#I blacked out and woke up to this artwork

[katisinfactthebestofbois]

kAt is trembling, I had never been so quite good in digital art, I somehow acquired skills. I’m scared..

Anyways, this scene from Season 4 Episode 2(I believe) has been stuck with me for a while… I had to redraw it at some point. Anyways, kAt is still quite new to social media and other people, but I am quite glad that there are other people that have the same interest as I. (:

I think I might post thoughts/hc/etc. once I get the courage to, that is—..

(kAt is also learning how to navigate and what to do on tumblr, kAt lacks in the brain department a little so it might take a bit!)

[goldensunset]

everyone told me she was terrifying but they didn’t tell me she was so cool and nice

[drippinonabuffet]

Sunset

(A few min doodle)

[faecelessfiend]

I uh I uh uh I I uh what why what how I what

[hoseoksluna]

CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader 

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home. 

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land. 

He took you somewhere darker. 

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night. 

You paid a great price, once upon a time. 

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off. 

Kissed you quite roughly. 

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully. 

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system. 

No shoes inside. 

Then, he patted your head. 

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well. 

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over. 

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it. 

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on. 

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames. 

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks. 

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones. 

It will never get old. 

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.” 

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration. 

It’s snowing outside. 

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months. 

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?” 

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head. 

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly. 

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.” 

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.” 

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.” 

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab. 

He’s horny. 

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface. 

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you. 

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.” 

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.” 

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own. 

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly. 

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward. 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?” 

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” 

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows. 

“Do that again.” 

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down. 

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face. 

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him. 

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.” 

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it. 

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place. 

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses. 

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you. 

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools. 

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

That does it for him, too. 

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him. 

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.” 

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times. 

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?” 

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half. 

You’re sure he’s ripped them. 

You’re fucked. 

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do. 

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.” 

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars. 

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh. 

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Pay attention.” 

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you. 

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?” 

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?” 

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?” 

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you. 

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.” 

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile. 

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling. 

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.” 

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.” 

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.” 

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?” 

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.” 

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough. 

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you. 

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip. 

You jump, whimpering. 

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles. 

Fuck. 

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up. 

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though. 

He spanks your clit, gently. 

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.” 

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.” 

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact. 

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand. 

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in. 

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you. 

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you. 

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you. 

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted. 

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue. 

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.” 

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality. 

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.” 

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue. 

The lab spins, not just your mind. 

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground. 

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak. 

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him. 

Come for your Oppa. 

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter. 

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks. 

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker. 

Right in the center of your mound. 

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes. 

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time. 

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it. 

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter. 

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours. 

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help. 

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least. 

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[hyperfixation-fix]

Just a reminder as we're all becoming continuing to be feral for season 2 of PJO

They're kids.

And as much as I love all the "omg he's totally Percy!!", just remember that he's not. They're actors. They're doing a phenomenal job and we're really lucky to have them as a fandom, but... remember that they've signed up for a big job at a very young age. It's our duty as a fandom (especially a fandom with a lot of adults in it) to protect them, make sure that they are being respected, and (APPROPRIATELY) call out inappropriate and/or disrespectful behaviour when we see it. If anyone needs it, I've put some examples below the cut.

✅Appropriate ✅

"Walker is such an incredible Percy!!!" "Leah does such a great job portraying Annabeth!!!!" "Their dynamic is amazing!!!"

"I don't like the way Walker plays Percy - I always saw him as XYZ." "I don't like Lea as Annabeth. It's just not how I saw her." (borderline. consider why you can't see Annabeth as anything except white. but if you're being polite, I'll give you a grudging pass)

Fully clothed/non-sexual fanart of the actors (in or out of character) (romantic is okay)

Posting/reposting consenting photos, (respectful) edits, etc of the actors in or out of character

Discussing details of their personal lives that the actors have chosen to share with the public (but don't make it weird, ok?)

❌Inappropriate❌

"Walker and Leah need to date irl, they have so much chemistry!!" uh. no. You're seeing *acting*. Leave their personal lives out of it

"Annabeth being played by a black actor is ridiculous, wokeness is getting out of control" or any variation upon that sentiment. Honestly just fuck off. Also (and yes this is a sub tweet) recolouring fanart that depicts Annabeth as black? Absolutely not. If you absolutely have to, go do your own fucking artwork like a normal human being instead of a racist POS.

Raunchy/suggestive/sexual fanart of the actors (in or out of character). Nope. They are children. Stop it. Don't care if you're "aging them up". Imagine how that feels for them.

Posting/reposting photos where the actors aren't/don't seem to be consenting to the photo

Speculating on or pressuring the actors to reveal ANY DETAILS about their private lives. This includes, but is far from limited to: their contact details/locations, their sexuality, their relationships, their diagnoses, their politics (they're still really young... idk about you guys but my political opinions were hot garbage at 16. they get a (moderate) pass until they're at least 18)

These are obviously non-extensive lists. Please use your brain, and, if in doubt, don't post it.

