#drabbles ask game

[tuxedokit-sys-selfships]

Della + 💐

flowers

thats it! perfect! those are romantic or something, right?

della punched the air, reaching for her coat and scarf as she marched to the door. she had all day to prepare for her date, but that wouldnt stop her from fussing. not out of a giddy daze necessarily, more anxious anticipation. normally, she wouldnt even humor the thought of anything so... romantic, in fact she kinda hated the whole concept. but this would mean a lot to luna, she knew this in her heart of hearts. and luna was... different.

not as in she wanted to do the whole staring into their eyes and slurping up the same spaghetti noodle or whatever—gross. no, more in the sense that they knew each other... theyd met briefly when they were kids, then, again in their early 20s. most consequential one night stand of her life by FAR.

.... well, maybe second. but thats irrelevant right now.

point is, they'd woken up in bed together, realized they actually did know each other and decided to keep in touch. luna went from a booty call to a dear friend (with benefits) to.... god. what the hell do you even call that? best friends+? anyway, eventually they were 26 and luna confessed, because of course it did, and della panicked. she didnt want to lose luna, but also dear fuck the idea of being someones girlfriend made her sick. not to mention her secret baggage (three eggs, to be precise).

so she shot it down, turned off her phone and cried. then in that week there was the rocket, and the moon crash, and now a decade later, here she was finding out that luna had been looking for her that whole time. had accepted her rejection with grace, said it hadnt meant to pressure her, simply wanted her to know she was loved, no reciprocation necessary... and then that thing spent a decade proving it. even after her case had gone cold, luna hadnt bought it, and spent ten years traveling the globe in search of her, texting her the whole time.

ten years. wow. it... really had been a while, huh?

a lot can change in a decade, and they both knew that. which was why this was just supposed to be grabbing lunch with an old friend and catching up. but della had been doing some backreading, and she knew those feelings hadnt faded. if anything they had somehow grown, planted in the soil of desperation. seriously, some of those texts date back to the month before she got back. crazy. and they werent all love letters, too. musing on whether she had just gone off the grid, was hiding from them, kidnapped (prime theory), or just actually dead... anyway, point is, that context changed things. that thing was for real about how it felt, and didnt need her to figure out how to feel the same back.

she found herself at the flower shop before she realized she had even left the mansion. wow. was this an adhd thing? or was it normal to put your body on autopilot so you can reminisce in a particularly expositional manner while doing tasks? how long had she been standing in front of the flower shop staring at the door? she should probably move now.

della shook her head and pushed open the door, entering the store with the chime of a bell. cute. she'd always liked those be—

"Hello, how can I help you today?"

oh right, people exist. including the small old owl lady behind the counter. this was probably her store. della realized she should probably say something.

"hi! im just browsing for now, but im super putting together a boquet for someone, so ill be back!" della shot the woman two slightly awkward finger guns as she delved further into the store

"Wonderful, dear. I'll be here if you need any help."

okay, flowers. couldnt just throw anything together, no, this had to be good. and, as much as shed like it, she doubted the lady had picks for "im willing to try this even if i dont feel the same way also i missed you a lot and i love you" on hand. but with the power of google and her notes app, anything was possible.

.......

"heyy im back, can i get a boquet with lavender..."

della glanced back and forth as she spoke, between the shopkeep and her phone, which was sporting of a list of seemingly random flowers shed seen in the store.

"...arborvitae, honeysuckle, valerian, cranberry, forget-me-nots, and... hazel? oh, and tie it with a vine instead of a ribbon!"

"Hm... Quite the mix, but alright! I'll be right back"

the elderly owl shuffled off to god knows where, eventually returning with dellas boquet. it looked nice, she thought. yeah. this would work.

"Alright, dear, let me ring you up."

della found herself checking her phone as she waited and OH NO SHE WAS GOING TO BE LATE.

"THANKS LADY SORRY GOTTA GO KEEP THE CHANGE BYE!!" she slapped some random jewels and treasures from her latest trip on the counter and bolted with her boquet.

weird. usually she reserved this level of dedication for life or death running... she supposed she did really really care how this went. luna was someone dear to her. and hey, if she had to date anyone, this lunatic butch catthing would be her go to. hey, soeaking of, there it is! on its phone—wow its aged nicely—sitting at a table. finally, it heard her panting and looked up and della had not realized how badly she had missed luna until this exact moment. luna was already out of their chair by the time della reached it, and before they knew it they were hugging like this had all been a bad dream.

"i, uh... i got you something"

della took a reluctant step back from the hug, mostly to reveal her gift. the look on lunas face once again reminded her why she was doing... all of this. awe, wonder, hesitance...

"...wow... you... you got me... flowers?"

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ build-a-fic 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

➴ chose a line of dialogue, an emotion and a setting (a number, letter, + a creature), and write/request to your heart’s content!

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ a piece of dialogue

꒰ 1 ꒱ “i can’t fucking believe this.”

꒰ 2 ꒱ “what they said back there. is it true?”

꒰ 3 ꒱ “it’s not safe here anymore- we need to leave. now!”

꒰ 4 ꒱ “you know how much i care about you.”

꒰ 5 ꒱ “they’re never going to hurt you again.”

꒰ 6 ꒱ “here, let’s get you warmed up.”

꒰ 7 ꒱ “i didn’t do it. please, you have to believe me!”

꒰ 8 ꒱ “i’m taking you home, and that’s that.”

꒰ 9 ꒱ “do you trust me?”

꒰ 10 ꒱ “i can’t sleep either. mind if i join you?”

꒰ 11 ꒱ “you’re not your worst mistake.”

꒰ 12 ꒱ “try and eat, if you can. it’ll make you feel better.”

꒰ 13 ꒱ “i say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.”

꒰ 14 ꒱ “they’re going to surround us. we need to get ready.”

꒰ 15 ꒱ “i need you to leave.”

꒰ 16 ꒱ “we can’t be seen together like this. not anymore.”

꒰ 17 ꒱ “it’s dangerous. i need you to know that before you agree.”

꒰ 18 ꒱ “it’s just one night- surely sharing a bed for that long won’t kill us.”

꒰ 19 ꒱ “it’s getting dark, we should think about heading back.”

