#**~the wine in my veins~**

[veinsfullofstars]

🍷 Kirbtober 2024 Day 22: Ship or Hangout 🍷

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Daroach and Dark Meta Knight overindulging on “fancy grape juice” together, their faces brightly flushed from the several bottles standing empty around them. The thief sits with a glass held loosely in one paw, laughing and resting the other paw on the unmasked knight’s head as he lays sprawled over Daroach’s torso, disgruntled but not particularly inclined to move, his wing lazily draped over them both. END ID.)

“Ha! Who's the *hic* lightweight now, sunshine?”

“Mmrrghshuddup. Smartass rat with your stupid pretty mouth stupid mmghngh..."

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 10/02/24, finished on 10/03/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[andy-clutterbuck]

4x02 | Infected

[mangofresca]

halcyon | 18+

Romano feels like he’s dancing in his sleep, that shifting, swaying motion like waves across the beach and toes dragging through sand, like water and rhythm pulling his chest high, his shoulders low, stretching out his hips, his knees, his ankles. The soft cotton of his pillowcase scratches and tickles at his cheekbone when he turns his head into it, wisping itself against his clavicle, and he sighs against it, lets it swallow his breath the same way it swallows the heat of his body, an echo of warmed contentment and easy dreaming.

The mattress beneath him dips, and he almost pushes away the palm that slides across his stomach, his sternum, but it’s warm, too, and Romano always liked being warm, and he liked being warm beneath this hand even more. He leans into it, instead, keeps his eyes closed, and he makes a small noise that’s half deliberate and half desultory—because he does mean to acknowledge Spain, but he doesn’t mean to acknowledge him like a cat waking from a nap in lazy, dozy sunbeams, purring.

But that’s fine. That’s fine. He knows Romano sometimes sounds like that when he’s waking, and even not, just sometimes when he’s beneath the pads of Spain’s fingers, and Romano feels fine when the mattress dips again and Spain hovers over him, knees sweetly nudging his apart.

Romano keeps his eyes closed when lips skim his jaw, keeps himself ensconced in the soft sunlight that shines itself across his eyelids. It’s good like this, he thinks. It’s nice. He can hear himself breathe with an awareness he never really has when he’s around Spain, always too preoccupied with other things, irrelevant things—what he’s doing, what he’s not, what he could be doing to Spain, instead. He likes being conscious of it, of his body and his reactions, and he sighs again when that palm moves to his side, his rib cage and lower, fingers skimming over his thigh as they drag heated sheets down, away.

There’s a laugh twinkling in his ear, something bright and charmed, and his skin pricks with cognizance when he feels the breath of it, lips curving into a smile against his cheek. “Awake yet?”

Spain speaks his vowels in a whisper, his consonants always catching on the tip of his tongue, and Romano’s shoulder shifts back in a shiver, presses into the bed when soft breeze meets skin, humid and carrying the smell of midmorning sunrise.

He makes a noise again, some groaned mhm that rumbles itself up his chest and out his throat, that gets lost somewhere around his lips when the heat of Spain’s laughter leaves his cheek and instead drifts across his nipple—and the gasp that leaves him is a surprised one.

He feels stupid like this, naïve, foolish, as if he isn’t war- and weather-worn, born and raised in the echoing, thundered footsteps of the Roman Empire, older than the New World and older still, as if his own sand dunes aren’t his brothers, the rolling fields his sisters. But this is his life now: homes across his country and Spain’s, furnished with soft beds and yellow kitchens and flowing curtains that always let the light in, because neither of them ever really do well when away from the sun, too used to its bite to go without for longer than a day, two. He wakes, now, to sheets that settle across the curves of his body, to someone in his bed, wiggling his legs until they settle around tanned hips, to sea-chapped lips that hum the song of his name until he is something melodious, made of more than sinew and sand, of memory.

Spain whispers his name, a question carried softly through balmy air and that sounds so fucking in love Romano almost opens his eyes, almost gives into the needling whine of it—

But Spain always did his best work when given a task, and Romano knows Spain has no qualms about being set to work on Romano, no end to the things he would let Spain do to him, and though his mouth goes dry as Spain nips at his throat and presses a finger against him, he can only find the energy to laugh, just dry air, enough to breathe Spain in, too.

When Spain dips down and kisses him, Romano kicks the sheets up and over Spain’s back. They are still warm, and so is he.

[prophetofthemuse]

Someone should put a muzzle on me and tie a rope around my neck to serve as a leash. I should be able to hunt and chase and devour like a wolf. I should be made to bark and protect and serve like a guard dog. I should be an animal.