Also, if you see inappropriate behaviour, please don't be an idiot about it. First course of action should always be politely talking to the person in private. After that, yes, it may be appropriate to start publicly calling them out. Having said that, remember that teens can be dumb (speaking from lived experience...), so let's give them some grace. Ignoring, reporting, blocking, and not engaging is sometimes the best thing you can do for dumbasses, especially if they're attention-seeking.

I love you all and I have complete faith that we, as a fandom, can rally and make sure the cast knows that they are loved and respected.

[thefreakandthehair]

I just wanna see that smile

wc: 1.1k | tags: canon-compliant injury/recovery, hospital setting, getting together, (brief and inferred mutual) pining, first kiss

a/n: happy (belated) birthday to my pal, @firefly-party! kei drew this piece last year and it was one of the first artworks we talked about when we became friends. this series has continued to live in my brain ever since, so I decided to write a little something in the universe!

Eddie woke up on March 26th, 1986 and Steve’s waited patiently for this moment ever since. 

Well, patient is a misnomer— he’d waited quietly to anyone not named Robin or Dustin. Robin, because she knows him too well and there’s no point in trying to hide anything from her and Dustin, because he’d apparently grown up overnight and pieced together that Steve sitting at Eddie’s bedside and holding his fucking hand every time he waltzed into the room meant something. 

Or maybe it was when Steve gave Eddie all of his rings back, sliding them carefully onto his shaking fingers with a comforting smile. 

Or maybe when Eddie sat up unassisted for the first time and Steve nearly hit the ceiling, bracing him in a panic as if all of his stitches and staples would burst with the tiny movement he’d been working toward in physical therapy. 

Hell, maybe it was Steve taking over some of Eddie’s care for himself, washing his hair and braiding it because the staff at Hawkins Memorial are doing nothing more than the bare minimum to make sure they don’t get sued, or even more frightening, reamed out by the new duo of Hopper and Wayne again. Either way, his hair was making Steve’s own scalp itchy. 

Dustin never tells Steve what it was exactly that tipped him off but whatever it was, it’s enough for Dustin to give Steve the floor when Eddie’s getting ready to discharge back home. And that’s how, exactly two months later to the day from Eddie waking up, Steve enters Eddie’s otherwise empty room armed with a special treat in the form of milkshakes to find Eddie pouring over an unfortunately familiar stack of papers. 

“NDA?” Steve asks, nodding at the papers in Eddie’s lap. He’s upright, fully dressed in the black sweatpants Jeff brought by and a cut off Metallica tee shirt, bandages around his stomach and neck. 

Eddie mutters as he reads under his breath, eyes flitting across the page. 

“How the fuck do they expect any of us common folk to understand a fucking word of this? Hereby? Wherein? Hitherto? What fucking year did I wake up in, man?”

“Yeah, I think the whole point is that you don’t read what you’re signing but I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Steve huffs a small laugh through his nose as he steps carefully around Eddie’s crutches. “You may as well just sign it because if you don’t, they’ll forge it anyway. Now finish signing your life rights away so you can have this milkshake with me.” 

Eddie perks up, looking away from the mess of papers and smiling up at Steve with a smile so genuine, it punches the air out of his lungs. He keeps looking at him like this, like Steve’s a breath of fresh air, like he's someone Eddie wants to have around. 

Steve isn’t sure what to do with that look yet, but he’s sure glad it’s there. 

“Celebration milkshakes? Is this a freedom gift?” Eddie signs the NDA quickly and sets the pen down on the bed next to him. 

“It sure is. Figured this could make up for all those lame popsicles from the cafeteria.” 

The mattress creaks as Steve sits down on the edge, just to the side of the railing, and hands Eddie the strawberry treat. Their fingers graze, Steve’s chilled and Eddie’s warm. His hand is still a little shaky, trembling as he takes hold of the cup, but they’re warm and warm means alive. 

Eddie’s hand can tremble for the rest of his goddamn life so long as it’s always warm. 

They each take a sip, smooth ice cream slurping up their straws, and after a moment, Eddie sighs.

“Is it weird that I’m actually sort of worried about leaving?” 

Steve’s eyebrows knit together, looking down at Eddie’s rings glinting beneath the offensive fluorescent lights above them.

“What are you worried about?”

“Uh, well, I did almost die. And the town still wishes I did. It’s a lot easier to make those dreams a reality outside of these walls, y’know? And I’m uh…” Steve watches as Eddie takes a breath and Steve suddenly misses the early days when Eddie was connected to the heart rate monitor. 

“You’re…?” Steve presses, sipping his milkshake again to appear casual. 

“I see you all the time here. Guess I just don’t want that to change.” 

Steve’s heart skips a beat, clattering in his chest and pounding at his ribs, desperately trying to crack him right open and run to the man who’s claimed it. Eddie watches him with cautious eyes, opens his mouth to say something else but Steve cuts him off before he can take it back. 

“Why do you think that’d change? Forest Hills is a lot closer than this shithole, and you won’t be kept under lock and key. And as for the first thing, well, Wayne and Nancy have a lot in common and I have a bat loaded up with nails in the trunk of my car.” Steve rests his free hand on Eddie’s knee. “No one's gonna fuck with you. Don’t worry about that.” 

