#( i'd like to thank the generator for blessing me with this )

[mrfoox]

Fabian has been buying new clothes and I am just an supportive cheerleader for him.

Then he said he bought an tanktop and I immediately went "tanktop? 👀" and he starts to laugh. So ofc I milked that our entire conversation. Each time he laughed. Yeah you like that baby girl? Me showing interest in your tanktop? Show it to me

He did and ofc I did intense praise and dude approval speeches. My man is doing so well and feeling good, I'm so happy for him

[totalswag]

midnight adventures — RAFE CAMERON

authors note here's a little something sweet for you guys. soft!rafe will forever have my heart. happy reading lovies.

— taglist if you want to be notified whenever i post leave a comment and you’ll be added.

summary having trouble sleeping throughout the night and text rafe if you can go on a drive to relax your mind

warning(s) trouble sleeping and rafe being the best boyfriend.

"Please sleep," you say to yourself, on the verge of tears, staring at the ceiling and running your hands through your hair with frustration.

It was three in the morning.

You've recently struggled to sleep at night, falling asleep around four in the morning, getting five hours of sleep, and yet feeling exhausted during the day.

Rolling over on your side, a huff escapes your lips as you reach your arm up to the nightstand, where your phones are plugged in. You take it off the charger and call your boyfriend, Rafe.

He responded within five seconds, sounding sleepy and worried. After you've finished stating your sleeping problems, he says he'll be there in ten minutes.

Rafe's truck can be heard from around the corner; a smile forms on your face. You put your slides on and one of Rafe's sweatshirt on then walk downstairs to the front door.

You snuck out of the house quietly and hopped into the passenger seat, greeted by the familiar perfume of Rafe's cologne combined with the subtle aroma of leather.

"Hey," he whispered softly, reaching over to offer your hand a comforting squeeze. "Ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, beaming warmly at him. "Thank you for this."

"Anything for you," he said, turning the truck into gear and driving away from your home turning out of the neighborhood.

He hands you his unlocked phone for music; you're usually on aux in his car. You pick the first song you liked and would set the mood.

You feel his right hand on your thigh, the thumb gently caressing. You let yourself relax under his touch.

"You want to grab something to eat?" He asks out of the blue, checking his shoulder before changing lanes and glancing at you for a response.

"Can we go to the store?" You recommended pointing to the store across the street. 

"Of sure, Baby.”

After getting some snacks, Rafe drove to your favorite spot, the beach. Generally this is your favorite spot to go whenever you want to get away from everything.

Rafe backed into the parking area so you could face the water in the dim light. You took the two blankets he keeps in the second row as he moved around to open your door.

Rafe drew you closer to him once the two of you had settled in. You looked up at him, admiring how blessed you were to have him.

"If you want to kiss me, just tell me," he quips, his eyes fixed on the water. You hit him in the chest, making him laugh, then kissed him.

"What's keeping you up all night princess?" He asks quietly, gently pushing your hair away from your face and examining your expression.

Rafe loathes witnessing you struggle to fall asleep or feel this way. Regardless of the circumstance, he has always been there for you in an instant. You find him most admirable in that regard. You are very fortunate to have him.

"I honestly don't know what's causing it," you shrugged, "stress might be the main factor or something else" was the only response you could give him right now. I'm not sure what is causing you to stay up late and never get enough sleep.

Rafe furrows his brows.

"You know I'd come sleep with you if you had problems falling asleep, and I don't want you to lose sleep. You value your sleep, I know that." You laugh at how much you value your sleep—you really do.

After a while, a few subjects are discussed. A cold breeze blows through the night, and the sound of the waves is calming. You can sense your own body becoming more at ease.

In silence, Rafe and you lay together covered by blankets. It seemed like the ideal moment. You drew closer to him— he also smells good.

"You almost ready to go?" Rafe asks curiously, "I don't want your parents waking up to you not in your bed" you stopped yourself after he finished his sentence, nodding. 

"Yeah we couldn't have that" you joke.

He turned on the ignition after the two of you got comfortable in the truck, allowing it to warm up for five minutes as you had been sitting on the bed with the truck turned off for an hour. 

It took ten minutes to make the drive back to your home. You didn't want to spend the remainder of the night apart from Rafe. Compared to before you saw him, you felt calmer and more content. 

"Can you stay?" If you think about it, what you're asking kindly amounts to pleading.

He replies sarcastically, "How can I refuse?" and then leans in to give you a kiss on the lips before turning off his truck.

Quitely entering your house with Rafe closely behind you. You turned your phone flashlight on incase of running into stuff and waking everyone up.

When you got to your room you took your slides and socks off your feet then flopping on your bed. Rafe took his shirt off along with shoes and socks. You opened your arms waiting for Rafe to get into bed with you.

"Don't worry, I'm coming," he says, placing his shirt on the desk chair across the room.

"Oh, that's what she said," you laugh.

Fake laughing, Rafe says, "Haha so funny" as he slides under the covers.

Snuggling closer to Rafe, you let out a sigh of relief as you kissed his naked chest several times and drew invisible hearts before feeling your eyes close.

You yawn with exhaustion, "Thank you for keeping me company tonight, baby, it means a lot, I love you."

"I love you too princess and that's what I'm supposed to do, take care of my beautiful girlfriend when she's in times like this."

You shared a final kiss with Rafe and then dozed out in each other's arms.

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[thebirdandhersong]

💛

hey will be off tumblr for the rest of the week - things are Happening again and my head feels ready to explode.........would really appreciate prayer again. I'm constantly feeling like I'm on the brink of something (I don't KNOW what) terrible and I need to figure things out without before my body really DOES decide to shut down from the stress and the strange depressive dread that has been very difficult to shake this month. I would like to not feel like crying or throwing up at certain points in the day and also would like to not be so exhausted in the heart and mind area so that I can actually deal with these things. Especially since finals are looming ahead

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt III. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut

word count: 9.9k

summary: the naughtiest of times bring about the greatest of healing.

pinterest board: vapor

warnings: punishment, spanking, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), a little bit of ass play, cum eating, raw sex, multiple orgasms, sex toy included, praise kink, jk smokes:), jk also reveals a past pain:(

note: nawt my best work, but i guess it's alright:( here it is, my loves—the very end to the steam series. i enjoyed indulging myself in this world and i'd like to thank all of you for allowing me to do that. thank you so much for all the love and support. i do all of this for you:) wink wink. this is pure smut and nothing else, and i hope you like this at least a little bit. i love you all so much, pwease give me your feedback, thank you. <3

Jungkook thought brushing his teeth with you in the morning while you wore his boxers and stole one of his white, ribbed tank tops was heaven enough. That was until he couldn’t lay his sleepy gaze off of you when you sat on his balcony with a cigarette between your two fingers and a cup of strong coffee in the other two and your thumb. 

Still can’t. 

He’s never been a morning person. To him, all mornings resembled some kind of hell that you suffer through until afternoon rolls around until you finally awaken. But seeing you like this, delighted, with two of your pleasures… he might become an early bird. Wake up each morning with joy just to see yours. Just to watch you be at complete peace, puffing out the smoke out into the sun-breathed air. 

The weather is a stark contrast to yesterday’s funeral of clouds. Not one is in sight, sun rays envelop the heavens in a golden light that spills through your hair—half done in a messy knot of some sort at the back of your head while wisps of shorter strands frame your face and your neck. He’s given you his spirally hair tie that he wore in his pre-military days. Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he told you how long he let his hair grow because he knew shaving his head was inevitable and it served as some kind of strange preparation for him. You brushed your fingers through his hair, then, unbelief painting your face in cutesy colors. As if you tried to feel the long-gone memory of his long tufts of hair that curled at the ends. He was so touched by it—maybe it’s one of the reasons why he can’t stop looking at you now.

It’s dawning on him that you love him. That you’re his. It wasn’t a dream, after all. 

And you’re such a stark image of effortless beauty—even with your puffy eyelids and mouth, with your healthily flushed cheeks. How can he not look at you… he fears if he does, you’ll disappear into the thin air. He can’t afford that, not when he went through so much pain to get to this point. 

This is his reality now. It’s difficult to get used to. He’d never thought he’d get this lucky. Perhaps, heaven does care about him, wants to see him after all, because it blessed him with you, blessed him with freedom that he can indulge in hand in hand with you. 

Jungkook feels an inkling to find a church and kneel at the altar. Thank God for what he’s done for him. Call his dad and tell him that he found Him.

The thought of how happy he’d be fills him with vigor redolent of the last of the summer creeping in. There’s so much of it that Jungkook finds it hard to breathe, his lungs taut with all this joy and love that he feels. 

It seems as though this time he will, in fact, live his life happily. Get rid of his alcoholic habits, drink from the fountain of you instead—make that a brand new habit. Keep his paints. Keep the memory of your features and your sleep-tousled hair engraved deeply in his brain so he can transfer it onto his sketchbook. Eternalize you for generations to come. Clutch those papers tight to his chest when God does take him to heaven once his time comes. 

Happiness. How did he deserve such a thing? 

He sighs, watches you suck the last of your cigarette. The sunlight radiates you with a glow too grand for his eyes to take in and as you breathe out the swirls of smoke, he has to look elsewhere. Your full breasts pebble against his tank top, too stretched out for your small form, and it douses him with liquid tendrils of desire for you. All due to the fact you’re wearing his clothes, that you’re bare underneath them, that your nakedness brought about so much pleasure for him last night—due to the very memory that you didn’t wear your underwear for him because they would get in his way. Fuck, his cock tightens under his joggers, the ones that match those you wore to bed. He hasn’t eaten yet and he thinks you’re the perfect choice of breakfast for the day. 

You put out your cigarette in the ashtray he found for you in the cabinet, left behind by the tenants that lived here before him, and a soft smile curls your slumber-kissed mouth. Your irises flick across the width of his chest, across his crossed forearms and biceps and your smile deepens. You cradle your cup of coffee in both of your hands, slouching in your chair. He’ll never tire of the way it feels to be looked at by you. The tendrils of desire thicken in him, flowing rapidly in his bloodstream. 

“What do you wanna eat for breakfast?” you ask, and there’s something dangerous about your eyes now, mingling with the light and joy, dimming it little by little. He likes it so much, likes your question all the more, that he props his elbows on his knees and hooks his fingers around the back of yours, thumbs fondling the round bones. 

The way his boxers don’t even cover the apex of your thighs, having ridden up so high—he stifles the hiss rising in his throat. They suit you so much he might let you keep them. That is, after he ruins them. 

“You,” he murmurs, smirking, and you grin at him so luminously that the speed of his bloodstream slows down. Suddenly, the movement of your hand as you set your cup down is in slow motion—your fingernails provoking him by lightly scratching down his forearms, too. You study his tattoos as you do it, your gaze darkening fully. 

You root them at the place, where he’s holding you. Palms flat against the back of his hands. Lean closer to him until you nudge your nose against his. The close proximity will always mess him up, no matter what. He feels himself bespangled by your light, by your celestiality, bringing in the heat until it’s all he knows. 

You. 

“What if I want to eat you first?” you whisper, head angling to kiss him on his jawline. Oh, he’s already done for; body charged with electricity all over. Your mouth closes over that bone so, so slowly, your tongue licking over that place in the same tempo, causing the hair on his body to stand up to attention. 

“Eat what?” He laughs through his nose and you take after him—your giggles a warm rumble that sends tingles down his back, even though all his body longs to do is whimper for you. He knows what you meant, but he simply wants to hear you say it. The memory of the way you rubbed your face in such a private part of him, not just once—but twice, floods his brain and he’s so hard for you that it’s unbearable. 

If he doesn’t get his release any time soon, he might combust. 

He’d much rather it happens in your mouth. Like it did in the dressing room last night. Oh, fuck. Those winged fuckers are going at it again in his stomach, bringing about his madness for you. 

“Your nose first, then your dick.” 

It’s now that he lets out that sound—he can’t help it, can’t hold it back. Might need that cigarette of yours, even though he only smokes casually. This is what you do to him. 

And you like that sound. You like it so much that you rise to your feet, only to straddle him. And, leaning back, he pushes you towards him until you’re flush against his body. To make you feel how aroused he is for you, your little pussy sitting against his imprint. At the feeling of it through such a thin barrier, you press your hum over his nose, kissing the ball of it with a sweet, soft giggle. His madness evolves into a frustration again and he wonders at the whole concept of it. Now that he has you all to himself, his sexual need for you tends to be on such a raging base, full of yearning, full of frenzy. So intense, so thunderous, so deafening. The world might break apart, fall upon every head with its destruction, if that need remains unfulfilled. 