꒰ 20 ꒱ “what have i told you about coming here?!”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ an emotion

꒰ A ꒱ disdain

꒰ B ꒱ grief

꒰ C ꒱ ecstasy

꒰ D ꒱ disbelief

꒰ E ꒱ anxiety

꒰ F ꒱ contentment

꒰ G ꒱ drunkenness

꒰ H ꒱ enjoyment

꒰ I ꒱ confusion

꒰ J ꒱ fear

꒰ K ꒱ hunger

꒰ L ꒱ relief

꒰ M ꒱ distrust

꒰ N ꒱ fondness

꒰ O ꒱ delight

꒰ P ꒱ hurt

꒰ Q ꒱ love

꒰ R ꒱ sickness

꒰ S ꒱ exhaustion

꒰ T ꒱ betrayal

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ a setting

꒰ 𓆉 ꒱ the corner bed in a hospital ward

꒰ 𓅨 ꒱ a spare bedroom

꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ an alleyway behind a dive bar

꒰ 𓃰 ꒱ a mountainside shrouded in fog

꒰ 𓃗 ꒱ a skeevy motel just off the highway

꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ a barren industrial plant in the middle of nowhere

꒰ 𓃟 ꒱ the lush, indulgent foyer of a member’s only club

꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ the war room of a military blacksite

꒰ 𓆈 ꒱ the produce aisle of a 24/7 supermarket

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ the bedside of someone who doesn’t want you there

꒰ 𓅟 ꒱ the walk-in fridge of a failing restaurant

꒰ 𓃵 ꒱ a rickety old barn’s hayloft

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ at work, far later than you should be

꒰ 𓆌 ꒱ a stranger’s bed at dawn

꒰ 𓆏 ꒱ an airplane hanger

꒰ 𓅭 ꒱ a medical bay that stinks of antiseptic and fear

꒰ 𓆗 ꒱ the kitchen of a derelict house

꒰ 𓃢 ꒱ the dressing room of a luxury department store

꒰ 𓆧 ꒱ the place where grassy plains meet desert dunes

꒰ 𓃔 ꒱ a beach at low tide

[museaway]

ask box trick-or-treat (fic writer edition)

Send an ask with "Trick or treat!" to the writer who reblogged this & you could receive a 3-sentence fic, drabble, headcanon, sneak-peek at a WIP, the last sentence they wrote, a new fic idea, random line from a fic, picture of their notebook, a deleted line they love, an idea for a sequel, something they're researching, behind-the-scenes info on a published fic, or something else!

happy halloween!

reblog to welcome trick-or-treaters to your inbox! 🕸️🦇

[the-bar-sinister]

Nonsexual acts of Intimacy- the sequel - Select from the following and send a pairing

I : Holding hands under the table, or otherwise hidden from view II : Brushing their hair III : Offering them their jacket in the cold/rain IV : Comforting them after a shock V : Listening to their heartbeat VI : Wiping away their tears VII : Kissing their hand VIII : Stargazing/Cloud watching together IX : Listening to the same piece of music X : Coaxing them to eat or drink something  XI : Trading affectionate insults XII : Tucking their hair behind their ear XIII : Holding on to each other in a crowd XIV : Helping them dress or undress XV : Watching them sleep XVI : Singing them a lullaby XVII : Comforting them after a nightmare XVIII : Stroking their cheek XIX : Pressing their foreheads together XX : Falling asleep in their lap XXI : Preparing a meal together XXII : Sharing the same cigarette or drink XXIII : Tucking them in to bed

[rp-meme-glaceon]

💤 Peek into my Character's Dreams 💤

💭 - An ordinary dream

🎀 - A dream that left them feeling happy

☔ - A dream that left them feeling upset

🌈 - A dream from their childhood

🗯️ - An ordinary nightmare

🐛 - An intense nightmare that made them wake up in a cold sweat

⚰️ - A dream/nightmare that featured someone no longer in their life

🌡️ - A fever dream

📿 - A dream your character believes is prophetic

👁️‍🗨️ - A lucid dream

🛏️ - A dream that made your character want to go back to sleep so they could continue the dream

[adaine]

31 + landoscar

“I nicked your shirt on the way out. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lando looks up to see Oscar standing in the doorway to his driver’s room, holding out an old Quadrant t-shirt that’s so worn that he pretty much just wears it to play padel or to get ice in the middle of the night at this point.

The image of it almost makes laughter bubble up in his chest: Oscar trying to be quiet as he rifles through Lando’s suitcase while he sneaks out of his hotel room in the dead of night, tossing aside neutral team kit shirts and designer tops alike to find the raggy old t-shirt that Lando’s worn to death buried in the bottom so that he can take his walk of shame to the hotel room down the hall.

But then, when he gives a touch more thought to it, it makes him go hot all over. Oscar, wearing his shirt. Not just any shirt, but one that specifically from his brand, one that he’s worn a hundred fucking times, one that anyone who knows him well would know is actually his if they saw Oscar walking by in it.

He wonders if the shirt smelled like him when he put it on, notes of his deodorant and aftershave clinging onto the fabric through wash cycles. He wonders if that’s why he chose it.

It makes something possessive rise up in him, even though he’s not meant to be feeling that way about Oscar of all people. Oscar is just the guy he sometimes shags during race weekends, fucking properly before media days and trading hand jobs and blowies when they have to worry about getting in the car. He’s a convenient stopover while Lando can’t be arsed to find a proper girlfriend that sticks. He’s no different from any of the people he takes home from clubs for a night together.

Except, it occurs to Lando that he hasn’t taken anyone home from the clubs in a bit. Not since he and Oscar turned scattered hand jobs in moments of frustration into something a bit more regular.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Oscar to start nicking his shirts every day.

“Don’t mind at all. Sorry that you managed to find the one with a hole in one of the pits,” he says casually, even if he feels like anything but.

Oscar shrugs. “I don’t mind it. It’s not as if I was popping in for a press conference. I just needed something because my shirt was, y’know, compromised.”

That’s a nice way of reminding Lando that he absently grabbed it to wipe come off his stomach last night. Fuck, maybe if they have a quickie now, he can make the same mistake all over again and send Oscar out in his t-shirt for the entire team to see.

Except, they’ve got a meeting in ten. Might be a bit too quick of a quickie, even though the thought of Oscar wearing his clothes already has his dick twitching in his trousers.

“Sorry about that, mate,” he tells him. “You’re welcome to borrow anything you’d like. Blanket offer.”

“Thanks.” Oscar’s smile is soft, but his face is entirely unreadable. Lando hasn’t got the faintest idea if he’s feeling as crazy as he is about wearing his clothes.