[sarishim]

@sunomaly / "I wish people would stop asking me how I'm feeling."

"It's my job to fucking care. Not even that, it's just basic fucking empathy." Gabriel replied coldly.

[folklorianhaze]

driving with my husband and we're listening to Taylor and he mentions he's not the biggest fan of I Know Places, so I gasp and say "I LOVE I Know Places!" and look at him in horror. He laughs and says matter-of-factly, "You love everything on this album!"

It's true, I am such a 1989 stan it's not even funny

[crimson-nail]

Tell me some Elendira headcanons please. I feel like you get her like I do.

while she may look like she has the refined palette of a professional wine connoisseur her favorite drink in actuality is a fruity little beverage with a paper umbrella and a cherry in it. she’s here for a fun time, always

[faaun]

WARNING: The penalty for trespassing on the railway is £1000.

[slugluvvr]

everyone who says taylor swift has the most amazing lyrics that are so deep and have so many double meanings has clearly never heard ANY will wood songs

[thespiritualsolarsystem]

.

[prophetofthemuse]

“He doesn’t even look like a man, he’s far too curvy, I mean look at just his hips, and he’s kind of pudgy tbh, how do you like him if you’re gay and he’s not masculine? :/”

Me, who heard “curvy” “hips” and “kind of pudgy” and got so hard my stomach now hurts: If you speak ill of our Muse again, I will have to force you to leave.

[sarishim]

do you remember how we met?

“Things that early are a bit hazy to me now.” Gabriel admitted, “I do remember you did not want to talk to Michael or I.”

[tightjeansjavi]

How many times can I listen to the cover of “So Much Wine” by Phoebe Bridgers before it becomes unhealthy 😀

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.

[prophetofthemuse]

If I drank an entire bottle of vodka, I think I’d be dead from alcohol poisoning. That being said, I could write poetry of that nature while sober, it would simply be much more embarrassing to write down and allow someone to read/hear. But I could do it.

Elijah’s poetry is usually so beautiful and flowery and softly spoken… YBMT sounds like what would happen if you asked him to write poetry after downing an entire bottle of vodka /hyp

[illithilit]

What color is your aura?

Blurg is Chartreuse

handbooks, spring buds, bamboo, forest ponds, glass, vintage sofas, fairy circles. your essence is chartreuse: curious and thoughtful, you are a surveyor of patterns. you enjoy your introversion; you feel most in your skin when you're alone, autonomous and uncontrolled. your enthusiasm comes through when expressing your passions to your close companions. you are the analyst. you are the detailer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of moss, honeysuckle, green, and yellow, who share your natural inquisition. you are also drawn to the intense souls jade and fire, who will help you grow and not be so dependent on your knowledge. however, you may struggle to get along with the people-pleasing personalities of pink and yellow who seem too disingenuous.

Orianna is Royal

crown jewels, portraits, satin chairs, masquerades, nebulas, betta fish, secrets. your essence is royal: you cultivate your strengths and know how to be needed. you attract others; you are flattering and bold, locking everything ugly away. you create an image of decadence and confidence, effortlessly. you are the courtier. you are the networker. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of lilac, purple, indigo, and amethyst, who share your ambition. you are also drawn to the dramatic noir and crimson, who will help you grow and speak your truth even if it isn't pleasant. however, you may struggle to get along with the aimless personalities of gold and umber who lack a strong goal in life.

Grazilaxx is Blush

lollipops, warm cheeks, lip gloss, flowers, flamingo feathers, painted nails, heart glasses. your essence is blush: you are outspoken and protect your heart by never offering an apology. you seize your desires; there is a particularity to your passions, and not many are privy to your reasonings. you are protective and extend your heart in a way you will never accept in return. you are the trend-setter. you are the defiant. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of crimson, red, tawny, and coral, who share your aspirational intensity. you are also drawn to the honest souls lilac and cream, who will help you grow and realize you are not always under critique. however, you may struggle to get along with the internal personalities of sky and beige who are too self-effacing.

Luzzireye is Marigold

roller skates, crayons, golden pheasants, sunrises, corduroy pants, sunflower fields, warm summer days. your essence is marigold: you tackle problems head-on and take no prisoners. your biggest pride is the fruits of your labor; you surround yourself with your accomplishments and the people who you can make happy. productive and willful, you cannot ignore something once you've committed yourself to it. you are the strongheart. you are the warrior. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of peach, honey, gold, and amber, who share your love for discovery and ambition. you are also drawn to the astute souls garnet and hickory, who will help you grow and learn to commit yourself to things for the longterm. however, you may struggle to get along with the heedless personalities of amethyst and moss who don't understand your need to champion.