It’s spine-chilling. Absolutely petrifying. And irrevocably thrilling with all its bolts of power. 

He kneads your bum with both of his hands, unraveling that melodramatic concept of his titillation for you with the strength he uses to squeeze your flesh with. Jungkook goes as far as to lift you onto your knees, raise the fabric of his boxers to reveal your skin and, holding it taut in his fist, he wetly kisses the red imprint of his hand that he left behind. 

And his need flutters with something still yet forbidden. 

Yours does, too. And it’s you who voices it out, setting it free like a bird that has been caged for centuries. It touches him, immensely—a deep sea of feelings resurfacing in him, sloshing to and fro, threatening to spill over. 

“Spank me.” 

Lust and love. A peculiar concoction of it that doesn’t exist in the realm of words. He feels it, feels it with every breath he takes. 

“I should, right?” he rasps, dragging his fingernails down your carmine bum, sneaking his fingers around the squishy bottom of the flesh. He might drench his joggers—he didn’t wear his boxers to sleep; you’re wearing them for him. “For wanting to bite my nose off.” He clicks his tongue, squeezing, other hand wraps around your waist, holding you still. “I should spank you until it hurts. Until you cry.” 

The most gentle of a moan spouts out of your mouth and he twitches, his need growing—all because you want it as much as he does.

Jungkook lifts his hand in a promise he’s about to do it and you shiver in anticipation. 

“Please,” is all you say, but he’s not going to give it to you. He places his hand back in a soft manner, lifting it again to tease you and you wiggle your butt, his boxers still tucked halfway in between, the flesh rippling and he groans. A sight to die for. “I deserve it. Please, do it. I want it.” 

He sighs, a wet spot forming in the place of the joggers where his tip is, and he can’t see anything. Can’t see shit when he lifts you up and takes you inside. Can’t see anything but you and the surface of his kitchen island, which he sets you down on, spreading your legs. 

Confused by the swift motion, you rise to your elbows, but he pushes you right back down—holding your hips in the air, just like he did last night. You will see what he’s about to do to you, nonetheless. No need for you to strain your arms. 

And when he closes his mouth over your clothed pussy, you roll your eyes back, moaning his name so loudly that it echoes throughout the kitchen, rooting around his dripping length. And his arousal for you is so overwhelming, so sensitive that one thrust of his hips against the fabric of his joggers brings him such pleasure coursing through his body that he might as well come like this. 

Jungkook rids you of his boxers in a blink of an eye, throwing them somewhere out of his sight. No need for them, either. 

Burying his nose in your clit as he licks your slit and plunges his tongue inside, he narrows his eyes at you as yet another wave of pleasure comes down upon him. This time from having you for breakfast, at last. You mewl so sweetly that it drives him to thrust his hips again and he groans, groans so deeply for you. Needs you to know what you’re doing to him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he breathes out, lightly dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit before he swallows, hissing at the delight of your taste. You moan, trembling, barely able to take it. Fuck one day, he’s about to die now. “And you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking boy. Is that what you want?” 

Jungkook flicks your bud, fleetingly, just to make your sounds shudder in the sudden intensity. You clench your small fists in the air, your tremor so terribly visible and rigorous, and with your breath hitching in your throat, he sucks that delicious part of you into his mouth. 

You stammer, badly enough that he begins to feel a sliver of pity for you, not enough for him to stop. He’s ravaging your little princess parts so hard that it takes a few tries for you to get the words out in a steady flow and he doesn’t help you. Doesn’t ease up for you, at all. Flicking, sucking, licking you up all over, rolling his tongue—he simply doesn’t stop, does it so fast that you lose yourself in it, submitting to it with all your being. 

And along with your submission come out your words. 

In perfect fashion.

“No, I want to suck you off.” 

And along with those your orgasm, too. 

Jungkook watches you take it, eyes lidded heavily, take all the pleasure he gives to you as it unfolds throughout your quivering body that he holds tightly in his grasp so you wouldn’t fall over. He sucks your clit until his mouth goes numb, opening it to drink you, not letting a drop of your nectar go to waste. You struggle to reciprocate the eye contact and he finds it so endearing that he wants to make you come all over again. 

Setting you down, he caresses your wet little pussy with his thumb, palm spread wide across his tank top clothing your tummy. And while you try to catch your breath, he sends rays of his affection down to her the more he looks at her. He loves her so much that he bends down and kisses her. Over and over. Kisses the hickey he left on your left fold, the one below your hip bone as well. And then, he glances at you. Flushed and glowing, a personification of light. A girl most satisfied. So beautiful.

You sit up and the feeling of the coldness of the marble against your sensitive seashell makes you let out a whine, biting your lip briefly before you enclose it around his. You moan into the kiss and Jungkook knows why. He deepens it, hands drifting down your full breasts, your stiffened nipples. The touch makes you hum and grind your pussy against the island, opening your mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, playing with you, beckoning out your mouth-watering little whines. And when his fingers reach the hem of his tank top, he takes it off of you—your breasts bouncing, the wet spot in his joggers enlarging. 

In this position, you’re forehead to forehead. And this time, he doesn’t want to kiss you. No, he wants to talk. 

“You taste good, don’t you?” Jungkook husks, an allusion to the way you moaned into the kiss, fists on either side of your outstretched thighs. You bite your lip and furrow your brows, a hand sneaking around his neck. Such horny expression, scraping his madness raw. He’s greedy for more; wants to bleed for you. “Tell me. Tell me how good you taste.” 

You sink your teeth so hard into your bottom lip at his words that you whimper once you let go, the pillow so reddened, so cute. The wrinkle between your brows deepens and you grind your hips again. Oh, he’ll put his hand there, on your still needy pussy, as soon as you answer him. 

And you do—and his whole bloodstream lines with a river of flames.

“I taste so good,” you whine and he rewards you for your goodness, for that heat. Places his fingers flat underneath your clit, palm up. You immediately roll your hips forward and whisk your eyes back. That sensitive you are, after such an intense orgasm. He swears. Takes it as a sign to rub your bud and, pushing them back with one hand, he gathers your slick and smears it upon it, making it all the more pleasurable for you. Gusts of breaths emit out of your mouth, intertwining with the squeaky sounds of your juices and Jungkook almost drools, aching to eat you out all over again. The feeling of your parted lips, your slipperiness, the softness of your swollen bud—he grows desperate for it. 

But he wants you to come like this, too.

“Ride my fingers,” he whispers, just for you to hear and not the angels surrounding him, whose favor he gained. “Come on. Grind your pussy on them, sweetheart.” 

You mewl and you listen, straightening your spine. Use his shoulders for stability as you swing your hips back and forth. The silkiness of your flesh, the wetness that makes this a smooth ride for you—he moans, sucking in his breath each time. And then you become so terribly whiny, eyes squeezed tight, that he can’t help but to strum your clit as fast as he can. Your shudders begin again, your breasts rippling and he just thinks they’re asking for his tongue. 

A flick of the muscle on your nipple. You cry out, arching your back, halting the movement of your pelvis and he takes over. Takes merely a minute to make you come all over his hand and scream out his name. 

And then… then he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you in—almost nose to nose. A gesture to make you listen. To make you pay attention to the words he wants to say to you. 

“This is what you deserve,” he purrs, speaking of the former mention of punishment, studying the way your eyes grow bigger than they already are. “To come again and again for me—and what’s more, I’m not finished with you yet. That wasn’t your last orgasm.” 

You mewl and it seems that it’s all that you’re capable of uttering, the clitoral orgasm stealing all of your vocabulary. 

Or at least he thought so. 

“But I want you to spank me,” you say, your voice a satiny softness. “I want it so bad that I’ll do anything for it.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know what’s more stimulating—whether the beauty of your strength or the sinfulness of your craving. The flames in him reach higher highs, burning his skin in a way that unfussily forces him to give you what you want; give in to you, surely and wholly.  

“Is that so?” 

You nod, leaning over and closing your mouth over the side of his neck, sucking the skin, making his eyes roll back. And when you begin to focus on his ear, your fingers sinking in his hair, he truly just might submit to that specific craving of yours, even though he wanted to save it for the cabin. 

He might just give you a taste of it now. 

It looks like you’re ready for it, but if he finds that your healing is incomplete, he’ll take care of you, undo the wrongness, distract your thoughts and fold your emotions into a cocoon of his love. 

Pulling you away from him, he lifts you off the island and bends you over it. You giggle in triumph and the dulcet sound falters once he brushes your hair back and, pressing his length against your bare bum, he reciprocates the same treatment you gave to him. He doesn’t destroy your neck more than he already has—he barely has any space left to scatter it with hickeys and he doesn’t wish to cause you discomfort. No, he mouths your ear and kisses the very unmarked skin beneath it, nibbling it ever so gently. 

It’s only when you circle your hips against him that he rips that gentleness away and bites, making you groan out. 

“So that’s what my sweetheart wants,” he breathes, hands drifting to the crooks of those hips, right where your thighs begin, cooling the flames he spat onto that sensitive spot of yours. “Pain.” 

The collision of his palm against your cheek is what steals your breath and you whimper in elation. 

“Oh, fuck yes.” 

He does it again, a bit harder this time, just to hear those delectable words, just to make sure you’re comfortable, rubbing your skin to soothe the sting. And when you pinch your nipples and moan, he gets on his fucking knees for you. Such a good girl; a strong angel.

At your ever persisting service. Eternal. 

Spreading you apart, he catches your dripping slick with his tongue and pushes it back inside, thumbing your other tiny hole—pulling away momentarily to spit on it, smearing the lubrication there before circling it. Jungkook hears the soft thud of your head slumping against the kitchen island and you take it, take his abuse so well that he rewards you by flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit. Over and over until there’s another thing he hears. 

He hears your phone ring. 

His stomach drops. He knows full well who’s calling. And you prove his deduction right. 

“It’s Yoongi,” you sigh, a bit of vexation evident in your voice, and Jungkook buries his face in your pussy, humming into her, purposefully. “Vi-video calling me yet ah-a-again. Oh, fuck.” 

Pleased, he laughs. “Let it ring.” Doesn’t give two shits that he’s calling, but is a little annoyed that he keeps bothering you. 

It doesn’t lessen his fire, though. 

“But.” He withdraws to let you talk. Doesn’t take his eyes off of the glistening of your flesh. “If I tell him off and if he sees what you’re doing to me, he’ll stop calling me.” 

His fire thickens, thrilling tendrils absorbing it. Very well. “Such a smart girl. Go for it, then.” He punctuates his sentence with a curt spank and you jump, rising onto your tippy toes as you curl your back, moans echoing. He caresses your legs all over, mouth latching over your slightly reddened cheek. Thinks it’s a perfect place for another hickey. And as he sucks the supple skin, he sinks a finger inside your heat, your walls welcoming him in. 

You answer the phone with a moan. “I’m busy.” 

You’ve placed your hand to the edge of the island, so Jungkook has a perfect view of what’s currently happening. You’ve hidden your squished breasts behind your forearm—like you did the first time he’d laid his eyes on you via Yoongi’s phone. How the tables have turned is so mind-boggling to him that it drives him to twirl circles on your other tiny hole, eating your ass with such verve that you can’t contain your sounds, especially not when he begins to caress your sweet little spot with his curling fingers. 

Your legs begin to shake. 

Yoongi calls you by your name. “What the fuck is this?” 

“W-what does it look like?” you retort, grinning, looking back at Jungkook, catching his glance. He sends you rays of his love, eyes crinkling, the tip of his tongue finally penetrating inside. “I’m getting my ass eaten and you’re—” You suck a breath in, trying your hardest to remain calm and not succumb to the pleasure. Jungkook worsens it for you; he syncs his finger and his tongue, fucking you in one fast rhythm in both holes at the same time, and your stammer returns. “You-you’re disturbin’ me, oh fuck.” You pant, heavily, letting go of your phone and scratching your nails down the surface, trying to grab onto something, anything. Jungkook hums, endearingly, and catches both of wrists in his hand at the small of your back. Seeing you bound like this, bound in pleasure mainly, while on the phone with your ex-boyfriend almost makes him come in his fucking pants. “I don’t want to fucking come looking at your face. I’m not on your timeline, stop calling me.” 

Oh, Jungkook wouldn’t even let you—and the reason why he intensified your pleasure was to spite your ex-boyfriend. It seems as though it worked because Yoongi remains silent, at loss for words in most probability, and you consider your job done, tugging up your arm. 