“You could also just stay next time,” he adds, heart beating in his ears. He thinks he’s done a good job at playing it off as casual rather than a plea.

Oscar pauses for a second, eyes widening a touch as he must realize the implications of it. Waking up together is a line that they haven’t crossed yet— Oscar always sneaks off right after Lando falls asleep. But Lando wants to see what Oscar looks like when the morning light filters through the blinds. He wants to see how messy his hair gets when he gets up in the morning and he wants to kiss him on the mouth before they’ve had a chance to brush their teeth.

“That’d be nice, I reckon,” Oscar says finally. “Maybe tonight, then?”

Lando grins. “Tonight,” he agrees.

He nods. “I’ll be sure to bring my toothbrush.”

Oscar gives him a small wave and disappears back towards his own driver’s room and Lando buries his face in the shirt. It’s got the faintest hint of sweat in it, smells exactly like Oscar after they’ve fucked, obviously. It’s fucking delicious, in a way it shouldn’t be.

Maybe over the break, he’ll invite him back to his apartment. That way, he can actually see Oscar wearing his clothes when they make breakfast together.

One day, maybe they’ll lose track of whose shirt belongs to whom. Maybe it’ll all just be theirs.

The sound of it makes him fucking mad.

[wri0thesley]

hi sweet Nat, can i ask for size kink with Alhaitham pretty please? ♡

Anonymous asked: Hello! Hope you are having a wonderful day for the ask game how about alhaitham + size kink

great minds think alike....

Alhaitham's height is obvious to anybody who meets him; less obvious, though, is the breadth of him. One often writes it off as perhaps him wearing clothes that flatter him too much, being as it is difficult to look at him for too long without receiving a sardonic gaze back. After all, is he not the man who calls himself a 'feeble scholar' with only the barest uplift of the corner of his mouth?

You, though, are intimately acquainted with everything that Alhaitham has to offer.

With the big hands, stained with ink. With the muscles that ripple beneath his clothing. With the way he towers over you in both stature and in presence. With the size of him, everywhere that it might matter--

Oh, and you couldn't hide anything from him if you tried. He looks at you and he sees straight through you no matter how hard you work to look unruffled by how much of his hand covers your head when he absent-mindedly pats it on his way past. And at times like this--

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He murmurs to you, where you're trapped beneath him, his shoulders casting a shadow over you on the bed. His muscular thighs have pressed your own softer, sweeter ones apart. One of his hands is big enough to encircle both of your wrists, and he uses that to his advantage, veins flexing in his forearms as he keeps those wrists pinioned above your head to ensure you feel utterly at his mercy.

You are warm; flushed, beads of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck, glistening in the valley between your chests. It is not only the warm Sumeru air (though that would be your excuse if he called you out) - but being trapped beneath him like this, being pinned and captured like a little rabbit who has found themselves run afoul of a bigger animal ready to devour them.

"H-hard to believe what?" You whisper out, your heart beating fast against your chest. He lets out a single laugh, as controlled as he always is even though you can see that his cheeks are flushed and you can feel the hot hardness of his cock where it rests against your inner thigh, mixing your slick and his precome.

"That something so tiny could really fit this in them," he says, as if it should be obvious; and to prove his point, he uses his free hand to lift the heavy shaft of his cock, to give it a slow, teasing pump. Even his own hands, so big that they make your breath catch, are not quite big enough to wrap around the full length of it.

Flushed and ruddy, leaking silvery bubbles of precome, a vein on the thickness of his shaft pulsing in time with his even breathing, you can barely stand that he's not putting it inside you. Helplessly, you arch your back, and he laughs again.

"Look," he murmurs, dropping his cock, voice husky. His hand delves now to between your own thighs; two long fingers used to push apart the sticky plump lips of your labia. You keen at the cool air hitting the swollen pearl of your clit, standing to attention, and Alhaitham swoops down to press a single kiss to the bud before he straightens up again. "You're even smaller here."

"A-Alhaitham," you whisper, your body shivering under the fleeting touch of the kiss. His lips are wet and shiny even from that brief shimmering moment of contact, and you think if he doesn't do something about the way your hole is clenching and pulsing around nothing you might just explode. "Please--"

"Oh," he says, with a small smile on his lips. "But I might break you in half."

Lazily, he lets his cock slap lightly against your sex, lets it get soaked in your wetness, lets you helplessly buck against it in the vain hope that you can get him to fuck you or at the very least get a modicum of friction going.

You don't get far. He's too strong, too big - you're helpless beneath the Scribe, at the mercy of whatever whims he decides to enact. You try to change tack.

"You're wasting time!" You tell him breathlessly, trying to appeal to his pragmatism. "You could be fucking me right now instead--"

He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat, regarding you through unfailingly calm emerald green eyes.

"I certainly wouldn't be enjoying myself if you weren't properly ready for me," he says, in the end, and his gaze flickers from your own needy face to the needier sight of your cunt, fluttering and pulsing and leaking all over his bedsheets.

"Hmm. No. I think I'll take my time," he decides, shifting, and you're once again struck by his size, by how much of you he can shelter beneath the oasis of his body. He leans down, his lips against the shell of your ear, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath against the sensitive skin. "After all. I'm a very patient man."

[potatoplace]

SORRY i sent in the request with 💜❤️‍🔥💘 but i meant to add angst (so like a mix of smut and angst) and also 💜 x reader

I'm Good Here

Rhysand x Reader

Warnings: forced bond acceptance, smut, mild angst cause of that (not dub-con, it's mostly sorted before then lol)

Notes: lol you're ALL GOOD don't worry about it 😂 I added a lil fluff towards then end cause I wanna see these two HAPPY, even if it's still a brand new revelation lol. I hope you like it!!

💜 Rhys ❤️‍🔥 smut 💘 mates

18+ only pls

🤍💜❤️‍🔥💜🤍

Dread filled you as a golden tether snapped in your chest, forever binding you to the male in front of you.

Violet eyes went wide for a split second before narrowing, all of his attention now focused solely on you.

This couldn't be happening, you weren't- you weren't even meant to be here. If not for your sister falling ill, you never would have been forced to feed the High Lord sitting on his throne in front of you, you never would have been tied to him for all eternity.

A strong, tanned hand grabbed hold of your wrist, and in an instant you were winnowed out of the throne room of the Hewn City, appearing in a lavishly decorated bedroom.

