#ty for indulging me everyone ;--;

[cerealmonster15]

everyone x therapy

good idea

let's start with the gamers

[thedeafprophet]

"Consider it an honour. Consider it my gift."

Nobody look at me okay

[goatpaste]

Cutely asks for Dragona or Hol Horse for the style thing

sorry Hol Horse, but I wanted to draw Dragona with their lil bro this time hehe

[asukiess]

🐑ladywalker, there was only one bed, hurt/comfort

you get kinda sheep and dog because I couldn't summarize the snippet that was coming forth from the aether, and I couldn't get the snippet out of my head! <3

After a long string of battles where Ladybug's deteriorated focus causes one too many close calls, Cat Walker devises a plan to help her get more than an hour of sleep.

(fake fic ask game)

"If you wish, I'll ask the front desk for more pillows, or an extra duvet," he offers from the edge of the bed.

She curls further into the nest of duvets and down pillows piled on and around her, but she still can't help but shiver. The room once designated by the hotel's owner for Ladybug and Chat Noir has been empty for months now, and the pillows tucked neatly away in the closet have grown stuffy and cold.

"I don't think that's necessary," she says, unsure of how to fix this problem. At this rate, she doesn't think tonight will be any different. All it is, is a different bed.

And if she wasn't so exhausted, she'd kick herself for being such an unsolvable problem. All she has to show for the last disastrous few months are dark circles and someone else fretting over her.

And he'd done everything perfectly.

Why wasn't that enough?

"Do you want anything else?"

In the shade of the blankets, Ladybug bites her lip. It's always about what she wants and she doesn't even know the answer herself. She has an idea, but...

"Maybe you could," she starts, her voice so small it breaks, so she clears her throat to try again. "You could join me?"

The blush that blooms feels suffocating. The only noise she hears over the blood pulsing past her ears is the dull hum of the air conditioner, and she's nearly curled into the fetal position now, squeezing her eyes shut because that was so stupid, why would you ask--

"Okay."

She registers him lifting the covers, the dip in the mattress from his weight, and there's no chill from the outside as he slides next to her, just far enough away that it feels impersonal. Opening her eyes, she realizes that her knees are the wedge between them. Unfurling herself, slow enough that she hopes maybe--maybe this time he won't make her say it, can't he just get the hint?

But he doesn't move any closer.

Staring only at his chest, like it's the only solution she can find, she moves closer until her cheek presses against one of the golden paw emblems. She sucks in a breath; it's impossibly cold on her cheek.

Her hands find their way to tangle in the braided cord; his stay at his sides. Both actions and inactions do nothing to quell what's gnawing at her, and she hates how he makes her think so much sometimes. All she wants to do right now is focus on how his chest is rising and falling, how she wishes she could know if his heart beat like hers. Doesn't he wonder that too? Doesn't he--

"Do you want me to...to hold you?"

It's silly how fast tears spring to her eyes. Silently, she nods, and suddenly there's an arm under her head, and one snakes over her, envelopes her, with a hand cradling the back of her head. She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and her heart jumps at how he sighs into the crown of her head.

His armor is still too thick, separating in ways Chat's didn't, and there's embellishments that keep her locked out. There's a shared heat that's soothing, but it's more like kindling than a fire.

"Is this what you want?" he whispers.

She nods, burying her face in his chest, because all that's left for her is this bed.

[taketheringtolohac]

Okay so I think I told you when I started getting into Les Mis and it's gotten to the point where I listen to it every day and I read the book and I seriously think I could write an essay about it I understand why you love it so much <33

omg :') you have no idea how flattering this is but im glad you've gotten into les mis!!!! and read the book wow!!!! i have tried to on multiple occasions but stopped a hundred or so pages in bc i couldnt do it but thats super impressive! as i am now reentering the les mis phase i keep saying im gonna commit fr but i have been listening to it Very Often since summer but definitely more since seeing the nat'l tour. if you ever write that essay i would so be down to be the victim of it haha but yeah! the thing is we always talk about timeless stories, but truly nothing will ever be as timeless as les mis. i genuinely believe this. like its always going to resonate and capture the hearts of people whether its the movie musical or book it is just. such an amazing and beautiful story.

[hermanunworthy]

not a hc list but instead an inappropriately-long ramble I don’t have the energy to turn into a fic

It was never the most interesting thing about her. Heroic destiny, predestined savior, the “Chosen One” narrative, even the name- god, she’d been fighting that alone forever, always trying to beat out the shine of it. But every part of it pricked at her skin, brambles at the back of her hands whenever she reached for something. She could push through the brush to nearly anything if she tried hard enough, and whether that was owing to her destiny or not was something she tried not to think about.

It started with “the purple”. That was the first name she had for it. Names were awfully important at the time, especially when people laughed at her brother’s name every time he was introduced. Sparrow hadn’t bothered to introduce the purple, and she didn’t like to ask more questions than she needed to. It was simply there; bark was on trees and skin was on apples and the purple was on her father. It stained his hands, flickered through the veins in his arms, showed up in his temples sometimes when he was really concentrating.

It wasn’t particularly fascinating. She did find it odd that he didn’t seem to like the color, though. Once, when describing her room to her mother, Hero had mentioned how pretty the glow-in-the-dark stars looked against the purple sky. Rebecca had patiently explained that her ceiling was blue, and in the dark it would be black, but Hero knew her colors. Sparrow was troubled enough by this to come into her room with her when it was dark, and they looked up at the ceiling together.

“It’s even brighter now!” she’d said, pointing and staring at the vibrancy. She turned to look at him and realized why; in the black of the room, his eyes reflected an intense violet from the dim light of the plastic stars. Hers must do the same- surely he would see it.

But he didn’t. She couldn’t remember the conversation after that, but he never seemed concerned about it.

It took a while to see it in her uncle. Once she noticed how many strands in his hair reflected purple, however, it was hard to stop seeing it. The whole mop of it might as well have been soaked in a deep purple dye. Grandpa Henry’s was in his legs, more than anywhere else. He had a cane but carried himself with a sense of connectedness to the earth that everyone else seemed to attribute to his hippie demeanor. She saw the roots of it though, the purple keeping him upright, holding him steady.

Normal’s came in quick flashes. It had scared her sometimes, when he was younger, but later became just another annoying little brother thing. She could feel his, a spiking wave rushing out from him when he slammed his hands on the table, angrily demanding to know how he’d lost a board game, or when he opened a door too quickly in his excitement to show their mother a stick bug he’d found in the backyard. He’d even shocked Hero with it a couple times, when she pulled him away from something he wanted to be doing or grabbed his hand in a way that surprised her. Her parents explained it away as a shock from static electricity whenever she tried to explain it, and she eventually gave up when they refused to understand that it was different. She wasn’t always entirely sure he didn’t do it on purpose, but no one else really seemed to feel it.

Sometimes Lark would squint, like he could almost see the purple from Normal. She’d never asked her uncle about it.

Hero was wonderfully lucky. She cherished it when she was younger, a comfortable force she could almost rely on when really needed. She got back every stuffed animal she ever left on a train or in a store. When she needed a coin for the mall’s wishing fountain, she could always find one under a vending machine. She never broke a bone no matter what gravitational atrocities she tried to commit on the swings or the monkey bars. When the teacher sorted them into green group or blue group or red group, she always got red- her favorite color. A million tiny things like that, and they didn’t quite add up to anything, except to reinforce the belief any six-year-old would have that the world revolves around them. She couldn’t be blamed for being the only kid to be right about that. She didn’t think about it much- she didn’t have to. Clearly, the universe was doing that for her.

She knew her dad and uncle were keeping a secret. Sometimes when they talked alone together, their eyes flashed purple the way the streetlights did through the car window on the highway at night, flashing bright and in quick succession.

She never asked. She never went looking. And when they sat her down and explained it all, she did not ask follow-up questions. Some parents let it leech into your younger years, snippets of the destiny they want for you, as though letting a prophecy’s ghost carpet your room will be enough to settle it into the right realm. For Hero, it was all-or-nothing, childhood snatched from her in the course of an afternoon.