“You sound a little cocky there, Stevie.” Eddie lifts one eyebrow, glancing from Steve’s hand up to his eyes. “Ready to fight for my honor or something?”

“Yep.” 

He hadn’t brought the milkshakes intending to use them as props, but he’s glad he has something to do to fill the space as Eddie watches him with questioning eyes. As he slurps through the straw, grating noise still preferable over the awkward silence, Eddie’s pinched expression turns softer, realization dawning between the stark white walls of the hospital and the pink ice cream in both of their hands. 

“You’re serious.” Eddie says. 

“Took you that long to figure that out?” Steve teases. 

“I’ve been a little busy with learning how to breathe and walk again. Y’know, just little things.” Eddie rolls his eyes with that same fond smile, free hand lacing its fingers through Steve’s. “So what you’re saying is that I’ll see you just as much outside of this prison as I have inside of it?” 

Steve shrugs. “Probably even more, honestly. There are no visiting hours at Wayne’s, and it’s not like I have a job to rush off to these days. You’re stuck with me, Ed. At least for as long as you want me around.” 

Eddie snorts, unceremoniously scoffing in Steve’s face as if in disbelief.

“Don’t make promises like that. What happens when I never want you to leave?” 

The air shifts, growing heavier as they find themselves leaning closer, two satellites orbiting one another by nothing but gravitational pull. 

Steve’s not sure who actually closes the gap, but he finds himself with his lips pressed against Eddie’s— sweet, chilled, a little chapped but smiling against his. Months of waiting, of hoping that he’d get this opportunity, come to a deafening crescendo and it takes all of his discipline to not push. Instead, they pull apart and Steve smiles, tucking loose hair behind Eddie’s ear. 

“That’s easy. I’d just never leave.”

fun fact: kei, I wrote your birthday down in my calendar as the 28th for some reason, a solid ten days late, so know that this was planned from the get-go but was just a tad bit late.

[virescent-v]

Wine Breath

Summary: Gif-inspired "drabble" for @scorpsik A/N: Apparently, my "drabbles" are under 1k words and not closer to 500....... Warnings: None. :) Word count: 991

Emily woke up with a start, the sunlight filtering through the curtains blinding her. With old mascara-caked, dried contact eyes, she squints against the brightness. Her mouth is dry, her tongue fuzzy. A stale taste of alcohol and something else on her breath. 

Emily glanced around, immediately on alert. 

She didn’t recognize the room she was in. 

…and she was in her bra and underwear. 

Jumping out of the - rather comfortable - bed, Emily frantically looked around for anything resembling her own belongings. 

Finding black jeans and white button down that she remembered putting on yesterday, Emily hurriedly dressed before taking in her surroundings. The bed she was sleeping in was large, king sized, with a light colored duvet. The room itself was clean, but there weren’t any real personal effects. There were various artworks and sculptures around the room. 

Creeping around the perimeter of the room, her FBI training kicking in, she peers around the corner of one of the two doors in the room. 

A bathroom. Two toothbrushes on the counter, one still in the packaging and unused. 

Continuing around the room, she made her way to the other closed door, expecting that to be her exit. Opening the door slowly, quietly, she listens to see if she can hear any movement outside of the room. 

There seems to be no movement that she can hear, so she ventures out. She’s in an apartment that she now realizes she vaguely recognizes. 

Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.” 

** 

Rushing into work, a little off-guard and definitely late, Emily runs straight into Penelope. 

“Uh, Emily. Stalking case. I texted you twenty-eight minutes ago.” 

Checking her phone, Emily grimaced. “Oh, you did. I’m sorry. Uh, just a little distracted,” Emily said, stuttering a little. 

“Because of the, uh, person in your office?” Penelope asked, pointing towards Emily’s office, a lone figure shadowed by the blinds. 

“There’s someone in my office?” Emily asked, turning towards where Penelope pointed. Shaking her head, she refocused on her friend in front of her. Emily sighed, “Wait, Penelope, listen.” 

Penelope startles at the tone of Emily’s voice, straightening up. “Yes, my fine furry friend?” 

Emily skirts her eyes around the office quickly, making sure there wasn’t anyone listening nearby. “I, uh, didn’t wake up in my bed last night.” 

Penelope’s eyes widened. Whispering, she said, “What do you mean not your bed?” 

Emily was immediately distracted by a shuffle of noise in her office, her eyebrows furrowing. Her head swiveled back and forth between Penelope and the window to her office. “I, uh. Hm. I woke up in her bed.” Emily started to frown, the noise in her office getting louder. She started to turn, as if to walk away. 

“Wait, Emily.” Penelope reached down into her bag, moving things around until she pulled out a small container. Turning back to Emily, with her hand outstretched. “Open. Ah,” as she places a mint on Emily’s tongue. “You’re gonna need that. You have wine breath.” Closing the container and shoving it back in her bag, Penelope yell-whispers, “We’ll talk about last night later, hot stuff.” 

Emily closes her mouth, happy to not have a dry, stale mouth anymore. She sighs and heads towards her office. 

** 

Emily crossed the threshold into her office, freezing. 

Shuffling paperwork on her desk, was you. 

“Hm, hi. I, uh,” Emily stammered, her eyes skittering around you, trying to get a read on you.. “I didn’t see you this morning.” 