Already, the heat of the bond was burning within you, even though you had unwittingly accepted it.

Judging from the fire in violet eyes, the same effect was happening to your High Lord.

"Now, now, none of that 'High Lord' business," he purred as he held your hands softly in his. "As my mate, you can call me Rhys. Or whatever you'd prefer, I don't care much so long as you want me."

Want him?

"Yes, my sweet little mate. Y/N, correct?" You nodded slowly, your mind trying to... Reconcile the High Lord you knew to the male in front of you. "Well, Y/N, since we were... unfortunate enough to have the bond accepted with courting," Rhys said, his voice strained. "I'm afraid we don't have much choice in consummating it, but- if you'd wish to leave after, I... All I ask is that you let me offer you protection and provide for you."

You blinked at him, trying to process his words but failing miserably. There was something in them that set your heart at ease, enough to allow you to finally give in to the heat that was now burning through every inch of you.

Your mouth met his firmly, your feet on their tiptoes to reach him. That was all Rhys needed to hoist you into his arms, your legs locking around his hips as he walked the two of you to the bed, gently laying you down and following swiftly after. His lips reconnected, the taste of them sweet from the fruit you'd given him only minutes before, a reminder of the bond pulsing through you.

A tug on the golden thread from him had you gasping, your eyes flying open to meet his, a wicked look dancing in them.

A moment later a tickling sensation breezed across your skin, your eyes looking down to see that your clothes were no more, instead just the slightest hint of dust covering you.

"I'll take my time with you later, but right now, I need to fuck my sweet little mate," Rhys said lowly in your ear, one of his hands already lowered between you.

Just the brush of his cock against your folds had a breathy moan leaving your lips, the noise repeated when he bumped against your clit teasingly.

"Mate," you groaned, letting one of your feet bump his leg.

He let out a chuckle before pressing in slowly, for which you were grateful. Even the overwhelming arousal of the bond wasnt enough to fully prepare you for the stretch, the tiniest bit of pain flaring before it was extinguished by exquisite pleasure.

You both sighed once he was fully seated within you, relishing in the feeling of being so full, and filled by your mate no less.

Your heart sung at the thought, the feeling matched from the other end of the bond.

Moving now, darling, Rhys whispered into your mind, the warning barely preparing you for the snap of his hips, moving out of you only as much as he needed to before burying himself in you once more.

He set a slow, firm pace, increasing as your walls began to flutter.

You could barely breathe when his thumb circled your clit quickly, sending you toppling over the edge after a hard thrust from your mate, a loud moan tumbling from your lips.

Rhys followed you a moment later, his hips twitching as he kissed you, groaning into your mouth when your walls squeezed him before he pulled out.

He stayed over you, his eyes clearer now that the bond had been sated for the moment. "I meant what I said, you know," he said quietly before rolling off of you to your right side, his muscular arms wrapping around you.

"About...?" you trailed off, before it came back to you. "Oh- about me being able to... to leave?" Rhys nodded, a sad look in his eyes. "I... I think... I'm good here, for now."

Stars sparked up in those pretty, violet eyes, a small grin making its way onto his face. "I'm glad to hear that, Y/N. I'm good here, too."

🤍💜❤️‍🔥💜🤍

[snow-blower]

it has been absolutely pouring rain here for the last like two days and i need to cuddle up in front of a fire with a warm tea, a book, and Robb and Grey Wind

Okay, smut is still sucking ass, so may I offer you all this drabble/one-shot thing to keep y'all fed? Anyways, channeled my inner love for folklore and legends here. (Please let me know if there's any grammar or spelling mistakes, no matter how many times I read through, there's something I've missed lol)

Home is Wherever I'm With You.

My Masterlist

Words: 1.7k TW: Reader is pregnant, mention of injury (in the folklore tale), pure fluff. Literally all fluff.

Greywind is the first to notice him standing in the doorway, the direwolf lifting his head to acknowledge his human with a low huff.

Robb leans against the doorway, his lips turned upwards in a soft smile as he watches you. You're sat cross-legged on the ground by the hearth, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a book in your lap. Greywind, ever so clingy, is curled around you with his large head resting in your lap. There's a mug of tea beside you, the steam rising in gentle coils.

Whilst Greywind had noticed him, you were still yet to. You flick through the pages of your book, focused solely on the carefully written words on the parchment. You were completely oblivious to him being there.

Robb simply watches you for a moment, his arms crossed against his chest as he takes in the endearing sight that is you. The fire casts a flickering orange colour over your soft features, making you look ever the more beautiful. You look damn near ethereal sitting there.

The rain patters against the windows, droplets sliding down the paned glass. The sound mixes with the crackling of the hearth and the gentle crinkle of parchment as you flick through your book. It creates an atmosphere that Robb never wants to leave. It's warm and cosy. It's home.

"Darling?" Robb calls softly whilst pushing away from the doorway. He shuts the heavy door behind him, shutting you both in the comfort and peace of your chambers and away from the chaos of politics and duty.

"You look cosy," he teases, unbuckling his sword belt, removing it and propping it up against the wall beside the door. He makes his way towards you, crouching down to peer over your shoulder to see what book it is you're reading.

He can't quite read the title from his position, but he can read a few words on the page. By the looks of it, it seems to be a collection of old folklore tales. One he recognises to be: The Green Man's Tales. It's a collection of old, Northern legends and folklore tales. It's a favourite book of yours — one you've read far too many times. So many times that Robb can no longer count them on his fingers.

"I am," you quip softly, allowing your eyes to move away from your book to look up at your husband. "I'd be even more cosy if you were beside me, though."

Robb chuckles softly at that, the sound soft as it fills you with a warmth. Hearing him happy — especially when you're the reason for it — makes you feel just as happy. Giddy, really.

Turning your head to face him, your nose brushes against his jaw. "Sit with me, my King," you murmur softly, wrapping a hand around his wrist. You tug him to sit down beside you, giggling softly in response to the huff he lets out as he lands on his bottom.

He loves the sounds of your giggles, of your laughter. It's always soft and sweet, lingering with warmth and surrounding him like an angel's whisper.

Extending your arm, you lift the blanket in an offering to Robb. He takes the offer greedily, slipping an arm around your waist as you wrap the furs snuggly around you both.

Tucking you against his side, he turns his head to bury his face against your soft hair. Greywind had long since returned to napping with his head in your lap, his large paws resting against your thighs.