“Let me hang up,” you whisper to him and Jungkook loosens his fingers for you, the sound of the call ending etching a smirk on his face. 

He straightens his form and, turning you around, he pins you against the island, his smirk only widening. The love, the proudness he carries in his heart for you, the freedom that oozes out of his every pore—he uses it to kiss you, tenderly. Fights hard to stifle his grin, to mold his lips into yours, but to no avail. You mirror his expression of joy, looking up at him, both of your wrists back in his hold behind your back. 

“You took your spanks so well, enjoyed them,” he murmurs his praise, his other hand clasping around your binding. “Didn’t even think once about the past. And to top it all off, you basically told your ex-boyfriend to fuck off. Moaned your lungs out. I’m in awe,” he continues, his voice dropping an octave lower, meaning every word. “I’m in awe of you. What a good girl you are. The best.”

The glint in your irises bursts and spreads all around, your eyes becoming two lighthouses that gain a new instinct to bring him home, whatever form that might spur into. You blush for him, taken aback by his praise, and your lashes flutter so prettily that he grows weak in the knees. His reactions are constant, never-changing when it comes to you and he finds so much beauty in them, in you that he feels as though it’s golden sand in his fingers and all he longs to do is finish his job like you did. You rouse the inspiration in him—you always have.

And listening to his body, he stumbles back into his former position. On his knees for you, at your ever fucking eternal service. And he makes you come with his fingers stuffed in your heat and his tongue flicking your clit until your knees give out as well and he has to take you then and there. Against the window on the other side, your pleasured body embraced, almost, by the golden aura that spills from the sunlight. And he opens it out, stretches it, with every word that trickles out of his mouth and into yours with every swift stroke. A bunch of rays of ‘You’re mine’, ‘My pretty, tight pussy’ and ‘Good girl, take it all, it’s all yours’ permeate your skin, lighting you up from beneath and when you come around his cock, your light doesn’t fade into his and leave you barren. No, it melts, a conscious, ever-flowing stream, into him and soaks him up. It’s still one singular light, but in two bodies. 

And the two loads he filled you up with caused weariness to drop so heftily on you that he bathed you in the tub. Scrubbed you clean. Washed your hair. Made you smell like him. Was extra careful when touching the hickeys he left behind on your body, the other unmarked parts of you handled with similar care. 

He didn’t even forget about your candle. Borrowed them your shared light and you kissed him quite sweetly for it. 

Even when he dressed you in his clothes. A pair of old baggy jeans that don’t fit him anymore and the same white tank top, a clean one, fragrant with the wholeness of summer he will perpetually connect with you. You pecked him so cutely when he tapped your waist, signaling that you’re all done. He knows it was the deepest thank you that you could’ve ever expressed to him. And he hugged you, hugged you so tight that you merged into him, bunching your wet hair in his fist. 

It didn’t dry up until he parked by the cabin. Having curled into winsome waves, he couldn’t stop touching them when he lead you towards the front door and, most peculiarly, it ached when he had to let go in order to unlock the door. 

His clinginess to you constringes the longer he spends time in your presence and because you’ve graced him with such freedom, he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. You show no signs of being irritated by it and it causes him to think that, perhaps, when God made you, He put some mechanism in you that needs it. Just like he planted those roots of clinginess in him—for no one else but you to receive, to carry, to take care of. 

It’s what he thinks about when he makes you lunch while you smoke on the balcony, having finished with the fresh drinks you made for yourself and him. Elderberry with lemon and ice, with funky, colorful straws once again left behind by the past tenants, ready on the dining table. This time you will actually sit down to eat and Jungkook won’t get kissed on the face by the strong knuckles of his once-close friend. 

An emotion stirs within him as he flips the meat on the small indoor grill. Tears prick in his waterline because despite the fact he enjoyed spiting him, he still wonders how he’s handling this. Mourns the loss. Probably will for some time. There’s a certain freshness to it that won’t let go of him. 

Those liquid feelings almost dissipate when you wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss his spine. He’s not matching you that much—is wearing the only clean laundry he had. A white oversized tee, a zipper hoodie of the same color with jeans. But he feels the love you press onto his back as if your lips touch his bare skin, singing the two layers through and through. 

Jungkook reckons you’re saving him as you’re lingering there with your face buried between his shoulder blades. Saving him from spilling. 

“I can’t wait to visit the pond once we’re finished with our food,” you murmur and Jungkook hums in response, placing the rest of the meat onto a plate. 

“It’s done, we can eat now,” he croaks out, his voice touched by the residue of his emotions and you rub his belly with your hands. He smiles, fondly, at the gesture. You just keep on saving him.

“Do you think the water is cold?” 

Considering the rain that would not leave for days, the water is anything but suitable for swimming. And when he turns around, he meets your mischief, playfully toying with your features. A curled smirk, lifted brows, light flickering in your eyes, reflected in your lashes. He might let you dip your toe in. Just one. 

Only because you depict such distinct beauty and he can’t resist it. Can’t resist you, even if he tried his hardest. 

“Too cold,” he says, however. Just as playfully. “Freezing.” 

Helping him with the plates, you sit down to eat and before you dig in, you thank him once again in the form of a peck. Oh, he might spill, ultimately. In a much different way. Melt into liquid love for you—a putty at your disposal. He’s never come across someone as sweet as you. 

“My sweetheart, enjoy your food.” 

A sliver of comfortable silence hangs in the air as you finish your food and once he downs the drink you made for him, a different type of hunger itches in his throat. 

A hunger for a cigarette. 

He watches you as you take his plate and bring it into the kitchen, never forgetting to at least graze one part of your body as you depart away from him, his clinginess a full blown, ceaseless stream and when you come back to him and take his hand, he remains seated. Looks up at you. Is probably giving you a nasty set of puppy eyes, he can’t tell. Doesn’t really care. Interlocks his fingers with yours and brings your knee in between his. Just because. 

“You know what I want right now?” he says, stroking the back of your thigh, and you smile down at him all excitedly. “A cigarette.” 

You squeal and he didn’t expect such sound to come out of you, such display of joy at such mindless thing. You quiver, taking his other hand and pulling him to his feet. Grab your pack and lighter and drag him out to the balcony. 

And with a cigarette of your own hanging from your lips, you sink the butt of the spare one between his, your lighter ready in your hand, flicking it to life. Then, a sudden gust of wind blows your hair in front of your face in a grand, sublime way, the clouds shrouding the sunlight, a layer of grayness dispersing across the atmosphere. Jungkook is mesmerized, completely, strands of your hair tickling your cheeks as you focus on lighting his cigarette, such serious expression coating you. 

He almost forgets to suck on the cigarette when you cup the lighter, protecting the flame from the breath of the autumn slinking in. How can someone be so beautiful, so caring? He could’ve lighted up his hunger himself, but no—you wanted to do it. 

And because of that, he steals your cigarette and grabs your cheek in one hand, careful not to break it. Taking a delightful drag, he opens your mouth and puffs it inside. Watches you swallow it down, your eyes narrowed in a foreign pleasure, and to reward you, he kisses you deeply. But at the taste of his hunger on your tongue, the kiss grows tempestuous. He devours your mouth, makes it puffy all over again, and something else grows hard in tandem. 

Something in his pants. 

And the way you kiss him back—he has to physically pull himself away from you in order not to take you right here, in order not to bend you over this railing and bury himself so deeply inside you that all the animals in the forest scurry away at the sound of your squeaks. Much, much different ones. 

His body tingles, looking at you panting, longs to kiss you again—bring that notion into reality. It’s not merely you who’s become aroused because one swift glance over your body clad in his clothes reveals that you have, too. Your stiffened nipples protrude through his tank top and he has to hold onto that railing and take a deep drag of his cigarette in order to stick to his composure like his life depends on it. 

Perhaps, it truly does. 

“You’re so fucking irresistible,” he comments, mirroring your former actions—placing the cigarette between your lips that willingly open for him, lighting it up. “It’s crazy. I can’t spend one minute in your presence without wanting to fuck you brainless. What are you doing to me, huh?” 

You blush, but he didn’t mean it as a compliment. Thinks he should change his ways and call you beautiful more often, so you learn what a true compliment is, despite the fact how hard he finds it. His lungs constrict, choking the life out of him that you gave him—an unfond memory clouding his sight.

A blond set of hair swishing past. A roll of eyes as he threw that compliment in her way. The dismissal that still lives in him.   

“You sure it’s me?” you retort, angling your head to the side, two fingers widening slightly as you suck on your cigarette. You tossed the memory away and cuddled his headspace. “Maybe you have a problem.” 

Oh, he remembers this feistiness of yours. Missed it, dearly. Makes his cock needy. Even more prominently so now—now that you clothed him in healing. 

“True, one taste of you and I’ve become a nymphomaniac,” he says with a mighty, peculiar easiness. Clicks his tongue. “I guess I should go to therapy.” 

Your blush deepens and you hide your laughter behind your busy palm. Jungkook shakes his head, not believing something like that could flush your face like this with such rosy, radiant color. He pulls you towards himself, squeezes your bum. Takes a drag, loving the burn in his throat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, fondling the sweet color of your cheek with his thumb. The smoke from his cigarette curls around your wavy hair. “Do you even know how beautiful you are?” 

It’s you who shakes your head and you place your palm flat on his chest. A gasp leaves your mouth when he spanks you for your disagreement. Then, your mouth ends tip. 

Jungkook laughs, softly. “Run. And if I catch you, I spank you again. On your bare bum this time.” 

He pushes you and you squeal, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs down that lead to the pond. He could run after you to make you happy—it doesn’t matter he’s wearing his home slides. He’s danced with them, even barefooted, so this is no big deal for him. But he wants to give you the thrill of the chase, so, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, right next to yours, he slides his hands into his front pockets and waits until you’re halfway there at the pond. Then, then, he slowly makes his way down. 

You’ve stopped, however. Half turned, you watch him as he chases you down Michael Myers style. And when he’s at arms-length distance away from you, you begin to run away and this time your feet acknowledge themselves with the wood of the dock that floats above the surface of the still water. There’s nowhere for you to go and he fears you’ll jump into the water. Or, maybe you just want to get spanked that badly. 

He’s about to find out. 

Gray shadows envelop you, choking out your squeals again when you see Jungkook running after you and you edge dangerously close to the end, bum leaning against the ladder going down. 

He lifts his palm, signaling you to stop right there. 

And you surprise him. You kick your feet into momentum and as you run and collide into him, you throw him into the water. 

The iciness of the water stings and his breath lodges in his throat, submerged. Paralyzation takes a hold of him, but not enough for his body to emerge to the surface. He rubs his eyes as he inhales deeply, shaking off the water from his hair like a dog, his eyesight slowly unblurring and he sees you laughing. The trees bend at the sound, sighing along and the wind, once again, stills. 

You even have the nature wrapped around your finger, not just him. And he can’t be mad at you, not when your girlish giggles spark up a joy in his heaving chest, ridding him of the coldness he feels. 

But that doesn’t mean he won’t punish you for it. 

You asked for it. 

He swims to the dock and pulls himself up. The ease he did it with, his wet clothes that cling to his body and accentuate his muscles, it causes your dulcet laughter to falter, little by little and you back away from him. 

That aches a tiny bit. He relaxes his face, in case that’s what drove you to do that and he unzips his hoodie, throwing it at your feet. His T-shirt comes next and you swallow, dryly, your eyes drifting along his pecs and abdominal muscles. 

You hiss at the cold sensation of his knuckles against the fine sliver of skin of your stomach, the dip between the hem of his tank and his jeans as he unbuttons them and harshly tugs them down. You let him, placing your hands on his shoulders once he kneels and lifts both of your feet, folding the denim and flinging it onto the pile of his sopping hoodie. Your socks and his boxers follow along, leaving behind only his tank top. 

Bunching it in his fist, he tightens his mouth in a narrow line and pulls you in. More to cover you from the cold than to soak you and he raises his palm until it levels with your shoulder blade before he spanks you. The slapping noise vibrates through the canopy of the trees and he likes to think the weeping willow in his peripheral vision trembled at the reverberations. 

“That’s for me catching you.” 

Another spank. On the other cheek. Just as hard. 

“That’s for the way you pushed me into the water.” You don’t make a sound, only tiny little breaths spill out of your mouth as your big eyes ogle his dripping face. Taking it so well that his cock, achefully, hardens even more. “All this fucking forest all around and you decided to get on here, on this dock. Push me in.” A spank. “In the freezing.” Another one. “Fucking water.” Another. 

