#eugh i finally finished this

[alackofghosts]

they're so silly 🥹

[non-un-topo]

(Title card) They did 'cured leper'

[emily-prentits]

Hi! I saw in a recent tag of yours that you have a secret agent Cindy au. 👀

Is this a fic? Does Cindy fake her death? I’m very intrigued I would love to know more.

yes i do actually!! it's a wip i've had in the works for a long time and she does fake her death (for the drama <3

no)t many people know about the actual details but I did post a moodboard about a year ago, you can see here! it's slightly based off the show Alias (the one with Jennifer Garner, not sure if there are others). if I were to actually finish the fic I would change the moodboard AND the title but this is just what I have as of rn.

a short(ish) summary:

Cindy and Felicia had worked together once, as partners (in both senses of the word). after a mission gone wrong there was a hit put out on Cindy by some gang or other and the logical option, of course, is to fake her death. Cindy tells no one except her boss (thinking this is going to be mockingbird), and they fake her death. she disappears to the other side of the country for two years.

during this time, Felicia has leaned more into the life of a villain, and she's thriving in her life of crime. they meet again when Cindy returns to NYC, and Felicia gets mad-- even more so as the extent of Cindy's betrayal (ha) is revealed to her. none of the stuff she's going through at seeing the former love of her life alive helps when suddenly they're thrust back into a mission together. supposedly they're okay and they've made their peace with each other, Felicia with Cindy faking her death and leaving her to deal with it, and Cindy with the fact that Felicia is mad and wants nothing to do with her. clearly, they've moved on from being in love as well. (they haven't <3)

it's a gala fic! because I do love those. some of my favs make an appearance as well, Saya, Lola, Rafferty. some others I think, although it's been a while since I've opened the doc and really looked through it. the main plot is them going through the motions of planning out and executing the mission, but all the while they're watching one another and wondering if the other still loves them. when they think the love is unrequited but its not 🫶 🫶 🫶

“Black Cat,” the agent reads as she approaches, an amused smile dancing in her eyes as she peers at Felicia over the piece of paper she’s reading from. “I’m Silk. Quite the name you have.” “That’s rich coming from a girl code-named Silk,” Felicia scoffs, tossing her hair out of her eyes in order to better study the approaching agent. She’s shorter than Felicia, just short enough where she has to tilt her head back to look her in the eye. Dark hair brushes the tops of her shoulders, framing an annoyed expression. “Really?” She says. “At least black cats are a thing. What on earth is a silk? Like the worm?” Silk rolls her eyes. “Like the spider.” “My apologies, Silk-the-spider.” Felicia grins. It’s easy to get under Silk’s skin, and knowing that fact makes it all the more fun. “Do you have spider powers?”

[vzajemnik]

need to go to the cluuuuuubbbbb........nye come sooner😔

[ectoplasmer]

FINALLY FINISHED NIGHTMARE TROUBADOUR!!! IT HAS BEEN OVER TWO YEARS!!!!!! anyway marik

[orcelito]

well the good news is im gonna look the part of someone who hasnt been to class in several weeks

[mwagneto]

IT'S ONLY ONE SEASON?? bruh i thought I'd have to go through another season of this. jesus christ

[bitterpngs]

yeah i think i should just give up

[caramelmochacrow]

hhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I WOULD LIKE TO WRITE TOWANOA BUT IVE GOT NO CLUE WHAT TO DO W THEM....

[alittlebitofpeculiarity]

why did i think it was a good idea to get addicted to movies again when the first day of classes just started today! me and my dumbass moods never synchronized with the schedule

[skylardoesthings]

Where the hell can i watch rotmnt

[pinknipszz]

POUND TOWN!

modern au, 18+, mdni pls

“sukuna,” you click your tongue, arms crossed over your chest as you stare at the tall, pink-haired man standing at your doorstep. he doesn’t look that different since you last saw him, wearing the same loose wife-beater tank top and grey sweatpants. your nose scrunches up when you catch a whiff of him, as if he can’t decide between cheap cologne, weed, or gym sweat. “what are you doing here?”