You continued to shuffle paperwork around, smirking up at Emily. “Well, sleepyhead, you were out like a light and I wanted to get in early to get things sorted for the case,” you said, waving your hand around the papers. 

You walked around the desk, watching how antsy Emily seemed to be. Stepping close to her, within arms length, you say concerningly, “Em, are you okay?” 

Emily licked her lips, eyes trailing over your face. She nodded her head, which seemed to also nod her body along with the movement. “Yep, yep. Totally good. So fine. Good, really good.”  

You tilted your head. “Yeah, try that again but more convincingly,” you laughed. “Is it about last night?” 

Emily glanced back over her shoulder, through her open office door, before stepping a little closer to you. “Did we, uh…do anything?” 

You started laughing. Out-right, loud belly laughs. “Oh, you don’t remember, do you?” 

The question made Emily’s nerves grow. She started to shift on her feet, her lower lip caught between her teeth as a deep blush flamed on her cheeks. “I wish I remembered our first time…?” She trails off. 

Your laughing stops abruptly. “You think…we…together?” You insinuated, gesturing obscenely. 

Emily rubbed the back of her neck, looking away awkwardly. “Well, I woke up in a bed mostly naked. I figured something of the sort happened.”

You would’ve started laughing again if Emly didn’t look so…disappointed? 

You stepped forward  just a little, already in Emily’s personal space. You reached up slowly, tucking some of her hair back out of her face. “Em. You came over, got incredibly wine drunk. I put you to bed in my guest room. You stripped down to your bra and underwear before passing out.” You chuckled. “You didn’t even brush your teeth or take off of your makeup.” Playing with her hair a little, you blushed. “Trust me, if we’d done any of…that…I would be pissed that you’d forgotten.” 

Emily’s body relaxed. She cleared her throat as her hands found your hips, pulling you ever closer. “Well, then. Want to redo last night with a different ending?” She smirked, winking exaggeratedly at you. 

Another full body laugh burst out of you, as you wrapped your arms around Emily’s neck. “This time, maybe don’t finish a bottle of wine by yourself.” 

Emily shook her head. “Only water for me.” Her hands trailed lightly over your lower back, her fingers just creeping to the edge of your slacks. “I want to remember everything.” 

[five-and-dimes]

Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

Finally get to share my fic for the Spring Exchange! I got assigned @im-not-corrupted, and it's my first time writing a knight au, but I'm really happy with how t turned out, so I hope you like it too! <3

AO3

If you had asked Sir Robert Gadling just a few years ago, he would have told you that he had no plans of settling in any kingdom. Ever since the loss of his dear Eleanor, he had found himself most content in traveling. A sword for hire making his way through the lands, throwing himself into new adventures before inevitably moving on. He escorted nobles and adventurers, he protected priceless treasures, he fought in tournaments for gold and glory, and then he carried on. Each new place brought their own unique experiences and joys, but none so great as to convince him to stay. 

Then he entered the kingdom of the Endless.

He had heard rumors of the turmoil the kingdom had gone through in recent times. One of their main allies and trade partners had been brought low by their king’s death and near fatal wounding of the only prince, leaving the prince’s consort to struggle to hold the land together. The loss of protection and major imports left the Endless kingdom vulnerable, and they fell into a period of famine and darkness. However, a few years later saw one of the princes staging a coup, exiling the king and queen as well as a few other members of the royal family, taking the throne for himself. 

And King Morpheus brought the realm back to prosperity.

Hob found the land intriguing in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The landscape was lush and vibrant, the kingdom built within the forest as opposed to clearing it away, and even the homes of the lower class were adorned with intricate artwork carved into the door and window frames. When he made his way into a boisterous tavern, he was greeted as though he was coming home, not a newcomer. As the ale flowed, he had tried to learn more about the history of the realm, especially the years when the crown had been taken. What he learned was that, for all the drama that a grab for power like that must have been, to those outside the palace, it had all been very quiet.

“Went to bed one night the same as ever. Next day we woke up, and there was an assembly being called,” An older man explained, leaning heavily on the table, “Standing on the balcony like some angel of death, there was King Morpheus, wearing the crown.” He shook his head, lost in the memory of his astonishment, “The King and Queen have so many kids I never could keep track of ‘em. But I coulda sworn that one was dead,” he shrugged, taking another long swig of his ale, “Guess I was wrong.”

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Hob was more eager than ever to join an upcoming tournament. As always he enjoyed buddying up with the kingdom’s knights, sharing tales of his travels, learning more about the land he was visiting, placing bets and engaging in friendly banter. He was excited to join the festivities, and to get a closer look at the mysterious king.

As he entered the arena, looking up to the stands, he understood why his drinking companion had called the king an angel. King Morpheus was a spot of darkness amongst the colors of the crowd. The royals and advisors sitting beside him wore rich, deep colored fabrics that shone in the sunlight, but the king himself was garbed all in black. His robes flowed around him, draping over his form and concealing his figure. His collar was buttoned up his neck all the way to his chin, and gloves covered his hands where they lay primly in his lap. Long black hair was braided elegantly and made his face look even paler, as though he had never seen the sun before. The gold circlet with ruby accents on his head was the only color Hob could make out on his figure.