ANON WHO ARE U THIS IS SO GOOD. omg can people do this more i THOROUGHLY enjoy this shit im running in circles bro IM INSANE ABOUT THIS FUCKED UP FICTIONAL FAMILY

[polyphonial-old]

@maileesque iblings......

[image id: two sketches of my ocs. the one on the left is cass, a girl with straight long hair and bangs. she has big round eyes and a button nose. she smiles at the viewer, her hair and cape flowing behind her. she holds a smiling mask halfway covering her face with one hand and waves with the other.

the one on the right is a bust drawing of ed, a guy. he has a nose with a bump, thin lips, a hooded eye with an eyebag under it, and a spiky eyebrow. his straight, slightly spiky hair goes down to the base of his neck and half of it is pulled back, indicated by a little doodle of his side profile. he also has a splash shaped scar covering the left side of his face and stretching down to the side of his neck and shoulder. his left eye is not open fully due to his scar. end id.]

[bropunzeling]

8. What I like the most about your writing - you capture the raw emotion of a situation SO well!! like in marriage bets when leon gives matthew the ring for the first time and matthew just immediately shuts down and can’t respond. and as a reader i’m like nooooooo talk to him!! but like as a person i’m like ohhhhhh yeah i’d probably respond that way too ik exactly what you’re going through here my little rat blorbo!! you just nail those crucial moments where you feel so vividly what the character is feeling, and it hits EVERY TIME!!!!!!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ty so much!!!!! really nice to know that those moments are effective 🥺🥺🥺 i feel like my goal as a writer is to always make it clear why someone is doing something even if it's self-destructive or stupid or not ideal and im glad when i hear people feel that way

[merge-conflict]

3 and 32 please!

Tyy for the ask! :3 Questions here Going to answer for Valentine/Goro because I'm thinking about Them.

3. What was the moment that first made their ~heart~ Soft for the other person?

Goro knew he was in danger for a little while, but somewhere in the few hours that he sat quietly on Valentine's couch while she worked very diligently to get as many of his implants working again as she could where he realized he didn't just want her to live through what the relic was doing to her, but he wanted to make sure that she was safe and happy. They were allies, but she didn't have to worry about whether he was eating, or had a nice place to sleep, or was comfortable– except she did, with no complaints or expectation of payment. Just the same way he always made sure the people he cared for were safe and happy. Probably the exact moment was when she first started humming, which was the first time she'd been relaxed enough around him not to hold him at arm's length.

For Valentine, it was just a little after that point, where she let him clean and re-bandage her stab wound, only because he'd let her fix him first, and also because he'd gone to all the trouble of answering Vik's messages and getting the supplies and help she refused to get otherwise. And just like him, she recognized he didn't have to go to that trouble, not for someone like her. But he did.

32. How do their friends react to finding out they’re a couple? Do they have lots of mutual friends? Did their friends know, perhaps before they themselves did?

Neither of them have very many friends (womp womp), and they aren't very public about their relationship, either before or after they return to work at Arasaka. They bond very quickly under extreme pressure, so there's not much of a chance for anyone to figure it out before they do. Panam is the first person to know, and is incredibly blindsided, but thinks that does explain why Goro came all the way out to the Badlands with Val to help Saul. In fairness to her she was too distracted by all of that stuff to worry about Val's love life.

During the parade, Sandayu captures Valentine, and by the sincerity of the threat Goro gives him, he understands that they're more than just allies. He thinks Val sucks and that if Goro is going to break rules it should be for someone who doesn't belong in a garbage heap, but there's not much he can do about it that wouldn't hurt Goro's reputation even worse.

Anyone who spends more than a few minutes watching them work together can figure out that they're fond of each other. They're not openly affectionate or prone to any sort of PDA, but they're such a united front in looking out for each other, it's hard not to assume that there's something deeper at work than just being friends or coworkers.

[riddlcr]

What is Elliot's goto drink?

send me a number and character name

you know how J-sus turned water into wine? elliot is like the opposite of that, the antichrist (no wait). he turns all alcoholic beverages into juice bc he's looking out for his Health™. that being said, he did have a favorite back in his youth that he still orders when away from home: mint julep.

for nonalcoholic drinks, elliot is a coffee guy; black with a blueberry shot.

[taintedcigs]

— late night blues

pairing: roommate bsf!eddie munson x f!reader

summary: you can’t seem to sleep, so eddie offers to drive you around, but you have something else in mind that can make you relax and help you fall asleep faster; his fingers. (wc: 3.1k+)

author's note: not proofread. entirely self-indulgent. and normally i would gaf about interactions but i literally dont rn. i needed this <3 and for all my insomniacs out there... i appreciate u and i am u. hope this is like a warm/horny hug to all of u as much as it is to me. bc i need it desperately. the ending is kinda rushed i am so v sorry. pleaseeee reblog to support me. ty!! mwah.

Hogging the blanket you sank deeper into the couch, the light illuminating from the TV screen enough to have you squinting, but never enough to lull you into sleep.

You huff, impatiently, trying to shut off the voices in your head, thoughts swirling around everywhere and anywhere, making it impossible to let you embrace the sweet sleep you so desperately need.

"Why are you awake?" A low groan of Eddie's voice almost startles you, slight gasp leaving your lips, making you sit up straight with a deep breath.

"Couldn't sleep," you shrugged, "didn't wanna wake you."

"Should've," he grumbles, stomping on his way next to you, "y'know I can't sleep knowing you're awake, right?" A lazy smile is placed on his lips when he slouches right next to you.

The couch sinks with the impact and so does your stomach, the implications of his words not going unnoticed, the two of you have always been close, too fucking close to being considered as just friends.

Yet, none of you ever made any effort.

And you were growing tired of it, because, shit, did you like him. And a part of you, as well as everyone else in the gang kept teasing you about, told you he liked you too. Just waiting to be pushed.

"Wanna smoke?" He asked with a hum, "might help you sleep better." The brunette placed a lazy kiss on your forehead, another act the two of you always did, affectionate, too affectionate to be just friends, yet none of you ever dwelled on it, despite it leaving your entire body on fire in its wake, and Eddie's stomach churn with delight as you always smiled up at him. Sweet, almost peaceful, making you nod quietly, looking so fatigued that his chest ached for you.

"Was t'tired... couldn't roll one." You point toward the mess on the coffee table, grinder open with strains stuck in it, crumpled-up rolling papers, and a bunch of filters sprawled everywhere.

"How about we take a drive, princess?" He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the pad of his thumb slowly circling your face, tender and making you melt into him.

You shake your head quickly, not wanting to bother him in any way. "Eds, it's too late, I don't want you to-"

But he's quick to scoff. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Eddie, I mean it, we can just smoke this here and-" He tuts you quickly, already getting up, his Garfield sweatpants fully in view, making you giggle.

He takes your hand in his, dragging you while you huff and puff. "Grab a jacket or one of my hoodies, and let's fuckin' roll, honey."

Once you throw over one of his oversized hoodies, he almost carries you to the car, not wanting you to lose that sleepy state, knowing that it'd be hard for you to get it back.

You buckle your seatbelt, just watching him in his groove, head falling into the headrest as you admire him rolling a joint so quickly that it makes your head spin. "How the fuck can you do that?" You groan, "'s not fair." A pout overtakes your lips, causing him to grin. He wants to kiss it away, yet all he does is tuck the strands of your hair that are covering your features, turning your lips into a mellow smile, matching his.

"Well it helps if you were a dealer in high school." He rambles, a hearty giggle escaping from your lips, "I'll teach you some time too, honey, promise." You nod in acceptance, and another kiss is planted on your forehead, one you happily accept, let his warmth overtake your skin, eyes glazy and lidded as you look up at him, sleep deprivation so apparent in your face that it tugs at Eddie's heartstrings, seeing you this miserable. And not being able to do anything about it. Yet.