The room is filled with a peaceful silence as you both sit there. You return your attention back to your book, contently leaning back against Robb's side. Your attention occasionally drifts as you take a sip of your warm tea, gulping down the comfort of the warm liquid.

Robb remains by your side with one arm wrapped around your waist, his hand cupping the plush of your hip. His other hand settles on your thigh, every now and then drifting to give Greywind a few pets. But it always quickly returns to the softness of your thighs.

"Read to me," Robb murmurs in your ear, smirking softly as your breath hitches in your throat. He squeezes your thigh encouragingly, bumping your cheek with his nose playfully. "I want to listen to your voice, my sweet. If you'll give me the pleasure of such."

"Of course," you smile softly, knowing you simply can't deny your husband. Even as your cheeks flush a slight red hue, you cannot deny him. Not when his hand on your thigh slides carefully up to your stomach. He rests his hand against the slight swell of there, his thumb brushing along the curve of the baby bump.

Barely a moon into your pregnancy, the bump had begun growing. It's subtle, barely noticeable unless looked at too closely, but it's there.

"This one's about Simeon Star-eyes," you murmur, pointing to the short passage about him on the yellowed parchment. Robb hums, resting his chin against your shoulder. A small encouragement for you to continue.

"Songs sing of a knight who lost his eyes in a tragic fight," You start, keeping your voice low and soft. "Unwilling to let such tragedy deter him, he replaced his lost eyes. He placed glittering gemstones in the empty sockets — deep blue sapphires."

Your soft-spoken words carry throughout the room, and Robb finds himself hanging on every word. He's heard this tale so many times — mostly from you — that he could easily recite it himself, word for word. As he can with every tale in this book. But, listening to you read the words, your hand coming down to rest over his on the bump of your stomach, he finds himself enchanted. Completely and utterly transfixed.

Greywind, who had woken from his slumber seems to mirror his human's action. His yellow eyes peer up at you, his ears twitching with each word from you and his tail thumping happily against the fur rug. Your voice is simply a comfort to the both of them. And Robb has no doubt that your child will feel the same way.

"Tell me more," he pleads softly once he realises you've paused. You're glancing down at him, your nose a breath away from his own. You've caught him staring up at you with adoration as you read and Robb goes a little red in the face at that.

Turning back to the book, you begin reading once more. "Wielding a long spear with daggers bound to each end, he'd spin it in his hands and chop down two men at once."

Robb listens carefully, hanging on each word still. He dips his head to press a few light kisses along your shoulder. They're gentle enough to be innocent, but you know your husband better than that. Yet, you don't call him out in it. Instead, you simply bask in the loving touch.

"Some say the sapphire gemstones allowed him to see what others couldn't — connecting him to the Old Magic." Glancing back down at Robb once more, you lean more into him, unable to bite back the amused breath as he kisses along your skin.

"They also say he was quite the handsome man," you quip teasingly, watching as Robb's gaze quickly snaps towards your own. His eyebrows furrow with suspicion as he processes your teasing words.

"Handsome, you say?" He asks, watching as you bob your head in a nod. Your lip trembles with the effort to bite back a grin, and Robb decides to play along with your attempt to playfully toy his jealousy.

"More handsome than I, my sweet wife?" He questions, all the while his hand on your stomach moves along your ribs, coming to rest just below your breast.

"So the stories say," you giggle, your hand falling from his own as it slides up your body.

"That simply cannot be true," he growls playfully as he pulls back to look at you fully. Your eyes are bright with a playfulness he adores, your cheeks flushed with a mix of love and heat from the fire that continues to flicker away in the heath.

"But it is!" You insist, still biting back a grin. "The stories say so. So, it must be."

Robb gasps dramatically as he pulls back slightly. His hand on your ribs moves to his heart as though he truly were offended by your words. But the grin that pulled at his own lips assured you he truly wasn't.

"I cannot believe this!" He shakes his head, mocking a man truly distraught. "My own wife, mother of my child, believes a legend more handsome than I."

You giggle then, the sound urging him to continue. Quickly, your giggles turn to laughter. He doesn't stop his act of the offended and jealous husband until he's sure you're lacking in oxygen as you laugh.

Robb chuckles then, dropping the act and pulling you close. "I love you, my darling." He murmurs against your temple, breathing in the floral scent of your hair. "Even if you think a dead man more attractive than me."

"I love you too," you breathe out, trying to steady your voice and avoid falling into another giggling fit.

Robb lets you return to your book, holding you against his chest as you continue to read quietly to him. His hand on your ribs returns to the soft swell of your stomach as he allows his thoughts to drift. And drift they do.

You've given him a child. A baby he'll love and cherish. A baby that will be so loved by yourselves and the entirety of Winterfell. Robb knows that when the baby is born, you'll read to him too. Whatever tales you think the little one would like, you'd no doubt read. Robb wouldn't be surprised if he'd come back from his duties one evening to your chambers filled to the brim with random books.

He smiles at the thought, his chin returning to sit against your shoulder. He lets your voice fill his ears, chasing away any lingering thoughts of his duties, of the wars. For a moment he lets himself relax with you in his arms. Your soft voice mixed with the peaceful ambience of the crackling fire and rain gently hitting the windows, lulls Robb into a sleep.

Greywind seems to have drifted off alongside Robb, his tail relaxing against the fur rug.

When you notice Robb lost in slumber, you smile softly at the sight. Pressing a light kiss to his jaw, you pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders before once more returning to your book.

[tuxedokit-sys-selfships]

☔️ rain/storm + birds of a feather

where was that idiot?!

the clouds had gathered about an hour ago, dark and menacing, blotting out any hint of the warm afternoon sun. emeryst was annoyed as they soared away from their village to revali's personal training ground. what a prick. couldnt be bothered to come home in the face of a, judging by the general atmosphere, huuge thunderstorm. as rain started to dot their wings and cloud their vision, all emeryst could think about was how fucking annoying this guy was.

sure, he was talented, and definitely easy on the eyes. but good lord he was arrogant. he was self-absorbed, impulsive, selfish, and favoured by the PRINCESS OF HYRULE, as well as rest of the village despite constantly tooting his own horn, so to speak.. whether he'd earned those bragging rights was irrelevant, as far as emeryst was concerned. if he really was as great as he said, maybe he'd be courteous and come home when the weather called for it instead of dicking around until the elder sent some poor sap to go fetch him.

the rain was as quick as they were, and was coming down in full by the time they landed. going home was gonna suck. emeryst looked around and, lo and behold, there he was. flying circles around that.. rock. thing. to be honest, emeryst had never actually been here. most of the village hadnt. as previously stated, it was revalis ~personal~ training grounds, and they had heard he was a bit... particular about guests. oh well. sucks to be him.

they landed, taking a moment to breathe underneath the shelter. it was nice. after a quick shake, they approached the takeoff point, quickly finding revali with a new set of arrows ready to release. he was drenched, and it was visibly weighing him down.