“got bored,” he deadpans, tilting his head slightly to catch a glimpse of your apartment through the gap, half-expecting a thing or two to look different. you only sigh and shake your head. sukuna has a strange habit of popping up out of nowhere, knocking on your door, stealing some food, and fooling around for a bit before disappearing for months. when you think sukuna is gone for good, he comes back. like a stray cat. 

you probably shouldn’t be taking in a stray so easily, especially one with claws, but how were you supposed to know that a simple conversation starter like “you smell like blue razz ice” would plant the seed of a beautiful friendship with the hottest plug in the city? it's a little unconventional but neither of you care. what irks you, though, is his shitty timing. “you can’t be here right now,” you say. “i’m busy with something.”

but instead of apologizing for disturbing your peace like any normal person, sukuna plants a foot against the door and pushes open with full-force. you yelp and jump back quickly before it slams against your face, but the drywall isn’t so lucky. you think you hear a loud crack. “what the hell is your–!” before you could finish, the bastard shoves past you and waltzes in like he owns the place. what a fucking bitch!

you lock the door, grumbling. seems like he hasn’t changed much in personality either. when you follow his trail and catch him digging through your fridge, you can’t bite back the sarcasm. “are you that much of a lousy deadbeat to go through girls’ apartments for food?” sukuna turns to flip you off before resuming his venture.

“i know you have more than fucking vegetables in here,” he scoffs, “where is the— gotcha.”

he pulls out your familiar container for leftovers. you don’t even remember what you cooked. it could’ve been weeks old, but sukuna clearly doesn’t have half the mind to care as he rips off the lid and eats with his free hand. “eugh. you’re disgusting,” rolling your eyes, you leave the kitchen and make your way towards the couch to continue your show. you doubt you’ll even enjoy yourself with him around, but whatever.

you won’t let that guy get to your head. just pretend he isn’t there. it's not that serious. the knots in your shoulders loosen when you lean back against the couch and reach for the remote to adjust the volume until sukuna’s shuffling is reduced to nothing but background noise. and it works for the most part. you don’t know how much time passes, maybe an hour or two, until you almost forget he's even there.

a heavy weight precariously plops beside you. cheap cologne, weed, gym sweat. they overwhelm your senses entirely. “breaking bad? is this some kind of joke? thought you said you were busy,” sukuna throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you close. he doesn’t budge when you try to shove him away, so you resort to pinching his side instead, earning a sharp yelp from the young man. “obviously i am. and don’t get so full of yourself. you don’t even cook.”

he mutters a few words under his breath, probably something vile and venomous, but you couldn’t care less and revert your attention back to the tv. you've waited this long for the show's season finale, and you'll be damned if you let this bastard distract you. but sukuna thinks more with his dick than his brain, evident in the way that the hand on your shoulder slides down and finds your waist, rubbing small circles and squeezes tight on the meat of your flesh.

the episode continues, but you don’t even know what’s happening anymore. when you decide that it's futile to watch without any knowledge of what happened prior, you sigh inwardly and glance to your side. sukuna isn't even looking at the tv.scrolling through his phone, he looks bored and uninterested, as if there's a million other things he could be doing right now. but he’s here with you, holding you close, which is entirely unbecoming for a man like him.

your heart twinges. no, you scold yourself, not for him. anyone but him. sukuna is a stray cat that takes and takes and takes. a storm that wreaks havoc, leaves chaos and destruction in his wake before disappearing like mist. there’s always an underlying motive with him, one that forces you to pick apart his words and play detective for a mystery not worth divulging. 

“relax,” he tuts. but you can’t. not when his hand travels lower down your side, poking and prodding, teasing the waistband of your shorts. and when his fingertips finally melt into unmarred flesh, heat pools deep in your stomach. “sukuna,” comes his only warning. the man of the hour merely flashes a shit-eating grin before he grabs your jaw and presses his mouth to yours.

you taste the earth on his tongue. it’s sweet and smokey and slightly bitter. with a hint of fruit and leftovers from your fridge. strong arms wrap around you properly, holding you close, so close that his heart beats against your own. you kiss him back eagerly. sukuna’s hands move with intent, relearning parts of your body that were forgotten throughout your time apart. when he bites your lips raw, you whimper.