Quickly retrieving the lighter from his back pocket, he places the rollie on his lips, letting the igniting flame heat it quickly, sizzling sound as he inhales a small huff before passing it onto you calming you further.

You suck on it with a hum, watching the way Eddie quickly turns on the ignition, windows rolled down, the same relaxing tape playing over and over again, volume dimmed, Good Feeling by Violet Femmes serves as a background drop, one of your favorite songs, and of course, Eddie knows it.

The velvety dark sky steals your attention as you once again suck on the fragrant joint gently cradled between your fingers. Letting it engulf and numb you, for your bloodshot eyes to have a reason other than being restless.

A gentle breeze whispers through the cranked windows, rustling your hair in front of your face, making you giggle lightly. Three puffs, and you are already feeling giddy, "not too strong is it?" he asks, glancing at you with the biggest grin on his face, amber hues watching you intently.

"Nuh-uh," you hum, and his hand tenderly droops down to your thighs, giving you three gentle squeezes as a form of comfort. At least, he intends it to be for comfort.

But all you can think about is how thick and warm his fingertips are, cladded rings bringing a coldness that makes you hiss, tummy doing a flip as your hazy mind craves more.

It is the last piece of the puzzle you need to finally fall into that deep slumber, Eddie making you cum on his long fingers, curling inside of you, rings slicked with your juices, it's all you can think about.

You whine at your thoughts, throat growing dry at them, not knowing if it is cotton mouth or how stunning Eddie looks while focused on the road.

The perfect side profile that you can't help but admire; chiseled jaw with the slightest stubble that you'd do anything to have it rubbing against your clit right about now, Adam's apple bobbing slightly the more he gulped, lips plushy and so soft that you wanted nothing more than to bite into them, have them suckling your neck.

Fuck, this could be it, couldn't it?

You were already a bit dizzy, giving you enough courage to ask him to, and if he rejected you, you could always just turn it into a joke, couldn't you?

You rasp a desperate breath when his hands squeeze your thigh again, prominent veins making you mewl. His head cocks towards you in worry at the sound, "you okay?"

You barely register his words, gaze too focused on the tempting hold he has on you, "hmm?"

He quirks a brow, a smirk playing on his lips when he realizes how hazed you are, "are you hungry or something, sweetheart?"

Yeah, you were. Hungry for him.

You shake your head slightly. "You sure?" He asks, more attentive, and you can feel your wetness pool around your thighs, slicking you.

"Mhmm," you reply, head turning to meet his gaze, and when he slightly tilts his head, his shaggy bangs fall onto his forehead, making you gulp physically, he looks beautiful.

"Do you want anything?"

If he was any more attentive, you were going to crawl into his lap and grind on his bulge that hugged the print of Garfield on his sweatpants, "Nope," you gulped, prying your eyes away from the outline of his huge cock forcefully.

"Need anything?"

"You." The words slipped past your lips without any interference from you, it's like your subconscious was doing all the talking you had been so afraid of.

The insomnia and weed becoming a dangerous combo.

He choked out a laugh, cheeks crimson red, spreading across his bone like crushed raspberries. "Hah, funny aren't ya?"

He avoided your gaze, yet your head snapped to meet his. "Eddie- I-I mean it."

"Sweetheart," he mumbled, a low groan awaiting in his throat.

Doe-eyed, melting, and pleading hues finally met his. "P-please, Eddie, need it so bad, need to cum, relax," you coaxed, hand placed on his, squeezing it back, causing a drawl of sigh out of him.

He can't bring himself to ease into your touch, his lips quivering at the thought of finding you soaking for him, "Honey, you're high," he tries to reason, voice squeaky pitch, he wants it, so goddamn bad, but he can't take advantage of you in any way.

You huff, disagreeingly. "Oh, c'mon, Eddie, I just took like three huffs, you know I'm not a lightweight!"

"Sweetheart, I know but it doesn't feel right-"

"But I'm begging you to!" Your pleading voice crushes him, cock stirring just at your squeaky tone, you're going to be the fucking death of him.

"Y-you have no idea how fucking stupid I feel for turning you down when all I want to-" He sighed. "I don't wanna do anything that you might regret."

You huff at that, does he not realize how desperately you want him? How badly you have wanted him all this time?

"Fuck, Eddie, just-" Fingertips graze his once you grab his rough hands, they are powerless in your hold, and you're quick to dip them down your pajamas, rubbing them against your cotton panties that are now entirely soaked with your juices. "Do you feel that?" Your voice is shaky, and low groans rumble in his chest, his focus on the road becoming dizzy.

It feels surreal, you begging for him, for his fingers, how wet your panties feel just because of him. His brain can't comprehend a thought, your name slipping past his lips like prayers.

He can't help but press his hand further against your panties, just to feel more of you, cock straining against his own cage of boxers, knuckles white from the harsh grip he has on the steering wheel.

And you can see the desperation in his eyes, spurring you more and more. "How fucking wet I am just because you squeezed my thigh? Do you think I'd regret anything when I'm this soaked for you?"

He can't help it, roaring the engine again before he abruptly comes to a stop on the side of the road, his mind too dizzy to comprehend anyfuckingthing. "Fucking christ, baby, I-"

You interrupt him again, head lulling to his side, giving him those desperate, lewd eyes again. "I've wanted this for so fucking long, Eddie, p-please, you said you'd help me sleep... relax, I'm more than okay with it."

You know he's on the verge of caving in, he wants this as much as you do. "Angel..." he mumbles, tone so pornographically lustful that you feel the need to show him how much you want him.

You shove his hands inside of your panties in frustration, and he groans lightly at it, fingertips run up and down your slit, never entering your hole, taking his time to fully feel how badly you want him.

He collects your wetness at the tip of his digits, smearing them over the hood of your clit, earning a shallow gasp from you, just enough to break him, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you're soaked," he grunts, eyes watching you hungrily.

"Mhmm, all for you," you hum, head thrown comfortably into the headrest, eyes lulling. He runs his fingertips over your sides, teasing, covering you in your juices, and all you can do is mewl for him.

A digit slips inside of you easily, making you moan so loud that Eddie's cock aches in the confinements of his sweats, admiring the way your mouth gapes at how good his fingers feel. "God, you're perfect like this, princess," he hums, fingertips circling around your clit, knowing exactly what to do to get you worked up.

It makes you whimper pathetically, turns out Eddie really does know you. So much so that all you want to do is cum on his thick fingers, have him take you home, make you bounce on his cock again and again.

He pushes another finger inside of you, watching the way your cunt takes his fingers all greedily. You're the one who's supposed to be high, yet he feels dizzy, so fucking dizzy that he can barely comprehend it.

This is all real, you just begged him to finger you, and now you're mewling on his fingers, pussy throbbing as he stretches you out slowly.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, listening to the sweet sounds of your whimpers, "doin' so good f'me," his praises drive you even crazier, and loud moans escape from your parted lips the more his thumb circles around your clit.

"So greedy, hmm?" He coos condescendingly, relishing in the pretty faces you make, his ring finger joining inside of your soppy cunt easily, "E-Eddie," you mumble, lost in him, fully.

His fingers pump in and out of you at a rough pace, getting you closer and closer to the edge, he can feel your cunt squeezing his ringed fingers desperately.

"You close, angel?" He grunts, and a sheen of heat creeps its way across your chest and up your throat at how good he is, all you can do is nod pathetically, too dizzy and too lost in his fingers to even speak.

You take your plump bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to stiffle your pathetic moans, but once he adds another finger, cold rings brushing against your clit, you can't help yourself.

"E-Eddie, fuck!" You moan, and he watches in awe, keeps his praises up, eager to see what you look like when you cum. He knows you'll be even prettier, screaming out his name, soaking his fingers in your pretty juices.

Your chest heaves with how much you're feeling him, stuffed full of his fingers, you can't even begin to imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you. Shit, maybe next time.