You moan, swaying on your feet and he straightens you, grabs your wrist and wraps it around the nape of his neck. 

“And this.” Jungkook licks his fingers, sneaks them between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing it rapidly. “This is for the way you enjoy it. Enjoy being spanked. Being punished. Enjoy being a bad little sweetheart.” 

You moan, a wrinkle between your brows, and your legs begin to quiver, your orgasm fast approaching. And the fire in him, created by your playfulness and his own words, he becomes it. Like you’re the personification of light, he’s the flames that keep it warm. An oxymoron most profound, most perfect, unseen by the world. 

He rips your orgasm away. Spanks you. Kneads your ass. You whine so terribly that it beckons his pity. Enough for him to creep his thigh in between yours, grasp your hips and make you ride it. 

“You wanted me wet, so get off on it,” he orders, unlatching his hands, taking off the tank top and fisting your hair, trusting you to hump him well enough on your own. “I know you like it cold, so grind that pussy on my thigh. And don’t stop until you come.”

It’s fast, the way you move your hips and bring yourself to the absorption of your climax. You look at him the whole way through and Jungkook nods with his bottom lip between his teeth, encouraging you to ride out the wave. 

“Good girl, coming so fast. Get on your knees.” 

He takes off his even more drenched pants. You wait for him with an open mouth and he senses the welcoming embrace of death. 

When he plunges his length into that salivating hole, it’s his fire that he feeds you. Despite the coldness, pearls of sweat adorn your forehead and Jungkook grips your hair and fucks your mouth, not letting you be in control, uttering his guttural moans lowly. 

“That’s what you get, my love.” 

You swallow around him in response and his life flashes before his eyes. Pictures of you, pictures of this cabin dressed in all of the seasons and he halts his thrusts. Pushes your head, instead. Back and forth until he can’t fucking take it anymore. 

Your spit trickles down onto the wood. Tears line your vision. Hard, shiny cock in your face. He tells you what he thinks of the sight. 

“So beautiful. Look at how hard and wet you made it. You deserved every inch down in that pretty throat of yours.” 

It’s a start. Still has a demon on his own to conquer, one that sits around somewhere deep in his chest, where a string of his past relationship makes dents in his lungs. One that he doesn’t want to admit he still has. One that he’s learned to forget about. 

But he is changing his ways. For you. 

You moan and scratch your nails down his thighs, the fire forming into an animal in you. A feral, little thing that knows what it needs. And he’s going to give it to you, mind already working on the forgetting. 

“I love your cock. It’s all mine.” You mouth it, glide your puffy lips upon its length and despite the pleasure he gets from it, he pushes you away. 

Straddles your hips. Turns you onto your tummy. Knows the personal cock time was too brief for you, but he can’t risk having his orgasm like this. 

“Yes, my love, all yours. And I’m gonna fuck that brain out of your head with it.” 

You mewl. “Yes, please.” 

In contrary to your words, you try to crawl away when he sinks himself inside, your nails making pretty music on the wood. He brings you right back to him. Presses you down flat with his hand on your back. All while still inside of you. You sputter out your moans and, licking his thumb, he circles your other hole, making them grow in volume. 

“No, sweetheart. Don’t run from it. You can take it. Believe in yourself the way I believe in you.” 

The strokes he gives you are hard, engraving your rose tattoos made of hickeys onto the dock and he realizes that’s exactly what he wants. He desires to have everything he owns smell like you, look like you and carry remnants, memories and keepsakes of you for generations to come. And so he fucks you not only harder, but faster. 

Thinks your back is awfully bare and missing the rest of the marks. 

Jungkook bites onto the skin above your shoulder blade and you catch him off guard. 

“Jungkook, I’m gonna come like this.” 

He hums, fondly. How quickly your walls have gotten used to accommodating him. “Not yet, my love.” 

Swiveling you, he hooks your knees onto his shoulders, sinking back into you this way—sinking back home. 

And it begins to rain. 

Jungkook hears the touch of the droplets upon the surface of the pond first before the same ones pelt down his back. And the briskness that affects him, the conjunction of an autumn kissed by the last of summer—it drives him to crush his lips onto yours with such vigor that he hopes the autumn, at the sight of it, will be here to stay, in all its wholeness. No more triggers of the past seasons. Newness, only. Singularity. 

He doesn’t carry you away from the rain. No, he hides you with his own body. Takes every hit from the ruthless downpour for every lash across your heart, for every scar etched for all eternity on its flesh. Hands cradling your head, the broadness of his back a cover for the top half of your body and you keep him there with your hands gripping his hair, holding on for dear life. It stimulates him enough to fuck you just as hard, imprinting the lines of the wood onto your back. 

Not so bare anymore. 

You could never be an empty canvas. Not with him. 

Not when you care for him in the midst of the pleasure. 

“Jungkook, ah, you’re go-gonna catch a cold.” 

He kisses you for it, terribly touched. “But it feels so good.” A languid stroke, the squelching of your pussy; he rolls his eyes back, sucking in a breath. “Come for me and I’ll get you inside.” 

He picks up the pace, seizing your pleasure. But then you start moving your hips up and down and he feels you fill up every dent in his heart with each movement, each moan, each squeeze of your walls. And when you make yourself come on his cock, he considers himself strong enough to tell you all about it later. 

Carrying you inside while hiding your head from the rain in the crook of his neck, he takes you up to his room and sets you down like the princess you are underneath the ivory canopy above his bed. Senses your irises digging little pursed pecks into his back as he rummages in his dresser, fishing out a pink bottle of lube and a dildo. Smaller than his length, but almost the same as his girth. Skin-like. With balls attached. 

He’s smirking as he swivels, joy evident on his face. He’s eager to watch you ride it and your two lighthouses for eyes divulge to him just as how excited you are yourself. 

You spread your feet for him once he’s an inch away from you, smiling from ear to ear. “Fuck me with it,” you purr, wrapping your legs around his torso. 

Even the most solemn man in the world wouldn’t be able to not grin at this moment. Too bad he wouldn’t let him near you. His heart pounds, aches to say no to you, but he simply wants to watch you ride it. 

“No, sweetheart. I want to watch.” 

You frown. “But you haven’t cummed yet.” 

He caresses your small pout and you kiss his thumb. His smile widens. “That’s okay.” He might be throbbing, but watching you bounce on a silicone dick will bring him a great deal of pleasure, nonetheless. 

“Then, touch yourself for me.” 

He hums, his heart lodged in his throat. The turning of tables must be in the script to this movie that he considers his life shared with you. And he likes it more than he’s able to comprehend amidst his intense arousal. 

“You have to ride it well, then.” 

You suck on his thumb momentarily, a smirk quirking your lips. “I’ll do my best.” 

“I know you will.” 

Pecking you shortly, he squirts a ton of lube on the dildo and all around your princess parts, rubbing your clit to tease you. The gasp you let out causes him to laugh softly in endearment and then…

Then, he leaves you to it. 

Sitting back in his rocking chair, he fists his cock, the leftover lube making a squeaky sound on his skin. You get on your knees, line yourself up and Jungkook tugs down his foreskin for you, allowing you to see the drops of his male essence oozing out. It turns you on to the point that you moan and bite your lip, sinking down on the toy and he’s breathless. 

“Fuck, it’s not as big as you,” you whine, sitting down on it, fully, maintaining eye contact with him. His heart thuds in harsh staccatos. “I barely feel anything.” 

A sly remark about your ex-boyfriend’s length is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He’s not a constant presence. Not anymore. So why bring him back? 

And what’s more, you’re lying. Because when you begin to bounce, tentatively, your eyes whisk back and you pinch your nipples, the squelching sound of your pretty little pussy driving him to fuck his fist just once. He knows if he keeps going, he might miss the whole experience, plagued by the shadow of his pleasure. He palms his balls instead, his cock protruding from the crook between his fingers and his thumb. Still wet from you. 

“Harder,” he commands, squeezing his balls when you listen and he hisses, fights with all his strength not to flutter his eyes closed like his body is begging him to. He can’t miss this. It’s too good to miss. He bites down on his lip. 

“Jerk off that cock, please,” you plead, your breasts bouncing and he bites down harder, the fire in him burning off his skin. “It doesn’t feel as good when you don’t.” 

He swears and begins to move his hand, gliding up and down, pressure hard. “Are you imagining it’s me?” 

“Yes, oh my God. I’m riding you and it feels so fucking good, Jungkook.” 

He moans, focusing on his sensitive head. Tips his chin up. Doesn’t break the eye contact. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.” 

The praise gets to you and your fingers sneak to your clit, rubbing fast little circles—and just like that he nears to the edge. Whimpering for you, he fucks his cock harder. Hot flashes surround your flushed face and you mimic his sounds. 

That’s his very fucking undoing. 

Getting on his feet, he paints your breasts and tummy white and you begin to shudder, his orgasm coaxing yours. You pinch your little hard nubs—and it’s almost like you’re milking him dry, spurts after spurts making new tattoos on your torso, white roses to mingle with your red and purplish ones. 

And his woozy brain can’t help but to look forward to see them fade to yellow. 

He kisses you so hard that he doesn’t feel you breathe and when he pulls away, he collects his cum and feeds it to you. Can’t have it go to waste when he knows what he’s planning for you. 

“That was so good,” he whispers, sealing such an intimate moment with another ravenous kiss. 

He doesn’t let you respond—he pins you back. Ass up, face down. Squirts lube all over that deliciousness and when he glances over at the ruined dildo, he whistles. Pearls after pearls of your girlish essence trickle down the length and he shows it to you. Hard all over again. 

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he praises and your eyes widen in that familiar way he likes, mouth parting, blush deepening. “Stick out your tongue.” You listen, so fucking well, and he plunges the silicone tip inside your mouth, circling it around that willing muscle. “That’s it, lick it up, sweetheart.” 

You look up at him as you do it, making smacking sounds, so terribly fucked out. Jungkook has to grip your hair in order to hold on to the last of his composure, and when you begin to suck on it—he can’t take it anymore. 

He fucks you with it. Fucks you into the mattress. Punishing you for the things you do to him, for the fire that grows hotter and hotter in his veins. And he loves you, dearly, with the entirety of his being, that his fingers cannot physically stay away from your little sopping clit. 

Neither can they when you come and gush out your arousal. Neither can they when he switches the dildo with his cock, raises you in the air and fucks you so hard, whispering little praises and sweet little nothings—“I’m getting you used to taking it from behind, my love. You’re doing so good. You’re so beautiful. So damn pretty.”—that you and he both, completely and wholly, fall apart when you come together. 

He loves you dearly enough that he can’t stop falling apart even in the shower. 

He tells you of the demon living in his chest. 

“When we’re together, I feel you healing me. I feel you giving me chances to live on with my life, do the things I’m scared of or wary of. Like today, when you didn’t believe me when I’d told you you were beautiful. I felt that fear I had in me for years, but saying it to you made it seem like nothing. There used to be a girl I was in love with. Whenever I would tell her things like this, she’d scrunch up her nose. It wasn’t enough for her. Her pride was too big for my words. I kept giving and giving and it was never enough. But when I give to you, you take it and you live with it and I can see it on you. I can see you wear it proudly. I can even see it now. And it’s so beautiful. So healing.” 

You kissed his scars. Kissed his hands. His neck. Washed him clean. Hugged him under the hot downpour of the shower. Reminded him of the way he healed you. Told him all the small details he never knew—and it only proved his words, tightened his love for you. 

He knows from this moment on that you will be the mother of his children. He’s not letting you go. Not until the day he dies. 

And the first shower he shared with you… Jungkook sketched it down that very night as you and him sipped on wine, listening to music. And he brimmed with the longing to bring it onto a canvas. Splatter it with colors. Purples and reds, with tiny hints of yellow that are about to appear on your body. 

And he will. Hang it up in this very cabin. The eternal keepsake of the movie that his life has become. 

It has been several months of living this cinematic life with you. Weekends spent at the cabin, the weekdays spent separately, save for the regular dates. Dinners, trips, sight-seeing. A slow life filled with brand new art supplies, a pile of sketchbooks adorning the walls of his bedrooms. Both at his own apartment and the cabin. And another adornment has come to live with you and him, one of life-long permanency. 

He sealed your exclusive relationship with a matching tattoo. 