He was beautiful. 

Hob was never one to deny his ego, and he always aimed to impress when he competed, but on this day he forgot about the crowd. There was only one person he hoped to impress with each swing of his weapon or shot of his bow. The days of the tournament passed, and he couldn’t help but glance up up up to the King after each success, hoping desperately to be noticed. And his pride clearly paid off, because when the tournament ended, as Hob collected his winnings and made his way towards the feast, he was approached by an elegant figure. Her waistcoat was perfectly tailored and a deep purple which made her dark skin seem to glow. But her poise and demeanor gave away her station far more than the richness of her clothing. Delicate spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose, and her posture was proud and sure, looking down on Hob without seeming to look down on him.

“You performed very admirably, Sir…” she stated, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Robert Gadling,” he bowed in greeting, grinning.

“You are new to these parts, yes?”

“Aye, I am a traveler.”

“Just passing through, then?”

“Unless I am given a reason to stay.”

She gave him a reason.

The King had in fact noticed him, had been pleased by his performance, and was looking to grow the order of knights protecting the castle grounds. Though a few years had passed, he was still new enough to the throne to be vulnerable to attempts to usurp him. And he wanted Hob to join. Hob had no intention of turning down an opportunity to be closer to the dark shadow of a king.

It did not occur to him until much later that he hadn’t even needed to think about it before deciding to settle here, in the Endless Kingdom. He moved onto the castle grounds, and he kneeled before King Morpheus and swore an oath, and the king looked down at him with glittering eyes. Hob felt like a madman for all the things he wanted, but he felt a little less mad when, before the season even had a chance to change, he was selected as the King’s personal guard.

“If I may ask,” Hob could not help but inquire, standing watch as the King worked in his study, “Why me? There must be knights whom you are more familiar with.” He was one of the newest in the order, and yet it was he who stood at the king’s side.

The King barely glanced at him, continuing his elegant penmanship, “I am interested.” 

“In me?” Hob felt his traitorous heart flutter.

Here, King Morpheus did look at him, something sly and mischievous in his eyes, “In your experience.” Slowly and deliberately, he put his quill down, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap, “Tell me, sir Gadling,” Hob shivered every time he heard his name on those lips, “of your travels. Tell me of your life.”

And, well. Hob would never deny a command from his king. 

Although he would not deny… editing, occasionally. Never lying, of course, he wouldn’t dare. But he saw no harm in skipping the less flattering parts- the years lost to drinking his grief away, the times he tripped over his own feet learning to charge in heavy armor- and only slightly embellishing his victories. Morpheus always listened with rapt attention, as though Hob’s tales were the most interesting things he had ever heard. Perhaps, Hob considered, they were.

“It seems you have always been a capable warrior, Sir Gadling,” Morpheus smiled as he delicately ate his breakfast, Hob leaning against the wall beside him as he finished the most recent recounting of his exploits.

“Had to learn fast,” he grinned, “Some of us have to get roughed up if we want to keep you royals so soft and pretty.”

At first, he thinks he has said something wrong, because Morpheus’ head snaps up to look at him, eyes sharp and calculating. But a moment later, his body softens, like an exhale, and there is a pleased smile on his face, and Hob knows that he has said something right.

“I do not remember that part of your oath,” he says teasingly, “a vow to keep me soft and pretty.”

“It was unspoken,” Hob replies immediately, “Took one look at you and knew a delicate thing like you needed a skilled sword and shield at your side.”

“And it seems I chose well,” he sits up a little straighter, almost preening, “I trust a knight of your strength and… stature,” Hob felt his cheeks warm as Morpheus blatantly looked him up and down, “will have no trouble protecting my integrity.”

“With my life, my lord,” he gives a half bow, and when their eyes meet he is certain that something is there.

It became a regular part of their time together, after that. Time passes with Hob telling his stories, and Morpheus fluttering his eyelashes at what a rough and adventurous life he’s led, and Hob gently teasing about the soft and cushioned life he’s led. The contrast between them was exhilarating, and each time the king leaned into it was a bolt of excitement to Hob’s bloodstream. If Hob had his way, King Morpheus would never have to lift a finger. As he accompanied him through the castle, from his chambers to the throne room to the dining hall and back again, he opened every door for him with a deep bow. He would lift the king’s fork to his lips if allowed. 

Morpheus does not seem to mind. For all that he is known as a stoic and cold king to those outside of the palace, each day Hob sees his little smiles, and the laughter in his eyes as Hob bends over backwards for him. 

On this day, Hob thinks he might be the first knight tasked to pick blackberries for his king. Morpheus sits on a stone bench in the shade of the garden as Hob diligently fills a bowl with the ripe fruit, occasionally glancing back to see Morpheus’ warm, amused smile.

“It would be a shame to stain such finary,” he had claimed, eyes crinkling slightly in restrained mirth, turning to show off the glimmer within the fabric of his clothes.

“Oh of course,” Hob teased in return, “We wouldn’t want our precious king to get his hands dirty.” He bowed, taking the king’s gloved hand to kiss his knuckles. His skin was covered by such fine leather, he could only imagine how butter soft the skin beneath it must be. 