You pathetically rut your hips into his fingers, and he groans so filthily that your body feels frail, "That's it, baby," he praises. "Use me, honey, use my fingers to get yourself off."

Your face contorts with the sweetest pain and pleasure, his fingers plunged deep inside of you, padded thumb still continuing it's circles. Once his fingers curl inside of you, you know you’re a fucking goner.

Each of his movements, his touch, ignites a fire within you that is heightened by the weed, you are so desperate to cum that you don't even realize how pathetically you've been soaking his fingers, so wet and Eddie relishes in it.

"Oh, f-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" You moan out once you feel that dizzying pleasure bubbling in your chest, he can feel your pussy flutter around his thick fingers, making his chest swell with pride. "Mhmm, just like that, darlin', cum on my fingers."

It's all the confirmation you need before you cry out his name again, back arching as pleasure explodes inside of your stomach, vision growing white and dizzy. Your fucked out face, pathetic moans, and your gaping mouth making Eddie's cock strain tighter and tighter, as if that’s even possible.

His fingers don't leave your soppy cunt until he makes sure you ride your orgasm out, relishing in the pretty expressions your face contorts to as you fall apart for him.

Bringing a stupid wide grin to his face that has you feeling giddier. The weight of what the two of you did doesn't dawn yet, you're too tired, too fucked out to care, and all Eddie can think about is going back to the trailer and rubbing one out while thinking about the pretty sounds you made, the pretty shapes your face took as you came on his fingers. His.

He'll think about how pretty your eyes look rolled all the way back inside of your head when he's slamming into you, cock stuffed inside of you, parted lips repeating his name like a fucking prayer. Your tight cunt fluttered around his cock, milking him dry.

With a groan, he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking clean the remains of you, pathetically groaning at how sweet you taste. You watch him with lulled eyes, breath growing heavier, and if you weren’t about to pass out, you’d beg him for more, have his hard cock stuffed inside of you.

“Tastes so goddamn sweet,” he grunts, licking any taste of you left off his lips, your sweet juices engrained in his tastebuds.

You blink quickly to process all of it, mind numbed out. Fuck, he’s making this so goddamn hard for you.

“E—Eddie,” you say breathlessly, chest heaving as a shy smile appears on your lips, mind hazy as you try to form words. "T-that was amazing, shit."

"Yeah?" He beams, the praise is all he needs. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes glimmered at his words, air between the two of you was charged with a sweet tension. Breaths almost synchronized with the way both of your chests rose and fell on the rhythm of what just fucking happened. And all the feelings that led up to it.

You wanted to talk about it, take this further, maybe even continue back home.

But sleep began to settle inside of you, eyelids betrayed your pent-up feelings for him, already drooping in surrender.

And of course, Eddie knew by the sheepish smile you gave him, you were almost on the brink of sleep, and it was more important than his stupid feelings because the two of you had all the time in the world to talk about... whatever this was, tomorrow.

But if you lost your sleepy state, he knew you'd never get it back, “You sleepy yet?" He asked, thoughtful, caring gaze watching you intently, making you nod.

"Mhmm," you hummed, "But, Eddie..."

"Yeah?" He prompted, eager to soak up each and every one of your words.

"I don't want this to be a one time thing," you admitted, shyly, your heart leaping out of your chest in excitement.

"Thank fucking God." Slipped past his lips unintentionally, causing a hearty giggle to bubble up within you, easing away all of your worries.

Pools of warmth swam in his gaze, fully melting into you. "Me neither, sweetheart," he whispered, starting the car again, engine humming to life.

He met you with a saccharine smile. "But we have all the time to talk about that tomorrow, promise."

It hung in the air, the promise, almost like a warm hug engulfing you. All the confirmation you need.

"You just go to sleep, now, honey, I'll carry you inside," he urged, pressing a light kiss onto your forehead.

"T-thank you," you hummed, resting your head comfortably, deep slumber not taking long to find you while he watched intently, mind still running with thoughts of you.

Both of you had no clue what would happen with this; yet, you were now sure that this wouldn't remain as a one-time thing.

After all, you had a hard time sleeping almost every night, thankfully, you would now have Eddie to fix that.

[seethesunny]

Merry Christmas to one of the best artists out here! We love you Andy 🥺

Merry Christmas guyyyss🎄

[19calicos]

i know where to look — kuroo tetsurō ˎˊ˗

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ✴︎ to be loved is to be known. ⋆⋆⋆

— on kuroo’s 2am walk home from a late night study session, yn and their skateboard crash right into his head heart.

status: in progress!

content: university au, meet-hurt LMFAOOO, slowburn, toothrotting fluff, some angst, gn skater! yn with they/them prns, whipped lovesick dork! kuroo, ooc writing sorry, ignore time stamps, this fic is self indulgent

warnings: language, bad grammar, injuries from skating, ooc writing sorry, weed + cigs + alc, self sabotage, descriptions of social anxiety, overthinking, usage of kms and kys, trust issues, yn's parents divorcing is mentioned, yn is so avoidant and in denial im sorry

tags are added as story progresses, please check individual chapters for cw.

disclaimer lol i’m not a fan of tv girl at all sorry but just hearing the “you know where to find me and i know where to look” snippet is so soft and sweet to me cuz to be loved is to be known (ty twitter) so here i am w this kuroo smau 🗣️

( 𖦹 ) denotes written content!

the cast: skater cat fan club + stupid bitch syndrome havers

table of contents:

1 ⊹ call an ambulance! ( 𖦹 )

2 ⊹ build something up

3 ⊹ literally everywhere…

4 ⊹ a cat named ube ( 𖦹 )

5 ⊹ helmet hair

6 ⊹ clocked

7 ⊹ tech deck master

8 ⊹ shadow the hedgehog

9 ⊹ happy community day! ( 𖦹 )

10 ⊹ exposure therapy + delusion

11 ⊹ a hundred not-dates ( 𖦹 )

12 ⊹ who wont slime

13 ⊹ on the kitchen floor ( 𖦹 )

14 ⊹ (it was tails)

15 ⊹ so in hindsight

16 ⊹ under familiar lights ( 𖦹 )

17 ⊹ tba

taglist: closed! (50/50)

extra: moodboard | everyone’s decks | yn style guide

[mercif4l]

𝗰𝗿𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 — kmg

MDNI, this blog is for 18+ users only. blank blogs will be blocked.

pairing: afab!reader x kim mingyu

word count: 3.5k

summary: sometimes it's hard to say what you want. sometimes, mingyu is just being insufferably coy.

content warning: more smut, slight angst, boyfriend!mingyu, nudity, explicit sexual acts (dirty talk, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex), discussions about contraception, dacryphilia(?), dom/sub dynamics, slight degradation, pet names, sub!mingyu is losing his mind

a/n: hugely inspired by @highvern who made my soul sparkle when i read the 'teach me' series and then had to get all my feelings out in a self-indulgent gyu fic. ty once again to @beomcoups and @wonuwoe for being my champions <3 and for your patience! hope this is even a little bit as special for you to read as it was for me to write ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Broad, brawny, strapping young idol, Kim Mingyu. The very image of a gym rat, filling every space he enters twice the size of everyone else; A true BFG. 

And a total mess beneath your gaze as you ride his fingers without rest, legs bucking you up every time he presses against your g-spot and sends stars flying up your body and out through your mouth. 

Mingyu has always admired (envied, resented, adored) your self control. It makes him feel like a horny loser for never lasting as long as you do, and eternally grateful that he can stay hard after cumming just to feel you palpitate around him with your quiet, quivering sighs, launching him into another orgasm even more devastating than the last. 

When you’d first got together and had the sex safety talk, you told him he could ‘just pull out’, and in that moment he’d felt relatively confident about his abilities. But then he’d felt you, and tasted you, and before you could even get your panties off, he was leaking more precum than felt humanly possible.

You’d agreed to take birth control to curb his crippling fear of coming inside unexpectedly. And for your own peace of mind. Which seemed easier settled than his, frighteningly resigned to the side effects that birth control might bring — a concern he wouldn’t let you neglect, encouraging you to attend regular check ups every other month. 