“Sweet” lines your left rib whereas “Heart” lines his—right above the mole you’ve come to love so much. Red ink, an illusion to your red roses, the dress you’ve worn for him on several occasions. Visiting him out of the blue in the middle of the week with black lingerie underneath and a trench coat to cover you up. Mindlessly at the cabin one weekend when drinking wine, smoking together on the balcony, listening to the whispers of the willow tree. And once on the last warm day of autumn, during which he paid you back for the way you had pushed him into the water of the pond. Just like he’d done the first time, he tossed you in, joining you right after, fucking you in the dress. He had eternalized it that very night, sitting by an easel. Paintings of you, some of both you and him, hang on the walls of the cabin. In the living room, in the bedroom. Everywhere one looks, one finds the scenes of your movie—and it brings him joy unlike any other. 

Yoongi… he hadn’t called you since that fateful day. You’d made the arrangements to see him after a month or so. Found out he was seeing a therapist. 

Quite literally. 

He’s banging his male therapist.

The information enveloped you in a dimmed glow. You were shocked, first and foremost, because you had no idea Yoongi liked men. Jungkook did, so it wasn’t a surprise to him—what was more of a groundbreaking surprise to him was the fact you didn’t know. That he never cared to tell you. 

And he never pushed it aside. As a matter of fact, he told him off about it the first time he saw him after everything. 

Yoongi cared very little because he considered the chapter finished. A similar light swathed him tautly, one he’d never seen on him, and Jungkook agreed. The chapter is finished. No need to get all hot again. 

Yoongi forgave him. Found love. Found healing. But he didn’t maintain his relations with you. Neither did he with Jungkook.

And while it hurt for a little while, Jungkook figured that maybe it was meant to be like this all along. 

He and you. A singularity. 

The nonexistent gap between the word sweetheart. 

No third party. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[luveline]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

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"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head. 

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today." 

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you." 

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow." 

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping." 

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos. 

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you. 

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful." 

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower. 

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks. 

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously. 

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me." 

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh. 

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently. 

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep. 

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly. 

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne." 

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General. 

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants. 

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?" 

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg. 

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened. 

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly." 

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek. 

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?" 

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up." 

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise. 

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers? 

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan. 

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.  

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say. 

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again. 

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying. 

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say. 

"He sounds like you." 

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle. 

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists. 

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of. 

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry." 

"You think so?" you ask. 

"I think the solution is the same, too." 

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry." 

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean. 

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question). 

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in. 

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms? 

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more. 

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably. 

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm. 

You hesitate. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?" 

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts. 

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately. 

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever." 

"What do you think?" you ask softly. 

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious. 

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days." 

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?" 

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?" 

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast." 

"I can wait." 

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?" 

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me." 

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork. 

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it. 

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough. 

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird." 

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it." 

"It's a mess?" you ask. 

"It's perfect." 

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully. 

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing. 

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips. 

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly. 

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me." 

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more. 

"He's… I'm just not…" 

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth." 

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble. 

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–" 

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face. 

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind." 

"But he is perfect," you say. 

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–" 

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion." 

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek. 

"My dork," you murmur. 

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey." 

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility." 

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss. 

"I love you," you say. 

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too." 

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

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thank you for reading!

[historyslittlebish]

Hiii, I'd love to submit a request if possible? I love your writing so much :3

Been thinking about King Baldwin iv, and he strikes me as the type of man to absolutely *melt* at head scratches. I'm thinking he's in pain and so tired, but super wired from having to deal with everything that's thrown at him. His wifey comes along, scratches his head, and he is ~out~. (And who doesn't love em: titty pillow???) Hope my rambling makes sense!

-Anon <3

A/n: I barley wrote much but tysm! I really like this idea because as someone who is sensory sensitive in general, its a great feeling. I was told I had really fluffy hair by a girl in my class in 3rd grade and she would spend most of reading time playing with my hair and stuff so yeah. Anyways here's a mini one shot. I hope this is accurate to some degree because again I never saw the movie and I was doing this at 2am soooo

=======================================

Warning: insecurities, slight angst, comfort and fluff

Baldwin sighed as he entered his quarters. Parts of his body were sore and aching for a relief of sorts. His eyes wandered towards the bed and he saw your beautiful/handsome figure. Your soft H/C hair was being braided/brushed by your own hand. After you finished the last of your nighttime routine, you turned and with a soft smile, beckoned your husband to come sit on the bed with you.

Happily, Baldwin obliged and slowly trudged his way over to you and slowly sat down.

As he sat down his muscles felt weak and sore. He let out a pained groan before settling on the bed, relaxing himself.

"My love, are you in pain tonight?" You asked as your hands reached over and gently stroked his clothed arm. Baldwin sighed and looked over to you, his eyes felt wet and he took his only functioning hand and grasped your smaller one with it.

"How can you love a man like me? What do you see in me?" Baldwin asked. He felt his heart ache for a true answer.

"Because you are a great man, you were god's design, you are a kind and strong ruler." You replied as you gently hugged his arm and rested you face on his shoulder.

"Would you like me to soothe you before you sleep?" You asked and you slowly reached to take off the yarmulke from his head while at the same time, hesitantly, Baldwin reached to remove his iron mask.

You both sat in silence as you stared at your dear husband. You smiled and leaned over pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, then beckoning him to lie down on your lap.

He allowed himself to lean into your touch as rested on your thighs.

While gently stroking his deformed face, you began to massage his scalp and stroke his shoulders and back.

There was a deep rumble in Baldwin's chest, a sound of pleasure from whatever sensory he could feel. He slowly lifted himself and pushed you onto the bed and grabbed the blanket to cover the two of you.

He nuzzled himself onto your chest and let out a sigh on content.

You giggled as continued to stroke, massage, and scratch him. He thanked God he is blessed with a woman/man like you as his love...He also prayed you would be alright, never contracting the same, awful disease he has.

Edit: @bl00dyarak I fixed it so the fic can be applied to both female and male people (or nonbinary too because you can read it as such) :)

[juletheghoul]

Request for another hurt/comfort the General bit (I'm counting the period chapter in that category). 'Greedy' made me think of other potential lovers that the Reader had in the past, maybe another master who had her before Marcus. Except not so much a lover but a slave owner using his property. And maybe this guy has some fancy job and gets invited to an event at the General's estate. And maybe he sees her and makes comments or approaches her in private. I'd love to see Marcus's reaction to something like that!

okay nonny, I see youuuu! Okay so I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but my mind raced and it is what it is - hope you enjoy! 🩷🩷

(thanks @absurdthirst for talking this one out with me!)

Lets get into it:

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and probably full of errors)

word count; 1.6k (series masterlist)

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He yawned, despite all of the flesh on display. You, were much more affected.

It had started out like every other gathering, food and soft music, raucous laughter and all manner of delights to draw the eye. Slaves adorned in intricate masks posed on pedestals, their bodies covered in white paint to make them look like living statues. Prominent Gladiators stood sentinel, stock still and oiled to showcase their bodies, breathing weapons, standing at the ready for the pleasure of the distinguished guests filling the halls.

Inevitably, the flesh on display had worked it's magic on the guests, and the lively conversation, had descended into cries of pleasure. The soft music changed from lutes and harps, to the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh. The liquid squelch of arousal ringing out around you.

It was hard not to think on what it sounded like when your Dominus took you, his lovely sounds in your ear, his cock coated in your desire for him, and it was in you to mount him then and there, but he had not given any indication that he desired this, and so you stood beside him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the ache of emptiness between your legs.

Despite his hunger for your body, a thing he indulged in almost daily to your great delight, he was an intensely private person. Anything he did in public, was to send a message, to secure his peace and to remind anyone who showed him disrespect, that he was not someone to be trifled with. For you, there was no difference. Whether he took you here, in front of everyone, or at the villa where you were alone, it made you drip all the same. There was no shame left, only lust.

He was speaking to another, a friendly conversation while your hands fidgeted with your tunic, when you saw a ghost from your past. A former owner, recognition and delight on his face. That Dominus had given you pleasure as well, not nearly as much as your General, and never privately, he liked to be in the middle of it, to be spoiled and shared. He enjoyed the spectacle of excess.

He smiled wide, making his way over to you with one of his girls, and one of his boys in tow, both of them roughly your age.

Marcus saw him approach, and you felt him tense.

"I see you have been blessed by Fortuna, found yourself in the house of General Marcus," He smiled at you, benevolent. "and he has brought you here, much to my delight-" He ran his finger down your arm softly, you felt nothing. "Come, let us move to a private room and indulge as we did-" His words were cut short, when Marcus' hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away and onto his lap.

"I think you have forgotten who she belongs to, I have not given you leave to touch." His hand lands on your thigh, heavy and so welcome where you were draped across his lap. Your hands instantly wrapping themselves around his neck.

"Oh come now Marcus, what is it to share amongst friends-"

"We are not friends." He places a kiss at your throat, his voice like ice despite the petal soft feel of his lips on your skin, "and I do not share."

Your heart raced, and you couldn't help but giggle softly, this was what you wanted, for him to claim you in front of all.

The other man let out a huff, half laughing, half disbelieving.

"They are but slaves, why bring one as lovely as her if not to tempt, I offer mine to you freely, in the spirit of good will." He thrusts his girl forward, the boy too, both of them staring at the way Marcus pulls your tunic to the side to kiss your shoulders, their gaze devouring the path of his big hand sliding under your tunic to caress the wet slit between your legs. His mouth pulls away, but his fingers glide between the lips of your sex slowly, slipping over your clit in soft, wet strokes.

"What I do with what's mine, concerns me, and me alone." He turns to watch your face, how your mouth hangs open, how your breath catches with every delicious swirl, "What say you, girl, should I share you?" He punctuates his words by sliding two thick fingers inside you as deep as they can go and you moan, wantonly.

"No Dominus, please no, just you." You press forward, pressing your lips to his despite not being given leave to have his mouth and he laughs into the kiss, pulling away after a moment and you whimper when he takes his fingers out. He rubs them against your lips like a rich Roman woman would with the juice of a pomegranate, before sliding them into your mouth.

"You may leave us." He speaks to the man, keeping his lust blown eyes on the way you hollow your cheeks around his fingers.

Once the man walks away, tail tucked between his legs, you shift, feeling him hard and heavy underneath you.

"Shall we return to the Villa? Or would you like me to take you here and now?" His lips bite at your ear and your heart races to have him offer this to you, control, choice, luxuries that you have not been afforded in this life. It is such a vast difference from the life you led up until you came to be in his service. Servitude is servitude, that will never change, but you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him, you sometimes think that what you feel for him, might be more akin to obsession, something dark and all encompassing.

You bite your lip, smiling conspiratorially in the strong cage of his arms.

"I would have you take me here and now Dominus, I would have you show them who I belong to." You speak into his ear, sucking a mark into his neck, he rewards you with a deep groan and a heavy palm on your ass.

"Stand." His voice is commanding, and makes your nipples hard as pebbles. "I will take you from behind, so everyone can see how well you take my cock." He whispers it in your ear, turning you so you lean against the lectus, he hands another blow, a loud crack on your backside that makes you jump.

Gooseflesh spreads across your skin as you feel him lift your tunic, rolling it in on itself at your waist so it doesn't fall, and within a heartbeat you feel the blunt tip of him prodding at your seam. His hand slides around, and he puts it to your mouth, palm up.

"Spit." He commands, and you obey. It's filthy, and your heart beats like a hummingbird in your cunt at his tone. Eyes find you, of slaves and owners alike and they smile, enjoying the show and you smile back, the arousal like the teeth of some great wolf around your neck.

His first thrust was like a punch, and your body bent forward, your face pressing to the silky fabric of the lectus both in relief, and on fire.

"No, no girl, you will stay up, and see how they watch you take my cock." He lifted you up, pressing his hand to your throat to keep you upright.

"Yes Dominus." You replied, eyes half lidded in pleasure as he pulled himself out and thrust back in. He was harder than you'd ever felt him, hot and heavy inside and you couldn't do anything but stand there, on the tips of your toes and take what he gave. His breath came out in pants in your ear, his thrusts hard enough to make your breasts bounce, the hardened tips of them tickled by the fabric of your tunic.

Eyes of other slaves watched, and a wave of slick seeped out to find them almost covetous of the pleasure your Dominus so freely gave you, of the way his hand slipped around once more to find your neglected little clit, to pinch it between wet, spit-soaked fingers and pull your world apart. The sharp, starburst of pleasure spreading like a tidal wave throughout the network of your veins and he laughed in your ear.