King Morpheus smirked down at him, “You earn your keep well, my knight.”

“Anything to be kept by you,” he winked.

The only response is a silent huff of laughter, but Hob cherishes it all the same. As he stands, he holds a berry out between his fingers, “Perhaps you should test them. Make sure they are up to your standards.”

His eyelashes flutter, a coy smile on his lips as he leans forward, and Hob may have started it but he was unprepared for the feeling of his king’s mouth wrapping around his fingers, plucking the fruit from his hand before pulling back with a soft swipe of his tongue. Hob feels himself shudder as Morpheus hums in pleasure.

“Yes,” he purrs, “delightful.”

“Is that so?” Hob feels his heart beating wildly in his chest, but he feels confident and daring as he leans in closer, “Perhaps I should get a taste myself.” He thinks that no fruit on earth would compare to being able to lick the taste from Morpheus’ lips.

But he will never know if he is right. Before he has a chance, he lays his hand on Morpheus’ waist, only to have his wrist gripped tightly and torn away.

“Do not-” The hissed words are cut off so abruptly that Hob can hear the click of Morpheus’ teeth as his mouth snaps shut. His eyes are steely, stepping back to put himself out of Hob’s reach. It is so far and away from any interaction they have had before that Hob feels as though he has whiplash.

There is a moment's pause where Morpheus seems to be waiting for him to speak, and it is only then that Hob remembers their respective ranks, “I apologize, my liege,” he bows deeply, the formality feeling wrong. This is not who they are to each other. Or so he thought.

He glances up just in time to catch the way Morpheus’ throat bobs as he swallows thickly, “I have been away from my work long enough. Deliver what you have harvested to the kitchens and then rejoin me in my study.” He leaves no room for a response, turning on his heels and stalking away, heedless of the fact that they are not meant to be separated this way. Hob’s job is to watch over him. But, after watching his king’s back disappear back into the castle, he does as he is told.

His thoughts are a storm as he passes the fruit off to the kitchen staff, dragging his feet to delay his return to Morpheus’ side. King Morpheus has always been vocal about fighting tradition- about making a better realm, even if it meant going against the “old ways”- and Hob had, foolishly perhaps, assumed that meant that Morpheus would not be against marrying outside his station.

Apparently he was wrong.

Arriving outside the study door, Hob feels his heart burn. With rejection, yes, and grief, certainly, but also with anger. Anger at the king’s hypocrisy, his arrogance and conceit, to think so lowly of Hob as to toy with his feelings and then snub his touch. As though Hob’s hands would somehow taint his royal figure. 

Well, Hob refused to be ashamed. He was proud of his rank and status, he was proud of his life, and no man or king would make him feel lesser. So when he walked into the room, he held his head high, and kept his eyes cold.

Morpheus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but did not say anything.

The weeks following are tense. At first, Morpheus seemed to try to restart their flirtatious banter, but Hob refused to engage. He was not a toy for the king to play with as he pleased and then shove away when he got too bold. In another kingdom, Hob thinks he might have been executed for the glare he sent the lord’s way. But Morpheus only sighed and looked away, and eventually stopped trying. Their days were now filled with tense silences as they walked together.

Hob is seriously considering leaving Morpheus’ order to continue his travels on the day the assassination attempt happens. He is overseeing a trial between two nobles, something about one of them infringing on the other's land, Hob hadn’t really been paying attention. In hindsight, the two seem more amicable with each other than one would expect for a dispute to reach the point of coming before the king, but at the time Hob had just been grateful that it was a quiet day. 

“My King, I have some evidence that I believe may sway you in my favor,” one of them announced. 

Morpheus, with varying success, did try to keep from being too far above his people. As such, it was not unusual for him to stand and approach the noble when he gestured him forward, presumably to show or explain something to win his case. Hob, as usual, is only a step behind him. It is because of that that he catches the glint of metal in the noble’s hand within his robe.

With a wordless cry, Hob lunges forward, shoving Morpheus roughly to the ground to step in front of him. There is a loud clang as the noble’s dagger connects with Hob’s gauntlet. His eyes are wide at Hob’s speed, and he has no time to react before Hob’s fist makes contact with his nose, blood spraying as he collapses. Around them, the rest of the knights in the room rush into action, restraining both nobles and sweeping the room for any hidden danger. 

With the threat so swiftly taken care of, Hob is free to look down at where the king was sprawled, dark fabric pooling around him as he pushes himself up, dark hair concealing half his face. They look at each other, the adrenalin of the moment still rushing through both of them. 

“Are you alright, my liege?” Hob asks softly, holding a hand out.

Morpheus nods slowly, taking his hand and allowing Hob to pull him to his feet, “I am. Thanks to you.” 

As they stand, hands still clasped for a moment longer than necessary, Hob realizes that he has missed Morpheus. Perhaps he cannot have everything that he wants so desperately. But if this is all he can have, well. At least he can have this. 

“Of course,” he smirks, “I did swear to keep you soft and pretty, remember?” 

He means it as an olive branch, a remembered joke between them to show that they can still be more than simply knight and king, even if they cannot be more. He does not mean to make Morpheus’ eyes fill with tears.