Eventually you told him that while it was endearing he cared so much, it could feel a little overbearing from time to time. It still took a boat load of convincing to get him on board with the pill. You’d said you knew the risks, and while it was unfair there was no male equivalent, you’d shown no abnormal reaction to the pill and were an adult; you knew well enough how to take care of yourself. How you cared a whole lot about your body, and his misled doting could border on condescension if he wasn’t careful. 

(He’d put on a brave face for your conversation, never wanting to make it about himself, then cried to his mom on the phone later that day about how selfish he’d been. She told him to get over it and to try being a woman.) 

Perhaps if he was a woman he’d be in less pain right now. Watching you wind down over a glass of wine like he wasn’t sulking up a fit, his cock so hard that it crooned against his boxers. 

Despite his size and laid-back demeanor, he’s always been a bit bashful. Blushing at the slightest pinch of attention and covering his face with his jersey over some good-natured teasing. It was too bad he’d made himself such an easy target over the years. Any attempt to become non-chalant was at odds with every preexisting relationship in his life and was imminently met with even more teasing. 

Still, no one makes him feel as embarrassed as you do. It’s like a sick cycle. You peek one second too long at his lips and his ears turn pink, making you grin, filling his chest with a familiar ache and making his dick purr.

“Excited, Gyu?” you’d asked him just an hour ago, sat squished together on the lounge loveseat. Your hand poised on his thigh as he tried not to salivate over your compliments. You’d just been doting on him over his latest interview, head heavy with giggles as you rolled around and gushed about your ‘gorgeous boyfriend’ . You’d been particularly tickled by the discussion of ‘Men in their 20s’, Mingyu’s input being as loathing as you’d expect. Once you’d had your fun imitating his exasperated response, you pet his hair like he was a well-trained dog and scratched under his chin for good measure. 

That’s where this particular spiral started. 

The bristle of your nails against the hollow of his jaw left him struggling not to pant. It hadn’t been two days since you’d last touched him, and already he was feeling a little lightheaded. This didn’t stop him from tucking his tail between his legs and pretending to be a good, placid, boy. Eyes all round and twinkling like a deer in headlights; mouth agape as he tries to say that dinner is in the fridge and he’d happily heat it up for you as soon as you’d—

Then, you’d raked those same hands over his neck. And like a never-before-touched-40-year-old-virgin, he let out a pornographic whimper, curling into you with legs spread just wide enough to display the stiff beneath his shorts.

“My puppy, what’s wrong?” 

Instead of answering, he purses his lips and takes a few short, constricted breaths. Closing his eyes as if he can will this whole situation away (or to a head) by pretending it doesn’t exist.

“Can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Gyu.” 

It was his least practiced skill: just fucking saying what he wants. He’s always too caught up in how turned on you make him or how vulnerable he feels. How deeply he enjoys the way you look at him with the eyes of a predator, and how hot he gets at the thought of being your prey.

“Gyu. Slow down.” For a man with the body mass Mingyu possesses, he’s always had a lack of spatial awareness. Bumping into the kitchen island every other morning; bonking heads in the elevator when he tries to give you a forehead kiss; generally not noticing injuries until he’s flexing in the bathroom mirror and a large bruise has appeared where once there was nothing.

His sex drive was no exception. He grinds against the cotton of his trousers without a single thought, even now as you lay your hand heavy against his throat and mock him for it.

“Such a desperate little puppy, can’t even breathe, humping yourself like a bitch in heat.”

With his airways partially blocked and his eyes squeezed shut, this friction feels almost as good as your hand might. 

“Stop.” This time, the instruction is clear, the heel of your palm digging into his hip bone and forcing him to sit still. He trembles like an injured animal and you don’t hide your snort; the sound is like a bitter spirit left on his salivary glands and it only makes him more liquid in your arms.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll help you, bug.”

“M’sorry, can’t…” 

“Gyu.” It’s a firm warning and still he bites his tongue in resistance:

“I— Fuck… ngh, can’t, I can’t—“

Working himself up over something as simple as wanting to be touched… Well, it makes you wonder if he enjoys being punished. Tears already trail down his temples, thick and heavy as they fall into his damp hair, and every time you lick at the salty water he bucks up into nothing again.

There’s only one way this is going to end. At this rate, with how you’re repeating his favorite nickname in the arch of his ear, the idea of playing nonchalant seems hilarious. How could he ever stay quiet or, god forbid, composed with you around?

It wasn’t always this way, mind you. Communication was a huge part of your relationship. Of course that included acknowledging anything that made you feel ashamed or unattractive. Physical, taboo, emotional: when one of you got shy, you were given a week of grace to iron things out, then you’d have to face the music and let the other in. It didn’t matter how. Actually, there were an infinite amount of ways to sort things out and you were both sticklers for likelihoods and probabilities.

But after six months, Mingyu still couldn’t verbalize his needs. The two ways he’d express himself were whimpering at inopportune moments or folding his legs extra tight until you got the idea. Initially, it was endearing; even after all this time, it’s still sweet and adorable (and a little bit of a turn-on). It sure gave you ample ground to assert your dominance over him. It also gave you a lot to tease him about after the fact. But in some ways, it suffocated you. In some ways, it made you feel gross for controlling the narrative. 

“Actually,” you reckon with a tone so disinterested he isn’t sure how to recognize it as your voice: “I don’t feel like this right now.” 

Then you cross your legs and shuffle across the couch, plucking your phone from the coffee table to retreat inside of it. You’re sure there was an abandoned webtoon chapter to keep you distracted. Anything to quell the bile rising in your throat. 

Before he has a moment to recognize how blue his balls are, Mingyu makes the most sorrowful sound you’ve ever heard. Your head whips around, and what you find is devastating: the big lug has his knees tucked to his chest with his hands squishing against his cheeks. His pearly teeth are gnashed together but barely visible behind his forearm as his shoulders shudder, up and down, up and down.

“Please, please, don’t stop… touching, me, need… Please don’t stop, want you— can you?” and when his begging ends in a whisper of your name, your resolve snaps. You slide onto the ground, hands weaseling between his knees as you look up at him through bleary eyes of your own. 

“Gyu?”

“no, no, I’m sorry, I know. Know I’m the worst — so stupid,”

While you expect him to react poorly, this was not the way you’d wanted it to go. The tears that leave his eyes aren’t pleasant or cathartic-they’re crushing. The weight of his sobs makes him look so so small, and his shoulders twitch at your slightest touch, and now you feel even sicker. But you hold it in, knowing that there’s no way he’ll calm down without a steady hand guiding him.

“Mingyu, breathe baby. Breathe. Let’s just try to breathe together.” 

It only takes a few rounds of counting in squares to wind him down, after which he wipes his tears roughly and clears his throat. 

“Sorry for—“ 

“It’s okay to cry. I’m sorry for overwhelming you. And stopping so suddenly.” A small point of contact between you remains at the apex of his ankle and the soft of your hand. It’s not enough but it’s the only thing that reminds him to breathe. 

“I know—know it’s okay to cry.” 

You snuffle a giggle at his pouty response; “I know you know it’s okay to cry. But sometimes we don’t feel that way, y’know.” 

God. You’re so stupidly smart. So patient with him. God, he’s in love with you. And he’s such a mess.

“Of course… Of course I want to say it,” he tries to avoid your gaze but the fingers now pressing on his calf won’t let him. 

“Want to tell you what I want. But I’m really.. I’m so scared. Scared and not really of you, even though it’s kind of hot when I am, but something about it feels… wrong?” 

You listen without interrupting him or egging him on, chuckling when it seems appropriate and nodding as he trips over his words in worry.

“Like I’m… being like, I dunno, I’m not being the man? Or… something.

His hesitation is filled with sniffles against the overpriced hoodie he’d purchased just a week before. He’ll curse himself out for that later, undoubtably. Good thing he has the knack for a good hand wash.