"Already? just a little pinch and you gush all over me, girl?" He sped up, drawing out the pleasure until you all but wept, his cock kissing something divine inside you. "You like them watching you take it, you like it when I claim you for all to see, you like being mine don't you, girl?" His pace stuttered, affected by his own words and you turned your face to meet him in a misaligned kiss, whispering into his mouth that yes, yes you did, holding one hand on his at your throat, while bringing the other to hold the weight of your breast.

"I want your gift Dominus, please, may I have it? Please?" You begged him, relishing the way he couldn't contain himself, pushing himself deep enough to hit your womb, pleasure and pain mingling together as he ground himself almost too deep and painting your insides with his spend.

"It's yours-" His whisper was gravel in your ear, softer words following and for a moment you can almost convince yourself you’d heard him say I'm yours but you ignore it, your imagination and your arousal running rampant. Instead you wait until he pulls himself out, and turn in his arms ignoring the eyes that follow you and wrap your arms around his neck. You claim a kiss, licking into his mouth with an authority unavailable to you in any other aspect of your life. His seed leaks out of you, dripping onto your inner thighs as he pulls you close, letting you take your fill.

"Can you take me home Dominus?" You press kisses to his throat, running your tongue across where you feel his heart beating there, "I desire for you to take me again." He shudders softly and never in your life, have you ever felt more powerful.

He nods and you smile.

-

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[theoceansluvr]

Percy Jackson x Surfer! Reader

warnings; none ! author's note; starting to notice how useful my obsession with the beach really is for writing.. thank you Amphitrite for this blessing !! my favorite sport and my favorite boy, literally perfect !

like my marnie biologist reader one, match destined by the Fates !

you probably met on the beach when percy was out at the cabin with his mom and he instantly knew he needed you in is life.

sally was honestly here for it because well, that's how she met Poseidon !

consider it a family meet cute that passes down from generation to generation

you guys collect seashells together ?

personally i'd say for jewelry making but that's up to y'all <9

you teaching percy how to surf and he's automatically good at it !!!

you think he's already done it before be he swears he's never even touched a surfboard before you met

just one of his lovely sea child traits i suppose

MATCHING BOARDS

percy def rides longboard but definitely tried shortboard once and fell into the water

def learned how to wax surfboards just for you !

goes to all your competitions if you compete

he only doesn't show up if it interferes with his swim meets

WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT POINT !

he yaps about you to his team all time

like "Oh you're a good swimmer ? Well my partner is even better AND they surf !"

he's hopeless really

has grown so used to the smell of sunscreen at this point he could probably get the exact brand you use based on the scent alone

doesn't want to be in your way while you surf so he just sits in the sand and draws little hearts with your initials

you guys did that one trend where people find rocks on the beach that match their partners eye colors

you know the one

he learned how to wrap stones just so you guys could wear them as necklaces

(need someone like him so bad)

cruel summer coded relationship may i say ?

when you're just chillin' on the beach he always talks about how you could totally make it to the Olympics

you take his remarks at face value but it definitely helps with your confidence !

unironically says cowabunga now ??

you don't even use it, probably

he just thinks he's a comedic genius

freaked out a little when you turtle rolled in front of him

(i choked on water the first time so can't even blame the man)

thought you were going to drown then you popped back up and smiled at him like nothing happened

needless to say, that's how he learned that term

your first kiss was probably during sunset or something cheesy like that, sitting on your boards and he just

leans over and kisses you, ignoring the fact you tasted like saltwater because it was you

it's now a little tradition that you kiss before going out <9

ending it here because i can and will ramble about this man and surfing forever and ever😞

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

HI saw your requests were open for sagau so i thought i'd drop on by

can i request creator reader with favourites, specifically alhaitham and diluc but you can add more if you'd like! just generally how the character would react to being favourited by the creator and how the creator treats them pls <33

have a good day and no stress if you don't like the idea, just a lil brain rot i've been having recently

lei <3

Hello, Lei Anon! I'll gladly do this request! It's been a while since I've done something like this too lol—I'm doing great as of right now. I hope you're having a good day as well :) I hope you like what I got!

Alhaitham & Diluc Getting Favoritism Privileges ✨

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Diluc

When he heard rumors that he was being favored by the Almighty Creator, he denied it at first. It was just the drunkards in his tavern just talking and rambling. There wasn't anything that could be used as solid proof to back up their drunk claims.

If it wasn't for the fact that you strolled on in, saying, "Diluc, my favorite Main!" he probably would never have believed it.

With your attention consistently on him, Diluc is often praised for gaining Mondstadt the true blessing of the Almighty Creator. Diluc is constantly being given gifts that you find, bought, or crafted—be it a chair made of the finest wood, a fresh bouquet of freshly picked asters and cecilias, or a fresh pair set of clothes with the best quality of silk! Or, whenever you think your gifts aren't enough—mora.

"Your Grace...there is no need for any of this." Diluc doesn't know what to do with the amount of gifts you're giving him constantly. He doesn't even know where to place them in your manor. Adelinde and the other maids are even struggling to maintain the overflow of gifts you've been gifting.

And you, of course, don't think this is enough. "Diluc needs more love" is your motto now!

Alhaitham

Alhaitham's heard of the rumors about being favored by the Almighty Creator. Even Kaveh brought it up, drunk or not, about how Alhaitham was like the golden child of the Their Divine Grace.

Like the usual guy he is, he shrugs it off. Rumors cannot be taken as truth, but that does get him intrigued. Thus, he starts researching to see if these rumors were true, and if not, what parts of the rumor were true.

Turns out, the answer was rather easy to find—you just straight up walked up to him and handed a few books you thought he might find interesting for him. And by a few, I mean at least 50 books.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to bring any of this home—" "I can help you bring it home!" "—nor do I have the space for it." "I can buy you a new shelf! No, actually, I'll build you your own private library!" "Oh? You're even more intriguing than I thought, Your Grace. Allow me to ask for your help and aid to carry these books home."

You would often buy him books, or give him more mora, or hell, even gift him any furniture or equipment he needed! Anything he needed, you would find a way to supply it to him, or just gift it to him in general, because why not!

Safe to say that Alhaitham took quiet amusement to Kaveh's flabbergasted expression and shock. And, ever the perfectionist he was, how Kaveh was fumbling on shelving the books in the new (big) library you built beside his house that only he (and Kaveh) could access.

Safe to say he is grateful for your favoritism.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Dang, is my mailbox exploding with brainrots from people LOL. I certainly wasn't expecting this! I do hope these posts are up to your liking :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[astralnymphh]

patterned palmistry ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x witch!reader headcanons/scenarios ༻ ☽𖤐☾

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

an: being the witchy little gremlin i am i just had to throw some hcs together for myself but ofc i'd share them here🙄ive been practicing witchcraft since i was 15 so it felt fitting to incorporate it whenever i brace my delusions at the bootycrack of midnight that r all abt ellie 💀 regardless this def isnt gonna be my only witchy hcs post i just didnt wanna spoil all my ideas right away <3 tags: MDNI, slight nsfw (no detailed smut), boob jokes, witchcraft (obv), tarot, palm reading, mostly convos, flirting, not mentioned in the writing but u 2 r alrdy dating, playful bickering, more natural casual writing with some bigger words, no specific religion tied to the practice, generally a fluff piece, lowk cute moments. °________________________⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆__________________________°

I. ☆ ellie definitely had a peak in curiosity the first time you mentioned you immerse yourself in the world of the craft, her ears perked figuratively and were tuned in to learn what that entails. she may not forfeit a nip of skepticism right away but she's more than happy to engross herself in the idea of it. you'd stay up till first light rambling on about the 'rituals', 'divination', the history tied to it and why you practice it. you'd be lying in bed adjacent to her, heavenward to the ceiling, but interwoven in a warm and loving cuddle with her palm residing on your lap whilst you chatted.

"mmmmh-" ellie's hum churns 'round your bedroom, "so that's why you collect rocks."

"crystals."

"same thing," she drones an inwardly giggle, "which crystal will give me superpowers?" a witty remark springs from her tongue.

"babe.." you pout, acting offended yet none is taken.

"didn't mean it like that, y'know I believe you, it's all just new to me." ellie tapes an assuring kiss to your temple, "tell me about your favorite crystals, hmm?" 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

II. ☆ now because of this, anytime you're out on patrol and delight the opportunity of scavenging, she always keeps in mind to find you flowers, rocks, unused candles and other oddities of nature.

"hey babe! I found a black candle for'ya." ellie bolstered a long glass cylinder filled with an opaque charcoal wax, wick still intact, "and- ..some wild lavender." her other arm swings from behind her back, twines of dusty purple lavender upheld in a pinch.

"fuck yeah, needed this stuff.." you graciously tweak the lavender from her, whiffing up its poignant scent.

"always on the lookout.." her voice resembles her proud countenance outwards, essentially, a dorky smirk.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

III. ☆ obviously, the second you mentioned the art of tarot to her, she begged for a reading. whenever a card flew from your shuffling motions, she'd patiently wait for you to place it before her and then she'd swipe it up and admire the art piece detailing the cardstock.

"whew! look at the boobs on this one!" 

"oh- my god, of course you'd point that out." you snatch the card from her, shamelessly ogling the nude depiction that had her attention.

"you're looking at them too!"

"cuz' you said something 'bout it!" you flick the card towards her face, noting, "those are some nice boobs though." 

"why thank you~" 

"wasn't talking about you, idiot!" 

"eh, but.. urs' are the best." her hoarse tone binds a nonchalant flirtiness in its rumble.

"oh really? should we compare the.. four?"

that really stole her attention.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

IV. ☆ the first time you entertained her with a palm reading, it had her all dappy and touched to the essence at the paltry contact you made with her hand. your fingerprints drafting her calloused palms with such a gentle focus on every river lining her hand. she just wanted to smother you with kisses.

"and… this is your heart line." your finger hovers the crevice of her palm-pads stretching from index to pinkie, "ah.. it's a broken one.."

"is that.. bad?" her juniper eyes study your expression meticulously.

"it just means u're closed off, stubborn, have some emotional trauma.. stuff like that." you mindlessly fiddle with her fingers, "lines can change though, so.."

she nods, taking in the insight. she licks her slightly chapped lips clean, "am I stubborn?" her voice rises partially an octave, bending playfulness in her question.

"mm.. no."

"why'd you hesitate?"

"well- the only times ur' stubborn is refusing to let go whenever you hug me- ur' a life-size sloth!" 

"I like huggin' you though." a puppy pout frowns on her lips, "you're like a pillow!"

and oh, how your heart capers a beat, "is that all I am, williams?"

her swift speech conjuncts, "whaddid' I say about that name?!"

"I don't know, I think you like it." 

"nuh-uh I don't!"

you pepper a haste kiss to her knuckles still forcepped in your clasp, totally deterring the crime you've just committed when a half impish half taken aback smile creaks her lips.

"c'mere." vaults from her tongue before she lunges her body forward and tackles you in a saucy position riddled with love bites. guess you'll be reading her palms in a different way tonight.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ V. ☆ an bonus hc, you'd totally mention out of the void about her tattoo n the mystic meanings surrounding moths, like, its for sure one of the topics you'll ramble about one night cause you just feel so wise for knowing. "y'know, moths play a pretty large role in the metaphysical world." "really? i mean, i knew they had some kind of.. 'symbolism' to them-" ellie's hand rolls over the knoll of her forearm, reading the bumps glamoured in that beautiful inking. "yeah, like- luna moths represent transformation, renewal.. oh! and death-head moths are an omen of death.. an- and black witch moths mean either good luck, or bad-" ellie is amused at your prattle shown by her raspy giggles, legitimately having to conceal her scrunched face. "what?" "nothin' you- you're just so cute." "stop.." the embarrassment catches up to you, now having to hide your face to the shadows beneath your hands. her finger cranes out to hook and uncover your nerdy grin, assuring, "never stop tellin' me bout this stuff, ok babe?" a wide delighted beam syncs on her cheeks. goddess above, her dimples and nasal lines are to die for. ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

𖤐

in general; she's a curious dork n will ask you oh so many questions, i mean, she loves space and a futuristic sci-fi comic for crying out loud, she's alrdy so imaginative so ofc she'd be open to a realistic amount. she'd also be so respectful and helpful n defend ur practice with so much love. maybe she'd pick up some little traditions and customs like folding letters a specific amount of times, drawing little pentacles, mixing liquid in specific directions, just the simple things that grow on her.