"REVALI!"

he fired and he missed and he shouted something that sounded like a cuss. he glided a little closer, visibly annoyed.

"What do you want?"

"WHAT?"

the rain was loud. revali's irritation grew more obvious as he approached his shelter to find out what they had ruined his shot for.

"I said, what the hell do you want?"

"rude." emeryst grumbled, rolling their eyes.

"elder kaneli sent me... you do know theres a thunderstorm, right?"

their tone was between sarcastic and patronizing. honestly, they wouldnt have been surprised if he didnt.

the rain seemed to get a little heavier, as if to punctuate their question. thunder rolled quietly, distant. approaching.

"Of course I know that, you idiot. Training is important, regardless of the weather; war doesn't reschedule for a little rain, so neither will I."

he sounded so smug, satisfied. he had clearly decided that was all that needed to be said. that was that, he wins. not on your watch. for their sanity, emeryst elected to ignore his insult.

"this isn't "a little rain" revali, this is serious! it has to be, the elder wouldnt send one of us out here in this if it were. please, i just want to go home and wait this out, and im not leaving without you."

emeryst started strong, but by the end of it exasperation bled through. revali opened his beak to reply, but lightning struck before he could. not them, thankfully, but close enough to temporarily blind them. close enough to hear the noise only a moment later.

"well, looks like leaving is off the table for the both of us." revali looked so, so irate, until he smirked.

"guess i ought to get back to—"

"im not letting you go out there."

what followed was essentially the dumbest game of british bulldog ever seen by nobody. not that anyone here would know what that is. hell, i didnt even know. i had to google it. in case you also dont know, its a playground game where one person stops other people from getting past them via any means necessary. you can imagine how that goes. thunder crackles and booms throughout their 'fight' and neither of them notice.

it ended with the two rito in a heap on the ground, panting. emeryst glared down at the champion beneath them, and tried really, really hard not to get flustered by their proximity. or think about the way the rain had slicked back his feathers, or the muscles beneath them.

"are you done?"

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ build-a-fic no. 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

➴ chose a scent, an item of clothing and a weather forecast (a number, letter, + creature), and write/request to your heart’s content my dears!

𓂃 ࣪˖ a smell

꒰ 1 ꒱ rich, incensed perfume

꒰ 2 ꒱ burnt coffee

꒰ 3 ꒱ resinous pine needles

꒰ 4 ꒱ steadily-baking bread

꒰ 5 ꒱ inescapably strong disinfectant

꒰ 6 ꒱ expensive, pungent red wine

꒰ 7 ꒱ cheap cologne

꒰ 8 ꒱ salty air rolling off of crashing sea waves

꒰ 9 ꒱ mouth-watering home cooking

꒰ 10 ꒱ a too-strong vanilla candle

꒰ 11 ꒱ fresh-cut, perfectly ripe stone fruits

꒰ 12 ꒱ overpowering tiger balm

꒰ 13 ꒱ smoke unfurling from a wood fire

꒰ 14 ꒱ spiced incense

꒰ 15 ꒱ all-too familiar coconut shampoo

꒰ 16 ꒱ strong herbal lavender

꒰ 17 ꒱ newly turned earth

꒰ 18 ꒱ motor oil

꒰ 19 ꒱ just-washed bedsheets

꒰ 20 ꒱ petrichor after a rainshower

𓂃 ࣪˖ a piece of clothing

꒰ A ꒱ a wrinkled black tie

꒰ B ꒱ mismatched socks

꒰ C ꒱ faded blue jeans

꒰ D ꒱ a hotel bathroom

꒰ E ꒱ a stolen hoodie

꒰ F ꒱ a crisp white button-down

꒰ G ꒱ an expensive, lush fur coat

꒰ H ꒱ a pair of beaten-up combat boots

꒰ I ꒱ plaid pajama pants

꒰ J ꒱ loose-fitting boxer shorts

꒰ K ꒱ a yellow football jersey

꒰ L ꒱ a papery hospital gown

꒰ M ꒱ a blue, lacy thong

꒰ N ꒱ a brown belt with a gold buckle

꒰ O ꒱ cheap swimming garb

꒰ P ꒱ six-inch high heels

꒰ Q ꒱ a dark-red evening gown

꒰ R ꒱ a thick knitted sweater

꒰ S ꒱ a chef’s white coat

꒰ T ꒱ a flimsily-made tourist t-shirt

𓂃 ࣪˖ a weather advisory

꒰ 𓆉 ꒱ hammering, unrelenting rain

꒰ 𓅨 ꒱ warm, golden sunshine

꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ hair-raising rolls of thunder

꒰ 𓃰 ꒱ thick, looming fog

꒰ 𓃗 ꒱ a clear, chilly evening

꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ blazing heat

꒰ 𓃟 ꒱ a nighttime lightning storm

꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ a grey sky laden with rainclouds

꒰ 𓆈 ꒱ cold, drizzly mist

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ an unexpected snowstorm

꒰ 𓅟 ꒱ bone-chilling sleet

꒰ 𓃵 ꒱ breathless humidity

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ blustery winds

꒰ 𓆌 ꒱ rain-induced floods

꒰ 𓆏 ꒱ spitting showers of hailstones

꒰ 𓅭 ꒱ a freezing, sudden drop in temperatures

꒰ 𓆗 ꒱ a hurricane warning

꒰ 𓃢 ꒱ a tropical storm

꒰ 𓆧 ꒱ a warm, temperate breeze

꒰ 𓃔 ꒱ road-closing landslides

[bberetd]

Hmm how about 3 D for Mario and 4 A for Luigi for the expression game?

big mad

[vendetta-if]

Texting Yvette everday, just to say fuck you lol

Jokes on you, Yvette would definitely take it as a good sign somewhat 😭

She’d be gushing to Skylar like, “Oh my God, Skylar! They’re still texting me everyday! That means I still have a chance to reconcile right?”