—But I want to… I wanna try. Can I try?” 

“Now?”

“Mm… want you now.” 

Hearing it from his mouth for the first time in so long sends a bright red flush all over you. Your head dips low as a coy grin replaces that wrinkle between your brows you’d been keeping warm. Mingyu settles his focus on your face to avoid any more distractions. The demure purse of your lips is more than enough to encourage him to continue. Even if he stutters in anticipation a bit along the way.

“So beautiful. I, I love your smile, makes me feel so warm and…weird? Good weird, just like I wanna kiss you all the time. And look at you smiling. And at the same time, smiling at me, and I love it when I feel your tongue on mine, fuck, when I feel your tongue at all” 

His words flow freely as you stretch your legs over his and settle in his lap. His hands move in even strokes down your sides and arms and thighs, gently cupping your face as he admires you. Well, it certainly seems like he’s getting the hang of it. 

“S’all I can think about when I get sweaty… So weird, but I get sweaty and I imagine you licking it off me, shit, look at how pretty you are, shit, shit,”

As he hears himself, he suddenly feels like he could wax poetic for hours (or ramble, whatever this was). If it meant making you look as pleased as you do right now, he’d happily make a living out of it. 

“Can I touch you? So beautiful, wanna feel ya…” The drawl of his accent gets thicker as he rambles on.

“You sure, puppy?” After all that emotional exhaustion it feels a bit strange to be so intimate. The last thing you want is for him to smother his feelings with sex. But then you see the conviction in his flared nostrils and set lips; the very face he makes when you’ve had a bad day and insist everything is fine. When all he ever wants is an excuse to shower you with his love. 

“Yes. F’you’ll let me?” And when he asks so nicely, who are you to deny him?

There’s a slight back and forth as he tries to unbutton your jeans as fast as possible and it all goes so quickly you don’t really register how awkward it is, wiggling out of them in his lap on the couch. But Mingyu’s athleticism never fails him, especially in moments like these. 

The foray over your sticky panties has him searching maniacally for some purchase beneath you. He rubs and pulls and taps until you’re canting into his knuckles sporadically. By the time he’s pulled them to the side and gathers your wetness in his grip, he might be the hardest he’s ever been. 

“God, gonna, wanna make you cum—can I please? Show you?” 

It’s your turn now to be silent, nodding profusely into his cheek as you nibble at his earlobe. There’s one sentiment you refuse to voice in this moment, as the pad of his thumb zeroes in on your clit and drags it in circles: that you’re cooked. You’ve never been this wet in your life, and if you had an ounce of self-awareness left in you, you’d shudder at the slick mess you’ve made. Or the blown out pupils lolling to the back of your head. Or the saliva that drools down your chin in excess and slings onto his. 

But Mingyu is no better: if you weren’t sitting atop him, a dangerous puddle of his own precum would be proudly on display. Somehow the thought turns him on even more. 

“Could come like this, in my pants, nnghh, but I wanna, wanna do it while you ride my fingers, can you…” 

“Fuck! Gyu, just gimme—“ The sentence dies before its finish as he takes your excited exclamation and sprints. The longest of his four fingers push into your hole to fit snugly against your walls, pulsing against him like they’re welcoming him home. 

“Love feeling you on me, my fingers, my—nngh, my cock, made for me, made for you” It comes out a sadistic whine while he bullies them into you with that same doe eyed look.

“Got so much to do, wanna do, wanna make—“

“Gyu, s’good. So good. All mine.”

“Yours. All yours, f’you’ll have me? Have me?”

The words circulate from your empty head straight to your core and you swear, you could cry. He keeps pleading for you to have him and take him and the fever of it all overwhelms you.

In the fissure between the pit of your stomach and where all this untenable excitement likes to linger, something weird begins to coil. Heating so rapidly that you have no time to warn him of it. One moment you’re there, and then next, you’re not; You’re somewhere where there’s color as far as the eye can see, and all you can feel is bliss. Once you do manage to open your eyes, you notice the pool of liquid that now sticks his tank top and pants to his lower belly and thighs. 

Well, shit. You just squirted. And in record time, Mingyu might add. Was this all he had to do to get you riled up? Just divulge his every wet dream and watch you crumble beneath (or atop) him?  

You don’t even double take his soaked white shirt, now stuck to his abdomen with slick, or the dampened the seat of his pants that leave very little to the imagination. You’re wasted with the whiplash of everything that has just happened and truthfully, you couldn’t care less. 

The only thing that brings reality back to your conscience is the continuing buck of his hips.

“My baby, did so good. You wanna cum?” 

“Yes!” He’s squeaking at this point, a pile of incoherent pet names and wet moans. He could probably come in his pants if you hadn’t suggested otherwise, just happy to be in close proximity to you like this: Soaking his clothes and skin and all sweaty all over him. 

Mingyu is so distracted by the image that he barely notices the sticky feelings of his trousers being pulled off. 

“Hands are shaking, m’sorry, your hands—“ 

“I know Gyu. It’s okay.”

There’s no space for him to hold you til you’re steady—his primary concern—with your entrance fluttering over him, still reeling from your orgasm. An ache he didn’t even realize was there is relieved the moment you stretch around him. Welcoming him home. He really could die happy like this: admiring the curve of your chin from below and so, so warm. The image of you, anchoring yourself on his shoulders and hips settled between his, is one he’ll be haunted by forever. 

“Go.” You say it with the last of your energy and a firm bite to his neck. 

He doesn’t need any further instruction; he’s so fucking glad you’ll still tell him what to do. 

The rhythm he sets is animalistic. Heaving and whining and fucking up into you with more force than you’d expected him to be capable of. Something feral takes over your boyfriend and you wish you had the energy to watch it. Maybe you’ll just have to do this all again with a camera filming. God, that would drive him absolutely insane.

With the pace and how worked up he’s become, it’s no surprise when he pulls out a few minutes later to come. Strong arms yank you down and suddenly you’re sat on top of his cock, grinding it against his stomach with his direction.

“Coming, I’m, nnngh fuck!” Mingyu’s voice rises about two octaves as he finishes in white all over his belly. It spurts out long enough for you to feel the aftershocks. In his shivering thighs, in his clenched abs, and the overstimulated cries that catch in his throat.

It may take a long time to recover, but you’re grateful for the break. When Mingyu stands from the couch with you in his arms, you already know he’s taking you to the shower. He strips you as carefully as he can muster and grimaces at the messes made of you both in the harsh overhead light. 

“You shower first.” It’s the first thing you’ve said in a while and he seems bewildered; not just by your wary voice, but by the idea of taking care of himself before taking care of you. So cute, you think. But you refuse to let up. You take a towel from the heated rack and gather all of your clothes in it, holding the sack out as if to say ‘add it to the pile’. Once he’s naked you shove him gently towards the running water and drag yourself out to the laundry room. It only takes a few seconds before you hear those long feet shuffling behind you. 

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll be right back.” 

A silence lingers and you know full well he hasn’t turned back just yet. Alright. You’ll coax him through this part. 

“I’ll shower with you. Just make sure it’s warm for me?” He giggles at that. All it takes is making something a task for Mingyu to thrust himself into it, full force. The retreating footfall that follows is more than enough to make you smile. And laugh, just a bit. 

“Thank you, Gyu.” 

“Anything for you.”

penned by rowan. in reference to this interview among other things.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Violence, suggestive content

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Two months. Two. Fucking. Months. Cassian shook his head, almost impressed.

Quite literally two fucking months. 

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. He half-coughed, half-laughed up the wine he’d been drinking. Nesta thumped his back, a mischievous smirk plastered on her normally severe face. 

Rhysand had finally gotten word that you and Azriel would be arriving… well, anytime now. Everyone had piled onto the House of Wind’s roof to await your return, the taste of new gossip already in the air. 

Nesta lounged in Cassian’s lap, searching the horizon line for the tell-tale flicker of Azriel’s wings. Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor were too busy placing bets on which of the males — if any — would come out of the fight unscathed to stare at the sky. 