“i know baby, i know,” he hushes in between wet kisses. he pushes until your back hits the cushions underneath. sukuna climbs over and grabs your thighs with two strong hands, cock twitching in his pants at how your flesh spills between his fingers. he positions them over his shoulders and leans down for another a searing kiss. you’re smothered like this, rendered useless under the weight of him and your knees against the sides of your head, pushed far beyond a mating press.

you moan in his mouth when he grinds against you. “i know how much you miss me, miss my cock,” sukuna snarls out, jaw clenching with impatience as he tears through your shorts. the cold air slams against your cunt like a sledgehammer. the ceiling spins overhead. “i’m here, i’ll take care of you.” it’s a salacious promise that he seals with a tender kiss against your temple. you’re writhing, slurring his name as you blink blearily through the blood rushing to your head. he makes a show of pulling himself out of his pants.

sukuna runs a thumb over your folds before smearing the lewd concoction of slick and precum with the tip of his cock. the sight of your sopping hole is obscene, no doubt about it, but that hardly matters now. “put it in already,” you whine with tears collecting in your lashes, the position too taxing for your body. and for once, sukuna listens. he leans forward, groaning as he feeds inch after inch of his hard length into your aching hole. there’s a ring of pink stretched taut around him when he pulls back just slightly. you dig your painted nails in his bicep, squealing.

no matter how many times he’s fucked you, with three fingers or more, cock or toys, it always feels like the first time. “s–slow down–” comes a mewl from underneath him when he pushes in too eagerly. sukuna's eyes flit down to take in the sight of you, flushed out and gorgeous, and decides to tease your pitiful sensitivity. a loud moan is ripped from your throat when he pinches your clit. you try to squirm away.

“oh come on. quit pretending you don’t like it when i do that,” sukuna snickers, readjusting his grip on your plush waist before plunging in. hard. you wail at the motion, eyes fluttering close as the lines of your body arch up to meet him. when you’re like this, soft and pliant, sukuna pounds into you easily, molding your walls into the shape of his cock until your wet heat is nothing but a furnace for him to melt into. 

and then you feel his lips against your jaw, dry and chapped and dragging harshly. the rhythm he sets is nothing short of violent. your moans and his, ladened with the sounds of skin-on-skin, blend together in a filthy cacophony that you can hardly register over the thick scent of sex that leaves your head spinning. in between mindless thrusts, a pink tongue darts out to sample the sheen of sweat on your skin. you drool deliriously at the sensation.

then sukuna pulls back to watch you, your legs remaining in their rightful place over his shoulders. a hand travels down to where you are connected and collects your slick between two fingers. he smears it all over, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your clit before spreading your folds apart. “look at her,” he coos, grinning wickedly as he watches your greedy cunt swallow each sizable inch with each poignant snap of his hips. “what a delicious looking thing.”

“sukuna,” your lips fall open at the praise so invitingly that it’d be a crime not to take the opportunity. it’s a clash of teeth when he finally kisses you. sloppy and hungry and urgent, like a man who’s been starved for years. he drinks your moans and savors them, brushing against your tongue and gliding over the roof of your mouth, hips never ceasing their violent rhythm. when you realize the strange intimacy in this position, you feel the familiar, guttural sensation just beneath our gut.

and sukuna feels it too, the way your walls tighten around him. growling with newfound fervor, he leaves a string of spit when he pulls away to angle your hips and hammer against your cervix, eager to finish with you. screams echo across your apartment. he pants quietly, eyes ablaze and lips swollen from your incessant teeth. your body shivers and twitches from carnal ecstasy, addicted to the thick intrusion that nudges the deep bundle of nerves within you. a spot that only sukuna can reach.

the thought does something to you, because your body decides then to tense up against him, clamping hard around his perimeter and soaking his cock in squirt. although his hips stutter, sukuna doesn't relent and fucks through your tight walls. you cry out and hold him close, digging deep scores down the broad expanse of his back before sukuna finally empties himself with one last thrust. a full-body shudder racks through your body. the sensation tears a second orgasm from your twitching cunt.

through the ringing in your ears, you heave a sigh of content. your companion chuckles and collapses on top of you without bothering to pull out. “i’m coming back next week. got kicked out of my old place,” he suddenly mumbles in the crook of your neck, barely audible. you register his words through post-coital bliss. when you don't respond, he turns his head, but you're already looking at him. studying the expression on his face.