“Yes,” his voice cracks, “Of course.” 

Hob is not given a chance to respond- not that he knows how to respond at all- before the king is turning away, calling for his advisor, Lady Lucienne, the one who had first approached Hob about his position within the court. The two convene quietly for a moment before Morpheus orders the knights present, including Hob, to take the two traitors away to be questioned and search the grounds for any other suspects. 

It feels wrong to leave the king’s side. Hob feels a desperate need to watch over him, to keep him safe and protected, to wipe away the tears that look so perilously close to falling. But he has been given his orders, and the king and lady are already moving to sequester themselves somewhere private to discuss what to do with the situation. So, with one last look back, he goes to fulfill his duty.

Hours later, when the palace is confidently secure and the traitors are under lock and key, Hob feels no less anxious to be at his king’s side. He was told to return to his own quarters, to rest for the night, and he did try at first, setting his armor aside and laying in bed to try to calm the burning in his heart. But there is no rest to be found here, and soon he finds himself walking purposefully through the halls in his casual clothing, a decision he only regrets when he finds himself faced unexpectedly with the king’s advisor.

Lady Lucienne is exiting the room just as he approaches the king’s chambers. Still half in the doorway, she raises an eyebrow at the clearly off-duty knight before her, and Hob freezes, feeling like a child caught stealing sweets.

“Sir Gadling,” she greets cooly, “I did not expect to see you so late. I thought you were resting,” she raised an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“Yes, m’lady,” he bows his head, but tries to continue awkwardly, “I simply could not rest, and wished to check to ensure the king was well after the attack today.”

“He is well,” she answers shortly, “so you may-“

“Lucienne,” a deep voice calls out from within the room, “he may enter.”

Frowning, Lucienne gives Hob a quick narrow-eyed look before re-entering the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the knight alone in the hallway. He waits awkwardly as a hushed conversation happens behind the door. Finally, Lucienne emerges once more, still eying him warily, but opening the door wider to allow him entry into the king’s chamber. As he enters, he is surprised when she exits, closing the door again to leave him alone in the room with Morpheus.

The room is grand, as expected for a king, and Morpheus sits primly on the edge of the large, ornate bed in the center. He is no longer wearing the extravagant, heavy garb that he dons in public. His current night robe, while as dark and elegant as all of his attire, is also thinner and more lightweight. It is also… revealing. The silky fabric contrasts sharply with his pale, nearly white skin, and for the first time, Hob is granted the sight of his king’s forearms, his neck, the jut of his collar bones, his calves. And with it, he is granted the sight of countless scars. 

Dark, rough scar tissue circles both his wrists like bracelets, a matching ring around his neck. There are some marks that Hob recognizes as blade wounds, and others that he thinks might be burns. They criss-cross over each other and dip below his robe, suggesting that what he is seeing is only a fraction of what exists. All of the marks look old. It does not make them look any less painful. 

Hob feels his mouth open, the breath rushing out of him as though he has been struck. He can tell, he knows, that the scars are old enough to have been made long before Hob ever met Morpheus. Still, he feels a strange sense of failure. As though it is his fault for not meeting Morpheus in time to protect him.

When he finally raises his gaze, he finds Morpheus looking at him, patiently waiting for Hob to finish his inspection. Hob opens his mouth, but cannot find any words that might soften whatever is happening right now.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, “Once, I was a prince. And now, I am a king.” His voice holds the gravity of an execution, and the sorrow of bowing his own neck beneath the blade, “But there was a time, in between, when I was neither.”

Hob takes another shaking step into the room. There is something dreamlike in the situation, an anticipation, a feeling of falling. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Morpheus turns his eyes forward to stare at one of the large landscape paintings he’d commissioned from a local artist, “I was sixteen when I was taken,” he states plainly, as though his words don’t gut Hob to the core, “It was… easy. For them to steal me away. Far too easy, even for an unloved spare like myself. As if it had been allowed.” He pauses, but keeps his face carefully smooth and neutral, “I still do not know for certain. Whether I was stolen or given away.” His next words are spoken more to himself than to Hob, “Perhaps it does not matter.”

Everything in Hob wants to move closer, to hold his king and shield him with his body, as though the past was an arrow aimed for his heart that Hob could stand in the way of. And yet, he feels frozen. Feet rooted to the ground by a pain so great even his strong and stoic king cannot keep it from his voice.

“When my blindfold was removed, I found myself brought before King Burgess.”

And now, Hob gasps, a too-loud inhale in the heavy tension of the room. Morpheus looks at him, his body stiff and his face still carefully empty.

Hob feels like he can’t breathe, “How…” his voice cracks desperately, “How long were you there?” He might be making a mistake by asking, by speaking at all during this tale, but he has to know. He has to.

“I was kept as a secret treasure for ten years,” Morpheus reveals bluntly. “I escaped my imprisonment roughly six years ago.”

The timeline stretches before Hob’s eyes, and he wants to weep.