“Uhh… What did they text? Is it another ‘fuck you’?” Skylar asks hesitantly.

“Yes and yes, I know it sounds bad, but at least they’re taking the time to text me every day! How many mothers out there can say that their kid texts them everyday?”

Skylar’s smile is strained as they try to share their mentor’s enthusiasm and hopefulness (and delusion). “Haha… Yeah… Even I sometimes forget to text my own mom for holidays…” they reassure, not having the heart to break the more possible harsh truth to Yvette.

“I know they still care deep down… I just need to try harder…” she sighs wistfully.

But yeah, as some have said, the opposite of love is indifference. Fully cutting contact with Yvette would hurt Yvette even more because there’s completely no connection whatsoever for her to latch on 🥺😥

[noirsdoll]

I NEED to saw daddy curly being obsessed with daughter reader to the point she uses it against him, to have him eat her out whenever she wants, touch him however she pleases cause he’ll always enjoy it and can’t say to to her

i fw you so hard anon.. #needthat #needdadcurly i think curly is the biggest pushover ever and has SUCH a problem w saying no also he has an oral fixation cuz i said so

cw: father/daughter incest, ddlg (daddy kink), praise, pussy eating, oral fixation, soft!dom curly, dead dove do not eat

Daddy won’t say it, but you know he likes it when you don’t wear panties.

He averts his eyes, avoiding the sliver of your cunt that he can see when you part your legs oh-so-discreetly. Curly can pretend to be moral about it all he wants, you don’t mind. You have plenty of mental images of him between your legs to soothe your imagination.

Curly spoils you rotten, he falls apart at the sight of a trembling bottom lip, never mind the crescent shape of your ass peeking out from the bottom of your shorts, the gentle curve of your tits. In every aspect of your life, he’s pliable, bending to your will and your begging. It’s only fair considering he spends so much time away from you— how could he ever say no?

He gets so pouty when he returns from a freight, bemoaning how much you’ve grown, how your days as his little girl are slipping through his fingers like sand. You’d tell him your cunt hasn’t changed— it still remains that tight, warm hug, ready to pull your daddy close and never let him go.

Daddy loves putting his mouth on you whenever he can, like there’s a meter you’re constantly filling that seems to cap off the second he gets you alone. It started with simple things– kisses on your temple and cheek, good mornings murmured hazily into your hair from behind. Then he realized you reciprocated that filthy want that was eating him from the inside.

It progressed to love bites, hickies bitten into your inner thighs and placed delicately along your collarbones. He caught you trying to cover them up once and stopped you, swiping the makeup away with his thumb and sucking the marks in deeper.

But no, he avoids that pretty cunt of yours, even while knowing you’d give it up without question and knowing just how much he wants it. How he pauses between your thighs, his eyes dragging up along your skin and landing on your pussy that hasn’t seen underwear in weeks. Puffy lips framing that delicate clit, the perfect sucker for Daddy’s oral fixation.

He finally does it when your fingers thread in his hair, listlessly tugging his head closer to the apex of your thighs, where you’ve been silently begging him to go all this time. Curly’s eyes dart up and down and up again, and the way his gaze finally lowers and stares at your cunt tells you he’s ready. This is the moment.

“Look at you, sweetheart.” He doesn’t even need to touch you to tell how wet you are, pearly cream dripping from your hole like he’s already filled you up. You’re aroused just from his kisses, the heat of his hot mouth pressed to your flesh. 

“Just want you, Daddy,” you gasp, sucking down each breath. “Want your mouth.” You’re so turned on by his heated gaze that you hardly have room to breathe.

“Yeah? This is all for me, baby?” His voice rumbles, whispered to you in a low pitch that smears warmth over your insides. 

You nod feverishly, your chest squeezing tight as Curly gently pushes your thighs apart to give himself room. His stubble brushes your soft skin and you strangely don’t mind the thought of carpet burn. 

Daddy always knows exactly what to say, and he knows the perfect way to work you down there. His warm tongue slides into your pussy, his nose bumping your clit. 

It’s life-changing, the type of shock that makes the world feel real, that gives a soul purpose. He sinks deeper, wrapping his big hands around your thighs. Daddy’s buttery lashes flutter closed, this is the most tranquil he’s ever looked.

He glances up at you, his eyes so deep they look navy— like the sky right before it goes dark. It turns your spine to liquid, it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright.

Daddy licks into you like he has all the time in the world, gently coaxing out your orgasm like he can have another whenever he wants. Your head spins at the implication. He knows he has you forever. His little girl.

Your head goes quiet, not a single thought left standing to rattle around in your skull. Just a mindless chant of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy is all that remains.

Your thighs tremble around his head, threatening to shut him off from the outside world, forcing him to pay attention to your cunt and nothing more. You whine loud when he kisses your clit. 

“You can take another, sweetheart,” he coos, “c’mon, baby, doing so good for me.” His voice is heavy, weighted with lust– yet he never pushes to give you his cock, content to please you like this.

You feel cradled, just how you were in his arms when you were younger. His to hold and cherish. Daddy sucks on your sensitive clit with a sound so lewd that your pussy clenches around nothing. You try to wrench yourself away from the overstimulation.

He doesn’t hold you down, he waits for you to settle back toward him, melting with a purr. Your eyes drop to half-mast and you let him sink his tongue into you. Daddy swallows down your slick, one hand grabbing your ass and spreading you wider.

Your hips squirm against his tongue, your second orgasm impending. You remember when the idea of his mouth on you was so far away. Now, you can’t imagine how you went your whole life without it.

You can’t help it, everything clenching, your nails digging into your palms as you cum with a pitched whine. Your vision goes white with pleasure.

It’s only when Daddy comes into view that you calm back down. He cups your face, kissing you earnestly, deeply, letting you revel in the moment.

“Did that feel good, baby?” Curly kisses you again once you catch your breath. “Yeah, bet it did, sweetheart.” 

“Ready for another?”

[wri0thesley]

(Removing) corset kink? 🤪 with Diluc 😘🥰🥰

my beautiful wife who hits me where it hurts

Diluc is always achingly slow undressing you.