"fine," you concede. "but you better get a real job."

(masterlist) | (a/n: tell ur man to wash his pp before sex. idk if this gets a p.2)

[moonshine-dan]

crossfade

oh god this was supposed to be for a collab but anyway

He said he could handle a little smoking. Maybe he lied. Maybe he's also hard. Either way, help him out.

Contains: recreational drug use (weed), mildly dubious consent (due to the drug use), dry humping, coming in pants

Sounds – smoke – voices –-  

It’s overwhelming until it cuts off.  

Tanaka's raucous laughter muffles abruptly as you pull the bathroom door shut behind you. Compared to the makeshift hotbox you’ve been spending the last half an hour in, the cool air of the hallway almost hurts to breathe, suddenly much too sharp and dry. The shock makes your eyes water. You screw them shut but vertigo warps you side-side-sideways until you’re certain the floor must be rising to meet you. It nearly lays you out, but the wall thankfully catches you. Your eyes open blearily after the impact, now less dry but just as bloodshot.  

There was no need to worry that Kei had left you behind. He also hasn’t made it very far. He's walking, or trying to, forearm braced on the wall as he steps very deliberately down the hall. You open your mouth to call for him, but you cough, buckling slightly.  

eugh. It's impossible to try to multitask until your body finishes adjusting. You force your thoughts to collect around what feels like a plank of wood lodged squarely in your forehead.  Focus: Tsukki is going back downstairs. The rest of the party is down there. Walk. You've done this before.  

You wrangle your senses and focus on your boyfriend's back. Vertigo doesn’t strike as hard with a visual anchor, you remember, temples pulling lightly as you try to mentally bully your body into submission. You catch up to him fast. He's barely made it farther than you. He either smoked more, which is unlikely – he was coughing so much he was probably getting most of his secondhand- or he was much more affected than you were.  

“I can handle myself,” he had said. The memory of Kei’s self-assured monologue on the front step bounces around your skull as you watch him finally make it to the stairwell. He looks down and pauses, blinking slowly. He raises a shaky foot, but stops again, frozen in what looks like a sloppy beginner’s yoga pose.  

Several seconds pass.  

He doesn’t move.  

“Tsukki?”  

If he was startled by your silent approach, it doesn’t show. There’s a slight tremor in his raised leg.  

“Are you... okay?”  

He doesn’t respond. Music drifts up from the stairwell. Muffled sounds of conversation leak from the door behind you.  

There’s no tension in his bloodshot eyes when he turns to face you. His mouth is hidden by his outstretched arm, but you still just barely catch his reply:  

“.... I don’t think I can make it down the stairs.”  

He stays frozen by the banister, staring slightly past you.  

You’re starting to think he may have overstated how experienced he actually was.  

The couch in the spare room took Tsukishima’s weight easily, but the force of his graceless collapse sent the purse resting on it to the floor. You follow him down with a little more thought, perched on his splayed thighs and nestling into his neck. The fabric of the jacket underneath both of you is plush under your knees. Kei’s pulse beats sluggishly against your cheek.  

“'s’this better?” you slur into the hollow of his neck.  

He huffs out a breath before replying, voice still thick and hoarse from the smoke.  

“Easier. Than the stairs.”  

His tone is much lighter than usual, and this somehow makes him twice as funny. You giggle belatedly, cheeks tingling with the cicada buzz of nicotine. He’s spread out on the couch like a scarecrow, not even trying to move, just laying where he fell. The steady rise and fall of his chest against yours is the only movement he’s making at all. You nose at the pulse point in his neck and try to burrow deeper, chasing the warmth. He smells bad, but also not? His cologne and smoke and more sweat than usual. Eventually, your previous train of thought works its way out of your mouth.  