[queer-overwatch]

Hi!! Could I request maybe a Venture x Reader (Any pronouns will do) on like a museum date? I want Venture to yap.Please and Thank you. ( Also bless the both of you I needed more Venture content I was tweaking without them)

Venture at a Museum!

Aaa ty sm for the request!!! I love that idea so much- they are such a yapper I love them <3 also your welcome hehe, had to take thing into our own hands >:3 (also bc u didn't request a specific format (like hcs or oneshot) i just did a short lil oneshot, hope thats okay!) -Frisk

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

"Look, look- they have a whole section on rocks! Kinda basic selection but it's still rocks!"

You never thought you'd be able to learn so much about rocks in one day, but it seemed like Venture had made it their personal mission to force as much information into your brain as possible. You didn't mind, really! It was always nice listening to them rant about all the cool stuff they found while walking around the museum you'd planned to bring them to, but it was a lot to take in at once.

"Augh, I love sedimentary rocks- they're my favorite! 'cuz sometimes they have like, little fossils in them and I'm like, "Woah! A cool thing in another cool thing!" and it's awesome! One time I found a trilobite fossil in a rock, it was so cool! I wonder if they have any here- that'd be so amazing! I wonder what they taste like-"

After spilling every single fact they could think of about the rocks on display, Venture drags you to a section of the museum dedicated to Egyptian history, though they mostly just seemed interested in the architecture of the pyramids. You really did try to listen, but you mostly just caught the gist of their long, long, long explanations- something about a Mastaba being like a sort of prototype to pyramids? You were just happy to see them so excited, even if you didn't quite understand what they were so hyped about.

"Oh, if only that British lady could go back to ancient Egypt and get the architects of their time to answer my questions! I'd give anything to be able to do that!" Sensing the slight disappointment creeping up on them, you decide to try and bring Venture elsewhere, not wanting them to spend any energy on being upset by what they can't do.

"Why don't we go look at the dinosaur fossils? I'm sure there's some mistakes in the descriptions that you can correct!" You take their hand, gently pulling them away from the long essay-like description of images of the pyramids that they were reading. Incising them with promises of being able to show off their intensive knowledge of dinosaur fossils, or fossils in general.

Venture perked up almost immediately, following behind you as they ready themselves to go on and on about their favorite dinosaur ever, the Deinocheirus! You tried to ask why it was their favorite ones, and all they said was something about it being "them fr fr" and having rocks in its stomach. You weren't too keen on questioning that one.

They take a large step so they're walking next to you, swinging your arms as you walk, "It's always been one of my biggest goals to find a dinosaur fossil! I really hope I do one day, if I did I could die happy!"

"Please don't die- I would be so sad if you died." You squeeze their hand, voice light as you joke with them.

"Aw but I wanna! I wanna be a fossil for future people like me to discover! When I do die I wanna be buried with a bunch of cool stuff! Maybe mess around with my bones a little, just to throw 'em off!" As you finally reach the fossil exhibits, they abandon you to run off and check over every. single. fossil. which while endearing, gave you a lot of running to do in an attempt to catch up.

"Finally! For once a museum that gets everything right! Well, everything as far as we know-" They stand next to one of the larger fossils, not anything you recognized as you take your place next to them, catching your breath.

"Wow, how impressive-" you wheeze, standing up straight and stretching out your legs as you link arms with Venture, trying to stop them from running off on you again.

They laugh, grabbing you by the shoulder and dragging you in the tightest hug you've ever received.

"Thank you, so, so, so much for planning this. And for listening to me talk about rocks so much, and for caring about me- and a million other things! I can't even remember everything you've done for me, but I know its a lot!" They let you go, still holding you by the shoulders, the biggest smile you've ever seen on a person splayed across their face.

"Of course-! I love spending time with you, you're well aware of that, silly." You laugh, grabbing their wrists and taking their hands off your shoulders, holding their hands as you admire the glow of excitement on their face.

"Welllll since you clearly don't mind, can we go to this other museum I found online next week?! I heard they have an area where you get to watch an hour long video on the story of Julius Caesar!"

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Cage of Desire

Ryeham Option

You can talk to the characters, but sadly these conversations aren't available in the recap. Luckily I made a screen record so I can share the words being spoken. Except for a part of Mirael! So sorry about that, I realised too late.

.・゜゜・ CASSADEE ・゜゜・. Magister Merlin!

Cassadee? It's been too long.

Magister Merlin, it's an honor to have you join us here. I've been studying he magic you left behind. You once blessed the land of Ryeham and were even able to transform a desert into an oasis. Currently, I cannot create magic on such a grand scale, but I will keep following your path.

Long time no see! Yes! What a privilege!

Sorry, but you're an illusion. What? Am I truly the product of magic? But everything is so lifelike! Look at the texture of the fabric I'm wearing. It's identical to the real thing. Even the touch of my skin feels real… What kind of magic is this? After the banquet, I'll have to study it thoroughly!

You're a remarkable mage. Thank you. Still, I recognize my own limitations and that there is still a wealth of knowledge for me yet to uncover.

Look! Valen has provided a generous feast for everyone. Strange… I can't remember why Valen is hosting this banquet, but in any case, it's an honor to dine with you. Please take a seat, Magister Merlin, and enjoy a lavish meal.

.・゜゜・　VALEN　・゜゜・． SONYA, you're late.

Valen, you haven't changed.

It's rare for me to spend so much on a feast like this, and yet the most important guest still arrives late. Go ahead, please sit down. The seat at the center is reserved for you. With this, all the guests have finally arrived.

You're hosting a feast? Am I dreaming? If this is a dream, so be it. I never thought there would be a day that I'd host a banquet. By all rights, it should be General Hogan doing this… Strange… Why did I invite you all to this banquet…? Even Mirael and Cassadee are here. Forget it, now that the beautiful ladies are here, the reason is of no importance. Let's have dinner.

This is an illusion! That's hurtful to say, SONYA. I might not have much to spare, but even I would treat the savior of the Heroic Order out to dinner. After all, repaying a kindness is a basic tenet of a knight.

It has truly been a long time. Yes, it's been quite a while. While you're tackling issues from afar, I was running around handling the general's business at the Heroic Order. We both haven't stopped for a break.

Although it pains my coin purse a bit, this feast was set up for you. We all came to see you. So enjoy yourself.

.・゜゜・　MIRAEL　・゜゜・． Magister, you're finally here…

Mirael? It's really you…

What's wrong? Why that expression? I've seen that look in a mirror before. When we met each other and you had forgotten me, I had the same expression on my face.

It's been a while. …

You're just an illusion. When you were teaching me about illusions, you said that although magic can create false images, the caster's emotions are not necessarily untrue. If am truly an illusion you fashioned, then it at least means you must have thought of me at some point. That in itself is a comfort.

I miss the time we spent together. I feel the same way.

… My dearest magister.

[mintsuwu]

please how did you come up with her design I've been trying to make a design for my poppy playtime oc but it always ends up looking like rubbish please give tips😭😭

Hello, thank you for asking! Truth be told is that it took me a bit to figure out how to do LoolaLamb in general, she didn't come out too well on the first try xD I had to tweak a couple of things in her like the hair, colors or snout.

Initially, I wasn't quite sure of what animal picking for her, but then I went with the lamb idea for a few reasons:

- When I was little, I used to have a lamb plush I used to love dearly. Sadly I don't have any pictures to show since I no longer have it with me so I tried to look for one that looked similar on the Internet- But that was the main inspiration for her character. And since the Smiling Critters have their own plushies as well, I thought it would be interesting to make one of them after a real toy. I also took reference from other characters in media that were based on sheeps, like in Pokémon (Flaaffy & Whimsicott).

I would always recommend using references if you ever don't know where to start with a design. And in the case of a Poppy Playtime OC, you can look for references if you desire as well, or even turn a beloved toy of yours into a character, anything works!

In many cultures, the lamb is a revered symbol of innocence, purity, and sacrifice. It is often associated with religious connotations, particularly in Christianity, where it symbolizes the embodiment of Christ's innocence and the sacrificial lamb offering redemption and atonement for humanity's sins. I simply liked the symbology of this because I'm always a sucker for that when it comes to creating characters;;

This was mainly due to lore reasons, her association with Catnap, a follower of an entity, the Prototype, whom he workships and would do anything to get its blessing. LoolaLamb "sacrified" her voice for the Prototype (well, it actually was that Catnap took away her voicebox with that excuse).

Her name "LoolaLamb" is a word play for "lullaby", given the role she was going to have in the Smiling Critters line, a replacement for Catnap who would have a similar role as his, except that instead of using a gas to make people fall asleep, she would use her voice. Sheeps and lambs are also heavily associated with sleep and dreams, given the advice: if you can't get to sleep, just “count sheep” until you drift off into a peaceful slumber.

Sheep are wanderers. It's their nature. Even in the best and safest of places, places that provide protection, water, and food, sheep are known to wander off, get lost, and sometimes eaten by predators.

Her color pick was mainly because even if the smiling critters have more or less the colors of the rainbow and there are already two blue colored critters (Bubba Bubbaphant being more of a neutral blue or azure and Craftycorn cyan or aquamarine), I noticed that there were no dark blue or indigo colored ones. My first idea for LoolaLamb was to give her more violet colors, given her correlation to Catnap, but at the same time I wanted her to stand out amongst the others, being a little more of her own character, so that´s why I ended up picking a different color pallete for her.

And those are pretty much the basic things I had in mind when creating LoolaLamb! Of course it doesn't always have to be so elaborated with all characters, but I'd always recommend to find references, information, symbolism, anything that might help you with the creation of your character in case you don't know where to start or are simply stuck!

I might not be the best when it comes to explaining things but I hope this has helped you and I wish you the best in your creative process, anon! 🙏🏻💖

[raayllum]

What Does 6x09 Actually Tell Us About Aaravos?

Now that we know a fair bit more about Aaravos and his motivations in canon rather than interviews or TDP short stories, and because 6x09 confirmed some juicy pieces of speculation I've had for a while (staff, Sol Regem, and First Elf—Archdragon relations I'm looking at you), I thought it'd be a useful overview of what we can glean from everything we get about Aaravos — and Leola — in 6x09. So let's get into it:

First Elves and the Archdragons

I talked about the potential peer-adjacent relationship the First Elves might've had with the Archdragons in contrast to the First / Star Elves and primal elves a few months before S6 aired. This was largely due to things such as Zubeia saying things like "In the name of the dragons of the First Elves" (4x03) and the fact that primal elves are seen routinely in subservience to the dragons, specifically Archdragons (the Dragonguard, the draconic monarchy at all, bringing gifts to Rex Igneous, etc). There were also lines where Zubeia was spoken of in a similar manner as Aaravos that felt indicative of something:

EZRAN: Zubeia, Queen of the Dragons, your heavenly majesty... (4x03) ZUBEIA: Our adversary was literally a being from the heavens. (4x04)

This is of course entirely literal when it comes to Aaravos, and hyperbolic praise towards Zubeia, but the parallel imagery / association stuck out to me, as well as Ancient Draconic specifically being the language of primal magic (already theorized in said meta to have been a gift from the First Elves to 'primal' elves and/or dragons). Given all this, I'd posited that "Archdragons at least once upon a time had been contemporaries of the First Elves if not peers".

Now thanks to 6x09, we can say it seems that this was true.

Sol Regem — or as he was going by then in his youth, Anak Araw — was a contemporary of not just the First Elves in general, but presumably their highest court in the Cosmic Council. He was the sole witness in Leola's trial, and there to oversee her arrest.

We also know that this point that the Cosmic Council / Order was involved enough that they dictated what merited the 'Order' and that they'd intervene to punish those who broke it, however well intentioned, so we know that the Draconic monarchy must've existed with their blessing, if not created by their hand for there to already be a hierarchy and trust established.

We don't know if the other Archdragons we're familiar with were around, such as Zubeia or Avizandum, but I'd be willing to wager that Luna Tenebris was at least, given that we know she's presumably not much younger than Sol Regem as she was the immediate Dragon monarch after him as far as we know. So it seems right now the hierarchy was as follows:

The Cosmic Council, maintaining their Order

Aaravos? Plus other First Elves who aren't council members?

The Draconic Royal Family

The Archdragons

The primal elves

Other misc Xadian creatures (rock creatures, mushroom guys, etc)

Humans

which was the hierarchy that was supposed to be maintained, but then humans were given/shown primal magic by Leola, and this led to the great upset by presumably putting them on 'the same level' as ordinary primal elves.

Speaking of which, let's talk about humans, specifically Aaravos' view on them.