Razzavell is Fire

sunrises, woven blankets, campfires, tigers, whiskey, monarchs, roadtrips. your essence is fire: you are the bold spirit of adventure. you seek out others who can broaden your horizons; a life best lived is one that's vivacious, but also makes a difference. you are steadfastly committed to your values and do not waver from your opinions. you are the inspirer. you are the opportunist. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of coral, bronze, red, and orange, who share your strong opinions. you are also drawn to the contemplative souls jade and chartreuse, who will help you grow and see the fullness of your vision. however, you may struggle to get along with the opinionated personalities of wine and mauve who act above reproach.

Mourndax is Sky

short poems, teacups, clear skies, diaries, dripping icicles, tears, tennis shoes. your essence is sky: you are a hard worker and do not relent on something once you have begun. you are giving to all but yourself and pour from an empty cup; you want to be simple, self-sufficient, easy. you overflow with creativity but throw away your sketches before they're even done. you are the dauntless. you are the venturer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of blue, navy, periwinkle, and seafoam, who likewise hold themselves to high standards. you are also drawn to the self-actualizing sage and apricot, who will help you grow and relax into your feelings. however, you may struggle to get along with the strict personalities of ivory and blush who seem overly critical.

Amis is Tawny

fall leaves, candles, blood oranges, hawk feathers, ladybugs, clay dust, toadstools. your essence is tawny: you are an energetic force with purpose. there is a genuine care for others that dictates your actions; still, you do not doubt you know best. effortlessly a leader, you extend your wings to watch over the ones you love. you are the protector. you are the consul. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of terracotta, garnet, blush, and beige, who share your strong core. you are also drawn to the open-minded souls periwinkle and peach, who will help you grow and show you how to open your boundaries. however, you may struggle to get along with the internal personalities of seafoam and ashen who are thought-heavy.

Yzare is Crimson

rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewelry. your essence is crimson: you are the strong, defiant and avoidant. you crave some sort of deviation; to walk in another's footsteps feels mundane, a waste of your time. you are possessive and never look back at the things you've lost or forgotten. you are the rebel. you are the one who will change the world. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of red, blush, garnet, and bronze, who share your impassioned existence. you are also drawn to the confident souls royal and gold, who will help you grow and show that not everyone seeks to break you. however, you may struggle to get along with the slow-acting personalities of navy and umber who never seem assertive about anything.

Ashenah is Peach

shores, headbands, warm hugs, mugs, fruit baskets, blankets, sleeping cats. your essence is peach: you are a gentle, thorough heart who seeks to spread joy. you wish to create a home for others; you are the soil of the garden, hoping others will plant themselves and never leave. your thoroughness is always humble and you scarcely act alone. you are the tender. you are the homemaker. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of honey, marigold, cream, and apricot, who share your want to help others. you are also drawn to the efficient souls tawny and ashen, who will help you grow and stand on your own. however, you may struggle to get along with the shrewd personalities of lavender and honeysuckle who can be too quickly judgmental.

Nethfari is Navy

brush strokes, suit jackets, midnight, comforters, star gazing, arctic waters, starlings. your essence is navy: you are the keeper of your own narrative. you thrive on uniqueness and the unordinary; everything you feel, you feel deeply, and can be dissatisfied with everyday experiences. you do not shy from the intensity of competition. you are the protagonist. you are the indulgent. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of blue, sky, teal, and indigo, who share your depth and enigma. you are also drawn to the creative souls forest and amber, who will help you grow and learn to feel all of your emotions, not just the productive ones. however, you may struggle to get along with the direct personalities of noir and crimson who are too concerned with forcing their perspective.

Asmodeus is Pearl

abalone, perfume bottles, chandeliers, tulle, balljoint dolls, satin, paint palettes. your essence is pearl: you strive for improvement, and see yourself as the grandest project of all. you cultivate a home in what you do; your signature is unmistakable, perfectly you. you know what's best for others before they're even aware. you are the designer. you are the perfectionist. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of wine, amaranth, ivory, and rose, who also act with purpose. you are also drawn to the honest lavender and periwinkle, who will help you grow and see that you can be true to even your flaws. however, you may struggle to get along with the imaginative personalities of seafoam and coral who don't have a strong purpose.