“Fifty on Azriel.” Emerie said without hesitation.

There was a clatter of coins. 

“I’ve got a good feeling about Helion. The paternal protectiveness might make him especially vicious.” Gwyn reasoned. 

“Brotherly protectiveness may prove just as strong. If not stronger.” Was Mor’s opinion. “Lucien and Helion both won against Azriel last time.” 

“Az wasn’t trying then.” Emerie argued back. “Sad male that he was.”

The father-son pair tried not to let their egos grow or be injured by the conversation happening so close by. Instead, they engrossed themselves in their third chess game of the morning. It was becoming rather tedious by now. Being the early risers — and overprotective males — that they were, they’d been waiting for hours in the training ring for the first sign of your return. 

Alas, nothing so far.

A spread of breakfast plates cluttered the table they played on, silverware stacked neatly on porcelain plates. Save for the knives. Those were kept in close reach.

Rhysand tried to join in on the game, but the two males refused him time and time again. They knew better than to play with a daemati. 

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys purred. “Won’t you indulge me?” 

She smirked, but slid into her chair beside Nesta and Cassian, and across from her mate. She folded her finger neatly beneath her chin, her wall of adamant strong and impenetrable. 

Rhys was about to make his first move — pawn to E4 — when a twinkle in Feyre’s eye told him they had visitors. 

Cassian stood up straighter, a shit-eating grin already plastered on his face as he cupped his hand to his mouth and whooped.

A full house. You remarked as the House of Wind came into view above the city. Its red stone spires crawled into the sky. Reaching like outstretched fingertips.

The wind sang in your ears, ruffling your hair as you clung to Azriel. 

Lucky us. You teased.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw twitched at the flash of red hair and crown of black locs waiting on the roof. 

Helion and Lucien rose slowly, twin smirks gracing their lips as they started unclasping necklaces and tying back their hair. 

Is it too late to go back to the Cottage? Azriel growled, dropping to his feet on the House of Wind’s roof.

I’m afraid so. We’ve committed. 

You slowly untangled yourself from Azriel’s hold and planted both feet on solid ground. He caught your arm before you could stray too far, tugging you back to his side and wrapping a wing around your shoulders. 

“You’re baaaaaack!” Cassian sang, throwing his arm out in a gesture of welcome. “Gods have we missed you both. You especially, Y/n. You look lovely. The mating bond suits you.” 

He winked seductively, blowing a kiss in your direction. 

Azriel figured Cassian could do without his remaining arm. 

“I hope Azriel sufficed for your first time.” Rhysand chimed in. His voice was liquid velvet. By now, Azriel had gone stone still — a dangerous look for the Shadowsinger. “But if you’re ever interested in sampling better fares, Cassian and I—” 

Helion slammed into Azriel’s side before he could reach Rhysand, wrapping his powerful arms around Azriel’s middle and throwing him across the room where Lucien waited with fist pulled back. 

Remember what we talked about. 

Azriel was slippery and cool as he wove in and out between Helion and Lucien’s bodies. He threw out a collection of strikes that had blood splattering on the ground.

Nothing permanent. He growled.

Thank you. 

“Did you see that?” Rhysand looked aghast as he settled deep into his seat. “He was going to hit me!” He flipped his cane end over end. 

“He has no honor, brother.” Cassian agreed. But both had to admit, there was some satisfaction in getting to watch the fight instead of participating in it. 

You slunk around the edges of the training ring, trying to avoid getting too close to the tumble of bodies that were being thrown around like rag dolls. 

It would seem there was someone else trying to escape notice.

You blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here, High Lord?” 

Eris Vanserra leaned against a stone pillar, foot propped up against the wall as he swirled a glass of wine between bejeweled fingers. Aside from the gold glittering on his knuckles and along his ears, he was dressed like a commoner. His brown riding boots were well-worn with love and his shirt was left open at the top to reveal scarred and freckled skin. He chuckled when Lucien slammed his fist into the side of Azriel’s face with a growl that rattled the columns.

“None of that High Lord business.” He said, swatting the air like the very term offended him. “Call me Eris.” He smiled sideways at you, never taking his full attention off the fight. “Lucien asked me to come as backup, and I would never pass up the opportunity to help my brother,” he glanced down at you and cocked his head to the side, “And my sister.” 

“Is that what we are now? Siblings?”

He shrugged. “We always did want a girl in the family.” 

You were about to ask who Eris meant by “we” when there came a loud bang. 

Azriel held the shattered legs of a chair and Lucien kneeled on the ground, spitting splinters from his mouth. 

“You’re doing your brotherly duty wonderfully.” Your words were drier than a desert. 

Helion came to Lucien’s aide and used those powerful legs of his to drop kick Azriel in the chest and crack a rib… or two. 

“I’m also here for the entertainment.” Eris winked. 

When he turned back to the fight, Azriel was already staring at him, and he was livid. 

“Ahhhh, that’s my cue.” He tousled your hair, earning a roar from Azriel as Lucien and Helion latched onto his arms and held the Shadowsinger back. “We’ll talk again later.” 

He sauntered over to the trio, reared back his fist, and punched Azriel in the stomach. 

Nesta waved you over from her spot at the table with Gwyn, Emerie, Mor, and Feyre. It was a safe enough distance away from the brawl, even if the glasses shook every time a body hit the floor. 

“Leave the males to their fighting and eat. You must be starved.” Nesta slid over a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast slathered in a healthy amount of butter. 

You hated that Nesta was right. The frenzy had left you with little patience for eating most days. You descended upon the food. 

Gwyn was still watching the males. There was a strange fascination in her eyes as Helion spit out a mouthful of blood and Azriel punched Eris in the teeth. “I wonder how many wars could have been prevented if the males simply gathered in a room with their right hands and a ruler.” 

Emerie snorted. “I reckon at least ten.” 

Gwyn shook her head. “So.” She turned her attention to you and leaned in close. “How was it?” She did not speak the words quietly.

You blushed through a mouthful of eggs. “It was… very nice.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Nesta shook her head so many times that flyaway strands of blonde hair escaped her coronet. “How was it?”

Cassian moved in close, resting his head on Nesta’s shoulder. “We want details.” 

“Oh, stay out of this, Cass.” 

The Lord of Bloodshed huffed when Feyre enclosed the females in a wall of silent air. He settled for laying his head against Nesta’s back, feeling the vibrations of her body as she spoke.  

“We do want details. Spare us nothing.” 

The females hovered, breaths held in their chests for every salacious detail you were certain to tell. Their excitement made them forgetful of one very important fact — you had always been, and likely always would be, very private.

You looked at Feyre and swallowed. “We um… We broke the windows at the Cottage and need them replaced.” 

The females blinked. 

“Which ones?” Feyre asked, arching a dark brow. 

Azriel smiled at you from across the training ring, a trickle of blood spilling out from the corner of his lips as he wrestled Eris to the ground with his legs locked around the redhead’s neck. 

“All of them.” 

It was near noon when the fighting started, and the males still hadn’t ceased though the sun had set hours ago.

You walked onto the roof smothered in one of Azriel’s sweaters to escape the air’s chilly bite. This high up the mountains, the wind always whisked away heat like the sea to sand. 

Scraps of fabric littered the ground. Bloodstains lay sprinkled across stone floors like salt. It was all to be expected after a mating frenzy, and it did not surprise you that Azriel had kept up with your father and brothers for so long, but, enough was enough. You wanted your mate back.

“Ahem,” You coughed loudly. 

Azriel’s eyes flickered to you before you even opened your mouth. He had felt your presence before you’d even walked up the stairs and stepped onto the training mats. 

My love. He sighed.

Eris got the last swing in, but he missed the Shadowsinger by a half-margin. Poor Lucien, who’d been holding back Azriel’s arm, got a fistful of gold rings instead.

Lucien’s head snapped back. “What the fuck, Eris?!” He stood grasping at his nose. Blood spilled out from between his fingers. 