Aaravos' view on humans

Aaravos shares very little about his view on humans in 6x09 directly. We see his views filtered through Claudia in 4x07 ("Aaravos believed in us when all other elves and dragons thought we were worthless, stupid, dirty animals. Aaravos believed we could be better. So he gave us magic!") but given how much what she says parrots what Ziard says ("When humans starved and struggled, helpless and pathetic?" / "We were starving and wretched and helpless"), how much that perspective holds up is of course debatable.

All that said, Aaravos' view on humans then is very much not, it seems, what his initial view on humans were through his dynamic with Leola. We know this in a few ways:

1) Aaravos' home with Leola was on Earth. This is presumably a decision made by Aaravos before she came into his life, which indicates a fondness or fascination with mortals / Earth his kind didn't typically have. Alternatively, it was a decision made because of Leola's fascination once she was a bit older, but one he was wholeheartedly supportive of.

2) Regardless, both options in 1. take us to the same place, which is that it is unlikely that Leola would've been able to form the friendships she did without her father's support and approval, both of which were readily given. Aaravos is happy and unsurprised to see her playing with a human girl, which would mean having a positive to neutral view on humanity.

3) The Cosmic Order was broken, and Leola punished, for the "crime" of sharing primal magic with humans. This was a law Aaravos was familiar with ahead of time, as he immediately understands during the trial that it would've been an issue.

4) Therefore, the most straight forward way for Aaravos to sow discord/chaos and further what Leola died over was to continue teaching humans primal magic. This may be what he eventually did with the Key and the book, and was possibly his original plan, despite the 'chaos' it would lead to.

(Side note: this line makes me think that Aaravos, as well as the other First Elves, are all basically timeblind by default.)

Basically: there's a definite piece of the story we're missing about how Aaravos went from witnessing humans having primal magic to actively cultivating dark magic with them. We also know he presumably stole a staff from the Starscraper, took its gemstone out (Laurelion's necklace that Claudia wears?) and replaced it with a stolen quasar diamond, using moon magic to hide the theft of the stone but not the staff. This transition of "humans are okay / I'll help them" (especially considering he reaffirms that Leola loved this world and all its creatures) to "I'll ruin everything and it doesn't matter what the collateral damage is" was always what I think we as a fandom expected to have happened, but it's still nice to have confirmation.

Speaking of which, time to finally talk about

Aaravos and Sol Regem

I'd speculated since Oct 2022 that Sol Regem and Aaravos had a potential personal beef between them, given Sol Regem's rage only really comes out in his confrontation with Ziard (3x01) after it's conveyed that the staff was a "gift from one of the Great Ones".

(It also was a chance to provide stronger characterization for both of them than if there hadn't been a connection in a series that already has very limited time, but I digress).

However, it seems that Aaravos and Sol Regem's issues go even further back than just "Sol Regem snitched on Leola and was instrumental in her execution" given that the second Aaravos hears about the golden dragon, his face changes from confusion/fear to anger:

Like he knows that if Anak Araw is involved in anything, it can't be good. This makes me lean towards Aaravos having a more positive view of humanity before everything, with this being the root of the issue that caused Sol "you are lesser beings" Regem to have their initial disagreement, and it all spiralled from there.

Conclusion: What did 6x09 Teach Us?

Confirmation on:

Aaravos had a positive view of humans and at some point during his revenge scheme, this changed

Sol Regem and Aaravos have a long, personal, and treacherous history with each other ("Tell me, betrayer")

Aaravos stole the staff and a quasar diamond

The First Elves and dragons / Archdragons were peers with one another and worked in collaboration

New questions it asks:

What caused Sol Regem and Aaravos to initially have problems with one another?

Are the First Elves aware that Aaravos game humans dark magic?

If they are, why wasn't that known by more Xadians at the time?

Why did Sol Regem testify against Leola?

Guess we'll have to see what answers S7 gives!

[explodo-smash]

End of manga sees Izuku create his own 'vestige realm' (theory)

[Originally written on Twitter by @wolvesandvisions]

This theory was something I'd kept close to my chest for some years now that I think may actually have the potential of coming to fruition.

I believe by the end of the manga Izuku is going to have created his own 'vestige world'. Alongside letting go of OFA, the “cursed” power, we'll see the birth of a new society. This will indicate the birth of truly making his power, his heroism, his own.

What we’re witnessing in the manga at the moment is the complete destruction of OFA as we know it. In a metaphorical sense and in the visual sense that Yoichi and the other holder’s prison is literally falling apart thanks to Shigaraki.

Now something I noticed, is that this visual of a park we kept seeing All Might at, I think may be the same one in the manga Chapter 96 (2016), redrawn in the anime, and referenced to again in an art by Umakoshi at Comiket (2019).

It keeps coming up. The chapter 96 version of this page reads as translated: “I wish that we could always sit and bask under the soft light filtering through the trees…☆Inherited spirit and pride!”

Izuku and Katsuki have absolutely inherited the spirit and pride of All Might, they are both the start of this new era. However, Izuku is the one with the burdens and wills of 9 people on his shoulder right now. At the end of the day… OFA is cursed, it can't stay the way it is.

Whether he’s quirkless by the end, or gets some crazy new power, the removal of OFA is also the removal of the curse/burden.

He needs to be able to be a hero on his own terms, without the beck and call of other people’s expectations in his ears. That’s why I think symbolically him truly “making the power his own” will entail him creating something entirely new with it.

@kikibats' language when I shared with her actually surmised it well:

“The part that’s OFA and AFO connected crumbles away, but Izuku’s own realm stays.”

And Chapter 412 just happened to give a ton of supporting information for this potential.

1) The idea that Izuku sees a correlation in ‘being without a personality’ and not having a human heart. His ability to overcome his feelings of worthlessness.

[X]

Choosing to believe in himself and others beyond that assertion IS his power.

2) Another thanks to @kaname_clan and @kikibats who helped me get a greater understanding of this; what we may be witnessing with Star and Stripes - and these odd lines - are Izuku “going beyond singularity”.

Which from my current understanding is the function of generational quirks becoming “too strong” or going beyond what the average human can take on the body.

Izuku appears to be on the verge of death, a big theme in this final arc of the manga has been everyone getting their quirk awakening. So far, every character but him has gotten one. He obviously got one in the most literal sense, but all of OFA’s various quirks aren’t his.

OFA, bless his heart, is like a series of hand-me-downs that in all his brilliance he made work for him. However...in a series about generational trauma, responsibility, and heroism, I think it's really his turn to overcome all of this.

I think the release of OFA will allow him to have a “quirk” awakening. The “awakening” of his personality, individuality, his heroism. And I do think this may visualize itself in his origins manifesting in that same park under the tree.

This is just what I'm thinking! Being hit with that visual of the park metaphorically or literally since 2016 has my eyes wide open...so we'll see!

[seramilla]

Okay so I loved the Charlie asks Carmilla for her blessing in the related to Vaggie AU.

So my idea is for the proposal that Charlie sings to Vaggie before kneeling and asking after she finishes singing.

One of my go to songs for Charlie x Vaggie is Safe With Me by Megan Nicole

Charlie would definitely sing to Vaggie when she proposes. No question. That one's a good one.

Charlie is so nervous in the hours leading up to her proposal to Vaggie, she can practically hear her own brain vibrating inside her skull. Will the mood be right? Is she being too presumptuous about this? Is Vaggie even ready for this type of commitment? Will her partner say no???

Charlie wipes sweat from her brow so many times during dinner, and has to hold herself down to keep from bouncing in her seat at the theater. She's able to get out some of her nervous energy when they go dancing, and the entire time that she's dipping, twirling, and gliding with Vaggie out on the dance floor, Charlie is reminded how beautiful her partner is. Every movement they share is fluid like a breeze over water, and it almost takes Charlie's mind off the stress about proposing within the next hour.

Eventually they make it back to the Hotel, and just as a treat, Charlie and Vaggie climb up to the roof, to their own secret spot. From up there, they can kind of get away from the smog of Pentagram City, and see a huge expanse of the Pride ring from their vantage point. Vaggie dangles her feet off the side of the roof, swinging them back and forth with excitement, like she's dancing all over again.

Charlie looks over at her, smiles, and bites her lip. She reaches for the little black box in the pocket of her suit pants. The pants to the white tuxedo that she wore specifically for this occasion, which complements Vaggie's golden dress so nicely. Charlie doesn't think her partner has ever looked so beautiful.

"Umm...Vaggie?" Charlie asks.

"Yeah, hon?"

Vaggie stops swinging her feet and looks at Charlie. The angel's expression is so serene, so fulfilled, like Charlie has already granted every one of her most cherished wishes in life. Charlie swallows hard. Maybe she has. But she hopes to fulfill even one more.

Charlie grips the box in her pocket again, biting her bottom lip.

"Vaggie...I want you to know how much I really, really enjoyed this anniversary with you. I can't believe it's already been 5 years since we started dating...and even longer since we met. I never knew on that Extermination day that my life would ever change this much. I feel like...from the moment I met you, you made me want to be a better person. Actually made me a better person. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Vaggie smiles. "Awww! Thank you so much, sweetie! I feel the same way! If you hadn't rescued me...Heaven knows where I'd be right now!"

Vaggie leans in closely to Charlie, giving the princess a sweet, lingering kiss on her increasingly chapped lips. Charlie's been licking them all night out of nervousness. They're pretty dry and gross by this point. If Vaggie notices, she doesn't say anything; just looks over at Charlie with the same affection and adoration, as always.

Charlie nods, rubbing the back of her head with the hand not currently holding onto the box in her pocket.

"Yes! Me too! I feel like you saved me, too, Vaggie! From my own self-doubt...and just me in general. I was such a mess before I met you."

Charlie fiddles with the box again, turning it over and over in her pocket, as if it will somehow fuel the bravery she needs to say what she wants to next.

"So...I'm...I really wanted to make this night special for you. Because I love you so much! And I want to have so many more nights like this with you. Every night. Forever. For the rest of my life. You're everything to me."

Charlie doesn't wait any longer. When it looks like Vaggie might lean in for another kiss, Charlie pulls the box out of her pocket, opens it, and shows Vaggie the ring she'd had custom-made just for her. It's beautiful, with a single white diamond embedded in a simple gold band, because Charlie knows Vaggie doesn't like excessively flashy gifts. If Vaggie's enraptured expression is any indication, Charlie had gotten it right with this one.

As the angel's eyes widen, realizing what's happening, Charlie proposes to her partner in song. Putting voice to all the ways that Vaggie was meant for her, that they were meant to be together, in the way that only Charlie can, when she's singing from her heart. Vaggie sits and listens patiently, eyes sparkling like stars. When Charlie is finished, and leans back down to kneel in front of her, she pops the question in her regular voice.

"Vaggie," Charlie starts, licking her dry lips one more time for good measure, "Would you make me the happiest woman by marrying me?...And if you have to say no -- which you are perfectly within your right to do -- would you let me down easy?"

"Charlie, wait..."

"I mean, I'm just really emotional right now, and that's not your fault, you're not responsible for my feelings, but I don't know if I could handle it if you--"

"Charlie!!"

"Yes?! I'm sorry! What?!"

Vaggie moves in closer to Charlie, where she's kneeling in front of her on top of the Hazbin Hotel, under one of the most unromantic skylines in all the seven Rings. Vaggie takes the ring out of Charlie's little box, and puts it on her ring finger. It's a perfect fit, as Charlie knew it would be.

She leans in again to kiss Charlie's lips. Slowly and softly, like she wants it to last forever. By the time the two pull away, it's apparent to Charlie that Vaggie is crying.

"Yes!" Vaggie says, taking both of Charlie's hands in hers. "You are such a goofball! Yes, Charlie, I'll marry you! Of course, I will!"

Charlie's face goes from scared, to disbelief, to realization, to elation in a matter of seconds. Squealing and wrapping her arms tightly around Vaggie, she lifts the fallen angel off the roof, twirling her around like they're one of those couples on top of a spinning music box.

"Oh, thank you, Vaggie!" Charlie squeals. Then Charlie is crying, too, happy tears mixing in with the sound of her laughter. "Oh, baby, I love you so much! You make me so happy, Vaggie!"

Once Charlie has stopped spinning, Vaggie brings her dizzy girlfriend's lips back to hers, and whispers against her mouth, "Me too, Charlie. I am the luckiest person in Hell to get to be with you. Thank you saving me...and keeping me."

The two seal their proclamations with another passionate kiss, and then spend the rest of the night celebrating their engagement, in their own special way.