It hasn't always been this way - the first few times, when the two of you were still nervous about this new arrangement, his hands had fumbled with your buttons and your clasps - and in his nervousness, he had singed your corset ribbons, coming dangerously close to the soft, unmarked skin of your back. He had apologised profusely in that low, intense voice, his palms still searing hot as they'd slid down the curve of your spine--

But he'd made sure, the next time, that he'd taken his time, if only to try and ensure that he didn't leave you with scorch marks on your pretty things and burns upon your flesh.

It is not an entirely unwelcome change, but the sensation of your gown being slipped past one shoulder and then another, of every inch of skin being exposed so slowly that time ticks by like treacle . . . well, it's enough to make the heat in your stomach coalesce into a ball of need so intense that you can barely stand it.

Warm lips caressing the nape of your neck, sliding down, down, over your shoulderblades. His fingers, following the line of your corset with a soft sigh.

"You always dress so nicely for me," he whispers, his voice rough with the grit of desire as it curls like smoke into your ear. "It's a shame to take it off."

"You're just afraid you'll be too clumsy," you whisper back to him teasingly, and Diluc makes a soft harrumph against your skin that sets your nerves buzzing with anticipation.

"Just for that," he murmurs, and you feel his fingers tug at the ribbons that hold your corset laced, "I'm going to take my time with this."

He's true to his word.

For every millimetre of your corset that he sees fit to unlace, he spends ten seconds kissing at your bare skin, sucking at your shoulders until you're sure lovebites will bloom all over you, letting his warm breath fan over skin that he already knows is aflame with your want for him. You squirm in front of him - at one point you even reach up, to try and undo the catches at the busk of the corset yourself, only to find your wrists pinned by his hand.

"If you're going to be like that," Diluc murmurs, with an undercurrent of steel that reminds you of how feared he is amongst certain subsets of villains, "then I'll simply have to tie your wrists up with your ribbons, won't I?"

The threat shimmers in the air, as you swallow back your protestation with an indecently loud noise that makes Diluc groan in the back of his own throat - but you're well-behaved, as you take the kisses and the touches and the softness, even as you blaze with need. You can feel your nipples, tight and wanting, pressing against the chemise you wear beneath the corset. You can feel your own slickness as it practically drips down your thighs, soaking the little scrap of silk that is masquerading as underwear. And most of all, you can feel him, his own want just as hazy as yours.

When Diluc finishes - when the corset is finally peeled away, when you can turn and throw yourself at him and kiss him as hungry and needy and fiercely as you wanted to the whole time, the heat in the room still feels hot enough to burn through satin.

[potatoplace]

OMGG can you please do a dark High king and queen🩵💜 that discover reader is their mate 🤭

(Un)Lucky Soul

Dark!Feysand x Reader

Notes: non-consensual bond acceptance (you don't know that's what's gonna happen 🤷‍♀️)

🩵💜 Feysand 🤍 Reader 🖤 Dark Fic 💘 Mates

Notes: eeee I love High King and Queen Feysand, they can rule the whole world idc just let them be sexy n powerful (my brain is not very coherent today lol) I hope you guys like it! 🫶 Request Game | Masterlist

18+ only pls

🩵💜🤍💜🩵

"You- come forward," a rich voice commanded, and the power laced into the words could have only come from one male - your High King.

Your head snapped to look at him, sitting at the far end of the room in a throne, your High Queen seated in her matching one, wanting to see who they had called forth.

And to your utter surprise, their eyes were on you, violet and blue searing into your skin.

Hands pushed you gently from behind, your head whipping to see who had offered you up - your mother and father, a hint of fear in their eyes but mostly- mostly pride.

Every so often they did this, choosing a soul from the crowd of their subjects to join them for the night. And apparently... tonight you had been chosen.

Your feet managed to carry you across the throne room, heart in your throat as all eyes stayed glued to you, everyone curious as to what would become of you.

You regretted being one of them, before tonight.

Stopping at the edge of the dias their thrones rested upon, you kept your eyes trained at their feet, waiting for their demand.

"Look up, dear," your High Queen said, and your eyes snapped to hers instinctively. Her blue eyes shined warmly, an inviting smile on her lips. "What is your name, darling?"

"Y/N, my Queen," you answered, cursteying as elegantly as you could.

"Come here, Y/N," Feyre said, patting her lap twice, a demand you would be foolish to refuse. You stepped onto the dias and up to her throne, your eyes darting nervously between her and your King as you approached them. Her lap was warm through the sheer silk of her dress, her bare arms turning you so your legs dangled onto her mate, heels landing in his lap.

They were even more stunning close up, impossibly beautiful, but it was Feyre who held your attention, her warm eyes and full pink lips so difficult to look away from. When you did, you'd inevitably be drawn back in by a breath or a shift of her head. And their scents - a delicious combination of lilac and pears, citrus and sea that had your head feeling fuzzy, unable to keep your thoughts straight for more than a few seconds at a time.

This was far different from what they normally did - usually their plaything of the evening would sit at their feet, holding their wine glasses until they decided to retire for the night, taking the unlucky soul with them.

"Mm, but you're not any little soul," Feyre whispered in your ear, cheeks flushing when you remembered they could hear your every thought.

Your High King snapped his fingers, and a servant brought over a tray of chocolate dipped fruits.

"Rhys," he said authoritatively as he picked up a raspberry, holding it to your lips. "Open, but don't bite," Rhys instructed you, placing the sweetened fruit on your tongue, letting the pad of his thumb drag across your bottom lip. "Now, do the same for both of us, darling."

You nodded nervously, plucking a piece of chocolate covered pineapple from the platter and placing it on Rhys's tongue, his lips wrapping around your fingers. Heat rushed to your core as you pulled your hand away, grabbing a small strawberry next. Your eyes turned to Feyre, part of you delighted to see her lips already parted, pink tongue sticking out from between them. The berry was placed on her tongue, her painted lips also closing around your fingers as you pulled them away.

Bite down, Rhys's midnight voice spoke into your mind, and you followed the command without a thought.

Heat rushed through you as you did, the perfect couple next to you doing the same. Two golden threads tugged on your heart at the same time, making themselves known and solidifying in an instant, a gasp leaving you at the overwhelming feeling of it.

"Bow to your new queen," Rhys - The High King, in this moment - demanded, and in a wave of movement, each citizen gathered, regardless of Court or status, bowed deeply, waiting for their rulers' command to stand.

But it never came - Feyre had already winnowed the three of you to a bedroom, the mating frenzy already beginning to take its course.

🩵💜🤍💜🩵