Eris winced. “Sorry, little brother.” 

You made another little noise and the males shoved each other away, bodies sweaty and bloodstained. Eris’s shirt was ripped to shreds, barely hanging onto his narrow shoulders as he wiped the blood from his lips and grinned like a fox. Helion was missing a nose ring and the top tip of his ear. A bruise sprouted along Lucien’s cheeks courtesy of his brother. 

But Azriel? The only evidence he carried of the fight was the thin line of dried blood between his lips. It was not unpleasant to look upon.

Less than ten seconds ago they’d been at each other's throats with tooth and nail. But as males were ought to do, once the fight was over they were quick to grumble half-hearted compliments and began picking jewelry and abandoned blades off the floor.

Azriel tipped his head towards you in the smallest of bows. When you held out your hand for him, he didn’t even bother walking to close the distance between you two. He winnowed directly to your side.

About time you finished. I’m ready for bed and I’d like to have my mate beside me.

I like it when you call me that. I like it when you call me yours.

You smiled softly at him, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. You didn’t think you’d ever tire of smiling at his hazel eyes. 

You looked to the rest of your family. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t pretend to worry about us, dear Y/n.” Eris snorted. The smirk on his face was a friendly one, highlighting his handsome, but impish, features as he gathered his cloak from the corner of the room. He swung it around his shoulders, magically repairing his clothes with a flutter of red velvet. “We’re fine. And I would never pass up an opportunity to go toe-to-toe with the Shadowsinger.” He winked at Azriel, who only scowled in return. 

That scowl turned into a barred teeth snarl when Eris brushed past you both.

His warm, amber eyes betrayed what you already knew from that brief moment of contact before he went off to his room — he hadn’t been lying when he said they always wanted a girl in the family. 

“Goodnight, sister.” Lucien said, kissing your forehead. It took everything in Azriel not to pummel Lucien once more. Your brother’s eyes flickered up to the Shadowsinger. “And congratulations on your mating bond. Truly.” 

You mouthed the words, Thank you, before accepting a final goodnight embrace from your father. 

“It’s good to have you back.” He smoothed back your hair. Then Helion clicked his tongue and thumped Azriel on the shoulder. “Greedy little Shadowsinger. Keeping my daughter away for two months.” He shook his head in mock disappointment.

The pair soon disappeared down the hallway leaving you and Azriel to linger in the night’s silence alone.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth twitched — the only sign he was in any pain when you gently brushed against his ribs. 

You smirked. It would seem that your family members had done a number on the Shadowsinger. He’d just been hiding it beneath layers of leather and male pride. What a shame that the females’ bets had been for nothing.

My Y/n, whose side are you on? He asked as you began unbuckling the gauntlets on his arms. Piece by piece, leather armor fell to the ground as steam curled up into the air. It never failed to amaze you how large Illyrian tubs were—and how long they took to fill. 

I’m on both your sides.

That is a very noncommittal answer. 

It’s a very judicious answer. 

Azriel smiled, cheeks brushing against yours as he kissed the curve of your ear. I do agree you are anything if not sensible. 

Azriel hummed in satisfaction as the last of his Illyrian leathers dropped to the floor. You knelt beside the tub, pouring in a concoction of oils as Azriel stretched out his wings. It was easy to admire the curve of his neck and the muscles of his back as his wings flexed open and close. 

When he was deep beneath the waters, eucalyptus and lavender opening up his lungs, he asked you to clean his wings. It was heaven whenever you touched them. Your soft fingertips seemed to hold all the power in the world — the power to light his blood aflame like whiskey or to soothe him like a sleep draught. Tonight your touch was peaceful as he wrapped his mind around the bond and felt your souls melt and mix like gold. 

This is to be our lives now. Azriel reminded himself once again. 

You buried yourself beneath the covers and made a little noise of contentment that never failed to make his chest grow warm. 

It is. You agreed. Would you like me to remind you? 

It was a pattern of words you’d grown used to while at the Cottage. Azriel would marvel at the mating bond—the peace that came with it—and you would take to carefully kissing the expanse of his chest, his neck, his collarbones, until there wasn’t an inch of skin that hadn’t been painted by your gentle lips. 

You began that ritual now, winding your way up his chest and ending at his eyelids. Black eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks as you finished performing the magic that was your love and devotion. 

I love you, Azriel. You reminded him. You would remind him of that truth every day of your lives. 

I love you too, Y/n. I adore you. 

You settled into his side and Azriel draped a wing around your shoulders in a move that was as natural as breathing now. Heads bowed together, shadows curled close by, and scarred hands met scarred skin as he traced the curve of your spine.

The Shadowsinger and the Inkbird. 

Together. 

As they were always meant to be.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

This is the last chapter before the epilogue y'all. I don't think I can say anything right now because it feels weird to be saying goodbye to this story so... I guess I'll save my thoughts and emotions for another time...

[rotthepoet]

heyy, i’ve been reading a lot of ur stuff lately and it’s safe to say im obsessed. i was wondering if u could write 69 w the slytherin boys? only if ur comfortable but i feel like that would be really cool. ty!

POOKIE IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I HAVE BEEN IN SUCH A SLUMP I’LL NEVER MAKE YOU WAIT WEEKS AGAIN THANK YOU MY LOVE!!!!!

Im sitting here wondering how i should write this?? Hmmm. Writing my thoughts as i think them dont mind me<3

Smut below the cut

Draco would like… maybe be the most gentle?? If i do say so myself, and I do. He’ll probably put the most thought into how its going to happen, when, why. He wanted a lovely date, treat you nice all night, be the perfect boyfriend… and expects a reward. Self indulgent bitch. Anyways! He leads you to bed, nice and slow, passionate make out sesh, you are living a dream! Then as you both finally get your clothes off, he’s kissing down your thighs, looking into your eyes and whispering soft praises before he lays on his back, and you(knowing the drill) go to straddle his face before he grips your thigh and smirks. “Other direction, darling.” And he cant help but laugh at how you blush. He lets you set the pace, matching your speed or slowness until you both finish <3

With Blaise, it just kinda happens naturally. No one had to go watch or read porn to think about it. You and him were getting freaky one night, a movie turning into wandering hands, turning into you on his lap with his tongue down your throat. The energy in the room just said 69, and you’d be a fool to ignore it. You’re on top, and the grip he has on your ass is fucking delicious. He’s so controlling over your body, pressing his face right up into your cunt, practically inhaling, while you can barely take his tip. If you take too long going down on him he might bite your thighs to speed things up ;)

Oh man, Mattheo Fucking Riddle. Bitch. He’s a power hungry hard dom with a knack for getting what he wants when he wants it. Oh man. You’re in for a ride- no. A rollercoaster. He’s on top of you, ravaging your dripping pussy while fucking his dick into the back of your throat. Its impossible to breathe with his heavy balls slapping your face, but it cant be much easier for him with your thighs wrapping around his head. If he’s in a good mood, he’ll let you have your way. Otherwise, he’s manhandling you into whatever position he wants. He might get you upside down if you arent careful.

Theodore and Mattheo are pretty similar. Them and Enzo are the like.. roughest of the group? That being rough without copious amounts of praise. You’re far less likely to have to work for your “good girl” with Theo, but sometimes he’s a tease. Anyways, Trust the moment your lips are around his tip he’s tugging your hair and bucking up into you while he feasts. It’s so messy and loud and he’s halfway sitting up because your hips keep running from all the stimulation:(

And Lorenzo. This fucking bitch. He’s wanting to 69 all the time. I mean he gets head. You get head. I get head? Everyone gets head! And it takes half the time because two birds with one stone. In my humble, Enzo hating, opinion… he’s not big on foreplay. I mean he’ll finger you and stretch you out because he’s not a total monster, but he’s way more excited to get into the main course than an appetizer. Much like Theo or Mattheo, he’ll set the pace with his hips. No time to play around he needs to be balls deep in you rn.