmph! Ohhh…Kent—Oooh!”

“Yes, baby…God, you look so good.”

“Your fingers; you’re going too…Mmmm…”

Being a sugar baby is a blessing in its own way. Not having to worry so much about your financial situations as they’re taken care of in your day-to-day life can be a bit overwhelming to comprehend in the days you forget entirely; however, you can’t lie that it’s not a nice lifestyle to live in. All your money troubles no longer being a constant weight on your shoulders, moved aside for you to enjoy your life as freely as you wish compared to before.

And what’s better is that the man taking care of said troubles was indeed a miracle worker — and quite the looker. Nanami Kento, your sugar daddy, took you in when you put your online advertisement looking for a sugar daddy, and you can only thank the stars above for such a wonderful man to come falling from the heavens above to put your mind at ease.

And trust and believe that he’s done so in ways more than one.

He had you bent by his pool table in the living space of his penthouse, your legs spread for him to have your skirt lifted to your waist. It’s easier for his hand to go to your lacy panties and slide his fingers in to meet your folds. And after a few minutes, he’s already made you a complete mess just by the thickness of his digits. 

You squirm, gripping the billard stick that rests on the velvety skin of the pool table. “Hahhhn, ohooo, stoop, don’t rub there—Hic…!” Your hands grip the shoulder of his work shirt.

“Oh? Don’t like it when I do…this?” The blunt of Nanami’s fingertips scrapes the upper wall of your vaginal walls with a curled motion, and you lament with the jerk of your thighs. “But all I’m doing is rewarding my baby.”

His reward was specifically targeted to what you were wearing. Your opened buttoned-up shirt exposed your recent purchase of a new lingerie set; the complex design of the intimate clothing and the bold hue of the color–your favorite color–complimented your skin enchantingly. The blonde man behind you couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off you the moment you meekly showed off the bra of the set. 

“And judging by how tight you’re squeezing my fingers,” he says to your ear while another graze of your inner walls has you arch towards him. “You seem to love this, right, honey?” His free hand was groping one of your breasts; the material of the laced bra felt pleasant to the touch along the squish of your mound.

“Hoooh, ohhGod, Kento, please,” you were a whimpering mess literally in the palm of his hand; he’d made you come once already, so your insides had yet to subside from the acute height that kept you trembling to his touch. “I caan’t, no moooore…If you keep up, I-I’ll—“

“What?” He kisses your cheek, nearly having you give to your knees. “Don’t wanna cum on my fingers?” You shook your head hurriedly, enticing your neck for him to lay more gentle kisses. “What do you wanna cum on then, sweetpea?”

You use your hips to answer, grinding your wet southern lips on the zipper of his expensive, linen dress trousers. Yet, while he returns the motion with synced ruts to your chasm with the tent of his groin, it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind the mess. 

“This,” you moan with more rubs on his pants. “I wanna cum on you, Kent. Please, lemme cum on you…”

The sound of his chuckle has you twitching on his digits, wailing when he stretches your opening with a scissoring motion. “Good girl, asking so nicely…” With a hum, he withdraws his fingers from your warmth and brings your pricy underwear down to your thighs, brushing its garters. After bringing his trousers down and freeing his erection from his briefs, he grabs for the condom from his pocket to release from its wrapper. Once the rubber is on and fitted, Nanami guides his cock to the hole of your vagina. 

The insertion of the cockhead has you gasping sharply, the cue stick in your grasp being the only thing you can use as security as your sugar daddy pushes every inch of his shaft inside you. You could never get used to the girth, the stretch of his limb so euphorically good, and the graze of the tip on the sensitive itches that make you hiccup. And the hilt of his pelvis meets your folds, sighing now that his entire cock is finally one with you.

He rocks back and forth leisurely, careful not to have you released on him just yet. Both his hands now meet your chest, fondling the flesh of your breasts in such a loving fashion that you whimper with the pull of his dick. God, the way his tip perfectly rubs on your inner texture has your brows furrowed and eyes sewn shut, wanting to truly indulge in the sensation that piques the delicate keenness of your nerves.

“Ahaaa, ohoofuck,” you jolt when he suddenly throws a rough thrust to your ass; the stick in your hand hits two Aramith billiard balls to the long rails of the table. “Yesss, right there, Kentoo…! Feel so good…”

“Yeah, honey?” The weight of him on your back as he bends his frame above yours, speaking softly to your ear as if wanting you to shiver on his chest. “Feeling good?” You nod hurriedly with the tweak of your nipples under the rough pads of his fingers. “All cute and good for me…Want me to make you feel even more good?”

“Yes…Daddy,” Oh my, you used the title—a step you were cautious to use at the moment yet albeit eager for the results. And the sand-haired man snaps his hips abruptly, causing a shriek to sneak past you without noticing.

He’s done with the slow pacing—the rhythm now increased to a rapid cadence that evokes more sounds to escape with every rock of your figure. Gosh, you hope you weren’t leaving scratch marks on this man’s pool table. It would make you feel terrible damaging his property. However, that sounds like a worry to check back later when you’re not squealing your mind out.

“—Oooh!! F–fffshiiiit, Daddy!” Your eyes roll up at the scrape of your G-spot. “N–Not shoo fa—Ahhhh! T’oo muuch…!”