“Pfft- too fucked up to move. I thought, I remember you, uh- said you’ve done this before?” Your tongue feels so heavy in your mouth. Thickly, you push it through your lips to swipe at the sweat on his neck.  

Tsukki hums. He lifts up his arm, wrist limp. You track it lazily from the corner of your eye without moving your head. The edges of it seem to blur like long exposure film.  

“I-- it wasn’t this much. Before, I mean.”  

You hum a thoughtful noise back at him as he jerkily twists the arm, hand flapping at the sudden movement. The palinopsia trails behind it like a comet.  It’s so odd, you think hazily, seeing him like this. He’s always so in control. The thought drifts off as fast as it arrived while you watch his hand flop gracelessly. You rock in his lap idly, captivated by the display.  

“I can think. I can move, it’s just... It feels like my body is… brand new.”  

His voice has a rasp to it still from the smoke.  His arm suddenly drops like a stone, pressing you deeper into him. It’s a clumsy attempt at a hug.  

“No–o muscle memory.”  The word drags on longer than he’d normally ever allow it to.

Despite knocking the breath from you momentarily it is comforting. You squirm, vying for a more comfortable position. Tsukki huffs, squeezing his arm tighter.  

“Stop moving.”  

You do not stop moving. The slick fabric of whatever jacket is trapped beneath the two of you is making you lose your position every time you get situated.  

“Slipp’ry,” you explain as articulately as you can.  

He grunts, twisting under you. His thighs press into yours, bucking your legs open wider slowly.  

hh -  

The breath is lost in the slick hiss of his jeans running over the jacket below. You match his movements and press down harder, unthinkingly chasing the feeling. There are too many layers, it’s rough and the zipper of your pants is digging uncomfortably, but you’re too gone to care. You clamp your thighs and buck, trying to press in close enough to-  

ah, he breathes.  

To get that reaction. Fuck. You sluggishly calculate the worth of removing your pants. Buttons and a zipper. Times two. Plus belt, not including getting the waistband down...  

There’s a pressure unrelated to the booze or the weed on your head suddenly, holding you still. Tsukki’s free hand rests there, his foolproof method to keep you in place. It usually is. He's usually not 4 drinks deep and crossfaded on whatever blend of dirt was in that sandwich bag you had rolled up. It's easy enough to slouch out of his grip and capture his arm yourself.  

Tsukishima's eyes are glazed but the look he gives you is sharp.  

"Hey."  

You stop. He blinks. He blinks again.  

"... I'm not taking my pants off."  

"Oh, good," you huff, "We're on the same page."  

The weed may have temporarily burned away most of your finer motor skills, but all you need right now is instinct. Your hands grab his shoulders and fall onto him, sending the both of you slipping sideways. He chuffs, sliding against the coat and your thighs to get more friction. The jacket below you protests every movement with a zwip .  

"This okay?" You mumble into unscented cotton. Your abs squeeze and your hips drop, dragging you closer to his crotch where you can feel his erection straining the front of his pants. From this angle you can't quite see his face, half-buried in his Henley. But you can hear his breath is beginning to go ragged.  

"Yeah," he croaks. His breath hitches as he grinds the heat of his erection into your thigh.  

"Yeah, fuck, I’m okay, it’s good..."  

Both of you fall back on baser impulses and rut, palms catching the fabrics of each other's shirts, thighs squeezing around each other's legs. Vertigo makes your head swim just as much as pleasure does. The two of you pant, pressing against each other uncoordinated in the drunken haze. The slick fabric of the coat under you makes keeping any position hard. Every movement is a struggle against your heavy limbs and the impossibly slippery coat, but getting up to move it seems like much more trouble than it’s worth. zwip. zwip.  It seems to mock you when you move. It’s easy enough to ignore as your mind tunnels in on coming.

In the constant struggle to stay on the couch you’ve somehow wound up firmly beneath him. Your fists grab his shirt, rucking it up and letting your other hand roam the hot skin underneath. On your back, dizzy now with no anchor, he thrusts against you shallowly, breath catching in his throat.

'fuck, fuck -" Tsukki whines, too gone to be embarrassed about how it sounds. You could hardly make it out through the staccato  zwip-zip of the jacket below you. He's close? Probably. So are you? maybe? Your legs think so, clamping down hard against his sturdy thigh, dragging deliciously into the friction.  