“But you’re too close to slow down, love,” Nanami kisses your cheek before slithering his hand to stuff his fore and middle fingers into your mouth. You sounded too cute mewing for him while sucking on his fingers. And it doesn’t help that the erratic ruts to your cunt have you shrilling even more, drool trickling down to your chin just to fall on the table surface. “Come on, sweetpea, let it all out…Hnnmm, let me feel it.”

The piston of his pelvis smacking the skin of your ass with the thick digits stuffed in your mouth is too much to follow through, the climb of your climax becoming more complicated to avoid as the milliseconds rush away. You submit to your growing dizziness as your peak shakes you down.

The orgasm has you screaming out loud, your legs trembling with the flutter of your walls around Nanami’s dick while he slowly plunges himself in and outward, relishing the snugness of your slit. You suck on his fingers hard, nearly choking on spit when your body is experiencing the pulses at its own pace. Your elbows wobble, giving way for you to slump down and accidentally hit an object ball with the cue stick, knocking onto another and pushing it an inch away from a pocket.

Nanami chortles, straightening himself to massage your waist through your aftershocks. “Nice backspin, sweetheart.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[umflowers]

I GOT HIM I GOT HIM well i didn't get him an absolutely incredible friend got him for me but HE'S MINE i've been stalking him for months and he's mine and i'm. Emotional

[groovyangelkisses]

just need to give old man logan some love yk, let him rest his head on some titties and bandage his wounds and also suck his dick

oh i understand you completely, sweetpea! i hope you enjoy my thoughts on your headcanons! ᡣ𐭩

nsfw (minors do NOT interact, please)— age gap (all my readers are 21+!), oral (male recieving), objectification of female body parts, tad bit of dacryphilia & dumbification, "kid" used as an affectionate nickname, logan being infatuated <3

logan is absolutely a tits man, i don't make the rules! he loves to watch them heave in your suit when you're out of breath on a mission, or bouncing as you descend the stairs— you name it, his eyes are occupied with you. a lot of times you catch him staring down your shirt, whispering to himself "so soft" as he ogles your cleavage. and when you're sitting away from him, back facing him as you rest on a rickety wooden chair, watching out of the window, he'll come up behind you, big hands gripping your chest harshly in his warm, calloused palms before tutting "missed my girls" with a big squeeze. <3

and you bandaging him after a mission gone wrong? he'll whine out "ah jesus christ- i'm fine doll, really" and you'll fuss over him even more.... but guess what? he secretly loves when you fuss over him. giving him all your attention and touching him so gently while scolding him for getting himself hurt. granted, he will heal instantly because of his mutation, but just imagine him getting a random nose bleed in the middle of the night. you cooing "oh honey, lemme help you" and, like always, he'll feel like he needs to push the love away, but he'll relent for you. always and only for you. he'll sit on the toilet seat lid, one leg extended out in the small bathroom while his other stays bent so you can sit on it. he likes seeing your eyes widen, hearing your little gasps and the sweet, genuine hearts in your eyes when you get to hold him and provide for him for once. and he just can't stop himself, squeezing your ass and thighs as you hold the tissue to his nose "'m all better now babydoll, promise. see?" before raising his hand to the back of your neck and lightly pulling you forward, the ghost of a "c'mon gimme a kiss... so good to me... so good to your old man" on his lips. ahhhh!!!!!

and when it comes to head? logan is sooooo cocky. i mean, naturally he loves how sweet you are to him; how absolutely and utterly loving and obsessed you are with him. and trust me, he feels the exact same way, maybe even a little more than you, too. he'd absolutely hold your cheeks in his palms, cradling you as you suckle at him with teary eyes and red knees. his thumbs will rub against the apple of your cheeks, and he'll do his best to hold eye contact, even though he desperately feels the need to flutter his eyelids and groan so loud that the entire ground shakes. manspreading, he'll move and jut his hips out with a hiss, whispering "fuckin' good, always so fuckin' good... you hearin me, kid?" and that's when he'll notice the stars in your eyes. sure, you always look at him with a dazed gaze, able to let down your guard and fully be in your element from dating such an intimidating, but gentle and masculine man. but this, this is a different look. a look that shows just how far gone you are. spit on your chin, tears on your cheeks and some of his precum resting on the tip of your nose. so dumb for him. this alone makes him cry out, his head rolling back, his thick neck stretching & his eyes squeezing shut after he finally can't take anymore and tears them away from you with an "ah, ah fuck ah fuck!" as he finishes with his hands holding your head completely still— wanting you to take him all. and once he catches his breath, his hands stay there, a gruff "cmon baby.. cmon eat me up, know you can" until you swallow for him... <3

[inkykeiji]

I think this just proves a point that we all really do just love an evil man. he can literally be a walking television with fangs and we're like omg hes mean af and evil???? fuck me already lmaooooo

LITERALLY LMAOOO like you’re so right??? with vox it’s like,,, not only is he mean and extremely manipulative and charming and suave and power hungry and fucking sadistic, but he’s also voiced by christian borle and is this weird, enticing blend of 1950s man + fuckboy—and somehow, it WORKS

also i love the fangies, def a plus for me (*ﾉωﾉ)