It urges him to chase your heat, thrusting harder into your thigh. His hips stutter, pressing and dragging his thigh against you deliciously. It breaks the rhythm of your cresting orgasm, sharp and sudden and peaking the pleasure in a way that makes you gasp.  

"uhh- fuck," you choke, climaxing unevenly, room spinning in time with your heavy breaths. Kei isn’t far behind, lips trembling as he loosely mouths your shoulder. He shudders against you, pulsing with every shot of cum into his jeans.  

Ugh, you think. He's gonna hate that tomorrow. You giggle, thrusting against his solid thigh, chasing aftershocks instinctively. His movements are slowing, the time between thrusts increasing as his orgasm fades. The jacket hisses when he does.

You press your hands into the warm skin of his back, feeling his chest move as he breathes loudly above you. He hums, making your palms vibrate as he nests clumsily halfway above-halfway beside you on the cushion.

Neither of you move much for a moment. The room is strangely silent until the ac kicks in and begins to cool your flushed skin. You groan, trying to squirm further under Tsukishima to get away from the bite of it. He breathes an annoyed hnn- when you accidentally press against his softening cock through his pants. Through his wet pants.  Oh yeah.  

“Oooh, Kei,” you lilt, woozy. He grunts.

“You made a messsss,” you continue, singsong, pressing gently into the wet stain with your leg.  

He chuffs half a laugh, burrowing his nose into your shoulder and tucking you in against his free arm. “‘sgusting,” you hear him whisper back.

Neither of your eyes are open. The pair of you stay there, quiet and unmoving, until your phone buzzes with a text from Noya.

whered u go, you read on the overly bright screen.

You move to untangle yourself from your boyfriend and mentally prepare yourself to finally, finally, make it down the stairs.

---

The crowd downstairs swallows the pair of you readily.

The party is less rowdy for the final few hours. The remaining time is mostly spent sobering up and talking, queuing up music requests and stupid youtube videos, calling rides and digging sports drinks out of the back of Tanaka’s fridge.  As the night truly winds down, individuals break away, heading upstairs for their jackets or belongings before leaving. When Suga comes back downstairs to leave with Daichi, the all too familiar zip-zwip sound follows him.  

Oh, shit. You catch Tsukki’s eye. He nods at your grim expression and it’s instantly, silently, decided.

He can never know what you did on top of his new winter jacket.  

[hintsofhoney]

His Favorite Meal

Pairing(s): Rhysand x F!Reader

Summary: Rhysand hears your dirty thoughts while you're at dinner with your friends. It goes as expected.

Square(s) Filled: free space for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Tags: 18+, smutty smut smut, oral sex (female receiving), light dom/sub dynamics, use of magic, p in v, unprotected sex, light spanking

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hi, I just finished A Court of Mist and Fury and this is my new hyperfixation now. Funnily enough, I wrote this before I got to any kinds of sex scenes between Rhys and Feyre, and when I did finally get to Chapter 55, I was impressed with myself for how close to canon I wrote this 🤣 Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

MAIN MASTERLIST

You can’t stop thinking about him, not for lack of trying.

Rhysand and his stupid dark hair and violet eyes and the way the word darling rolls off his tongue and makes your thighs clench. 

You would even let him take you here and now, if it meant that the thoughts of him would subside.

He raises his eyebrows at you from across the table, Mor and Az and Cassian too caught up in their own conversation to notice. 

Really? Right on this table? With everyone watching? he sends down the bond. 

You shoot him a cold glare. Get out of my head.

If you didn’t want me in it, Y/N, darling, I wouldn’t be.

He isn’t wrong. You both know it.

I can make them leave, if the table is truly where you’d like me to fuck you. Personally, I find the bed —

Shut up, and eat your dinner . If you had said it outloud, it would have been through gritted teeth.

Rhys cocks his head to the side, briefly taken aback by your bite, and then smiles. Careful, darling , you hear in your head, if I have to take you over my knee, I won’t be asking anyone to leave first.

You squeeze your thighs together at the threat, the heat building between them becoming uncomfortable. You’re desperate. You need him.

That bad, hm? he asks.

You watch as he takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving yours.

Say the word and they’re gone, or continue to torture yourself. Up to you.

The prick wanted you to ask for it. Beg for it. As if your thoughts hadn’t been enough.

That “prick” will not hesitate to punish you in front of our friends. 

You feel yourself clench around nothing. 

Please, Rhys , you give in. 

He smirks, taking another sip from his glass. Please, what?

You swallow your pride. Not that there’s much left of it. Please fuck me.

Please fuck you, where?

This ass— 

His eyebrows raise — your final warning — and it stops your thought dead in its tracks. You take a deep breath. 

Please fuck me on the table, Rhys.

He grins. All you had to do was ask.

You put your shield up for a brief second so you can mentally roll your eyes in peace. When it comes down, Az, Cassian, and Mor are getting up from their seats.

“We eat here,” Cassian reminds the both of you as he stands.

Rhys is looking at you with hungry eyes as he replies, “Who says I won’t be eating?”

“Eugh!” Mor groans, making her way towards the exit. “At least wait until I’m out of earshot.”

Cassian snorts before following her out, Azriel having been the first to leave. 

And now it’s just you and Rhys and the table between you.

You blink, and suddenly his face is inches from yours, leaning over you with his hands resting on your thighs as he smirks at your shaky breaths. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He places a curled pointer finger underneath your chin, his thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip, letting out a low chuckle at how your mouth begins to open ever so slightly.

He leans in, his lips meeting yours with a gentleness that doesn’t quite match the lust in his eyes, and you know you’re in for a long night. It could be hours before you were going to feel the release you had been begging him for.

“As far as I’m concerned, I shouldn’t let you cum at all, considering the names I’ve been called,” he murmurs, as he kisses your way up your jaw line, down your neck. 

You whimper at the notion, at the thought of being left reeling, wanting, on the table. Right now, you can’t imagine anything worse. 

“That’s very dramatic,” he whispers, his voice lined with a teasing smile. You watch him drop to his knees in front of you, slowly pushing your long gown up to your thighs. “But if you truly cannot imagine anything worse, then I suppose I’ll give you what you want, my darling girl.” 

You tense at his words, at the way he grabs ahold of your leg and places it over his shoulder, at the way he licks his lips, as if he’s about to dig into his favorite meal. 

He stops. “Of course, I had forgotten,” he says, and there’s a flash of darkness before you find yourself lying on the table, with Rhys kneeling at the end of it. His hands are gripping the underside of your thighs, pushing them upwards and outwards. In one fell swoop, he rips off the black lace covering your core, baring you to him. “I eat my meals at the table.” 

You let your head fall onto the hard surface underneath you. Fuck .

“Oh, I plan to,” he replies, placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh. “But I’m going to have my fun first.”

You swear his tongue has magic of its own with the way it moves between your folds, pulling short breaths from your lungs as he circles it around your clit, never staying in one spot long enough to grant you the release that you so badly crave. When he adds two fingers, your back arches off the table, and you whimper as you feel his magic pinning you down in response. 

“ Please , Rhys,” you practically sob, your thighs quaking as you try to remain still, trying to keep your orgasm at bay. 

“You’re not going to cum already, are you, darling?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question you can say ‘yes’ to. You know you’re his . You won’t cum until he tells you to. 

He chuckles at your thoughts. “Good girl,” he praises, his fingers curling inside you at just the right spot, and the combination of the two almost sends you over the edge. Almost. Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. You find yourself on the precipice of release too many times to count, having to take deep breaths to keep yourself grounded. Eventually, you accept this new tortured existence.

Very dramatic , Rhys teases.

You yelp as he stops his ministrations and pulls out of you too abruptly for your liking, standing up before pulling you to the edge of the table and flipping you over by your hips, your bare feet meeting the cool marble floor. It only takes seconds before he’s dragging his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you even further. You wiggle your ass — a silent plea — and he spanks it in return — an audible warning to be still that echoes through the dining hall. 

“Ow!” you whine, forcing your body to comply with his demand. 

Another smack, on the other cheek this time.

“Rhys!”

“Do I need to gag you? Or are you going to quit your whining?” 

Another hit, harder than the others. A test. You remain silent and still.

“Although I must admit… I do love watching your ass change colors.” You brace yourself for another hit that never comes. Instead, you get no warning as Rhys thrusts into you in one swift motion. “But I’ll save it for the next time you feel like mouthing off.”

You grip the edges of the table as he pounds into you, his hand coming to wrap around your shoulder for leverage, his cock filling you up, hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. Your moans are unsteady and never-ending, only interrupted by the expletives falling from your lips.

“Oh m-my —  fuck — Rhys!”

He smirks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you up off of the table, your back flush with his muscled, tattooed chest. You start to wonder when his shirt came off before you realize that his hands are holding your bare breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Magic has a number of uses — making clothes vanish off bodies being one of them. 

He continues to thrust into you as one of his hands makes its way down to your core, swollen and throbbing. When his skillful fingers find your clit, you throw your head back onto his shoulder. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you chant. You’re unsure of how much longer you can take it. Five agonizing seconds pass — then ten — and then —

“Go ahead, darling, I’m right behind you,” he orders, and you practically scream as your orgasm washes over you, as you feel his cock twitch inside you, filling you up. “Fuuuuck,” he rasps, his hands holding onto your hips now as you fall forward onto the table from exhaustion, letting the cold surface cool your skin. 

Moments later, Rhys collapses on top of you, holding himself up by his forearms, caging you in between them. He’s still inside you as he trails soft kisses from one shoulder blade to the other.

I love you , he sends down the bond, still catching his breath.

A tired smile creeps onto your lips. I love you, too.

[choochooboss]

Just another night on the Multi Train...

And so they continued gaming all night long...

WIP & sketches:

Working on the speech bubbles was a nightmare aaaaa-

My first finished comic ever wooo!! This was inspired by a daily submas art prompt on Twitter, "quarrel". I barely ever see them arguing about anything because they canonically get along so well but I wanted to figure out something, and eventually this struck my mind. XD

From that moment I sat on my computer for four days straight, each page taking 10 hours of work!! I knew making comics is hard, but now I truly understand why. Sketching was fast, but then I realised I need to find room for the dialogue before rendering the panels, and that alone took a huge chunk of time, not fun, eugh. I fiddled with the lines way too long too, hunting stray pixels. I ended up giving the comic my all so I was absolutely drained when I finally posted this on the fourth night right before collapsing on my bed.

The next morning... whoa. I was so taken aback of all the positive feedback I was instantly energised and started planning the next comic haha!! The effort was totally worth it!!

I always thought I would not be able to draw full comics because of my attention disorder and lack of time and skills so I never even attempted it, I was so sure I just couldn't do it. But then submas happened, and I got over that mental block just like that! Now I really want to get good at this stuff!!

Expect many more comics in the future! Of course they take a ton of time to make ahah, but they will make it here eventually! Until then,

Game on, subway bosses!!

[dia-smthidk]

THE ELDRITCH DIGITAL CIRCUS MASTERPOST

uh may go through some changes at times..all depends ykyk. (Designs such as Jax & Kaufmo had gone through a design change, and will be updated eventually)

The lesser AI will be introduced soon! This was just a quick put-together of what I’ve got done so far for this AU, since some ppl have been requesting an actual masterpost for awhile now

Concept Art & Facts:

Pomni Doodles Put that hat back on you whore.. Tiny Jester, Big Rabbit Pomni & Kaufmo! Quite the duo! Identify a Comedian (is Pomni wearing pants though..?) How do Comedians eat? The Jester has a final form! I’m not gonna explain until someone asks Comedians’ cuffs Wowza, Comedian heights Keeping the ribbon around the head 👍 Why so tall? Is Kinger’s hands stuck? Kinger has no bounds. Gangle deals w/ another victim Zooble hates light, but why? Helljuice rambles pt 1 (Un)funny biology facts of the cast Helljuice rambles pt 2

Eugh..the list is so long but not finished yet.. I’ll finish it soon I swear..