“I was there,” Hob exhales in horror. Morpheus’ blinks, eyes blank and not understanding. “I… Ten years ago, I…” his throat feels like it is closing, but he forces the words out, “Burgess’ kingdom was one of the first I traveled to after I lost Eleanor. I was raised in the land neighboring it. I was there for nearly a year, drinking and fighting and participating in tournaments to distract myself from grief. I was offered a place in his court but I. Declined.” He takes half a step back, and then a full step forward when he sees the way the motion makes his king’s face fall. “I was right there,” he whispers.

“I doubt you could have done much,” Morpheus replied, turning his face to look at the wall again, “I was not flaunted before his people, or even the rest of his court. Only a select few knew of my presence beneath his castle. He…” his voice trailed off, and his eyes glimmered as tears began to well. But he stubbornly blinked them back, “It does not matter,” he says again, even softer. 

Hob wants to scream that it does matter, of course it matters. But his king looks so wounded right now, and it has nothing to do with the scars. So for now he waits, and lets Morpheus tell him no more than what he is ready to share.

“Eventually,” he continues, his voice steady once more, “the prince’s consort grew pitying. I am sure when he released me he expected me to simply run. But I had more than earned my right to vengeance.” His hands clenched into fists in his lap, “Burgess was almost too easy. He had grown old and careless. He was not so powerful as he thought himself when I was in chains. I spared his son the killing blow only out of gratitude to his consort.”

The stories of the fall of the Burgess Kingdom make much more sense now, with this information, and even the decline of the Endless kingdom who had for so long been allies with them. 

“It took me some time to return to my home kingdom. I was weak, and needed to heal and regain my strength. I also gathered allies. Lady Lucienne, Sir Matthew, among others. My family was not expecting my return, and so it was easy to claim the throne for myself. My parents I exiled, along with their supporters. My siblings I allowed the freedom to do as they wished. And what they wished was to leave.” 

A few of the king’s siblings had visited in Hob’s time at his side, but never for long. Hob ached at the pain he saw now. The pain of being abandoned so quickly after his return.

“And a few years later…” Morpheus’ gaze was heavy as he looked at Hob once more, “a traveling knight competed in a tournament, and caught my eye.”

Hob still remembers that day so vividly, the dark shadow of the king, the way he was too far for Hob to see his eyes and yet he fantasized about them looking at him. His heart swells in his chest to know that they were. And now he is here, stepping towards his king, his friend, the man he has stood beside for nearly two years now, and he cannot help but ask, “Why did you not tell me this before?”

When Morpheus sighs, it is heavy, and Hob thinks that a lesser man would have crumpled under the weight of the despair in that single breath.

“The parts of me that appeal to you…” he explains slowly, “being… soft. And pretty, and delicate, and pure…” he keeps his head high and shoulders back and it does not make him look any less ashamed, “they are all a fantasy. The reality is that I have long been. Damaged. And sullied.” Almost unconsciously, he brought one hand up to clutch at his robe, holding it closed just a little tighter, “Perhaps it was cruel of me to deceive you in such a way, but our games… brought me comfort. I could pretend, even if just for the briefest times, that it was true. That I was someone you could want.”

Eyes fluttering closed, he sighed, “I thought. If I could have nothing else. I could at least have that.”

His voice is so even, despite how soft it has grown, barely audible in the expansive room. He speaks as though reciting history- something that has already passed and cannot be altered. A tragedy that cannot be changed.

When Hob moves towards him, it is barely conscious. It is like floating down a river, like gravity, a force of nature that perhaps he could fight against if he wanted to. But he does not want to. And so he moves to his king and he kneels, and he did not know it was possible, but it feels even more right now than it has every time he has kneeled before. Morpheus looks at him, the slightest furrow in his brow, confused, surprised, strangely lost. Hob takes his hand, as he has countless times before, and for the first time feels the rough calluses on his fingers. He kisses his knuckles, and his lips brush his bare skin for the very first time. Morpheus gasps, silent, and Hob would have missed it had his eyes not been fixed on his king’s face. 

And then he continues. He brings his lips to the ring of scar tissue around his bony wrist, kissing first the outside, then the inside, leaning forward to continue kissing up his arm. There is a part of him that is appalled at his daring- this is his king, he has no right to take such liberties. But there is a much larger part that is desperate to prove him wrong. He has sworn an oath to protect this man. In this moment, he wants to protect him from his own expectations. 

And so he pushes himself up, still holding Morpheus’ hand as his lips trail over the landscape of texture across his skin. He kisses over the fabric of his robe, not pushing it aside, not asking Morpheus to reveal any more than he already has. He stands until he is, like blasphemy, looming over his king, leaning down to kiss along the rope of scarring along his neck. He feels, more than hears, the way Morpheus gasps as his lips caress his skin.

“No game could compare to the reality of you,” Hob breathes against his skin, letting his tongue lightly trace the texture of him, “You do not need to pretend that you are wanted.” Leaning back, he finds his king staring at him with wide, watery eyes, and Hob allows himself a moment to sweep his gaze down his figure in appreciation, “Look at you,” he whispers, “Look at how much you’ve survived.”

He brings his free hand up to cup Morpheus’ cheek, and his king still looks disbelieving, and so what can he do but lean in and kiss him. When their lips meet, it feels like the inevitability of dawn after a long dark night, like everything was meant to lead them here. They move their lips together slowly, softly, until the taste of salt blooms between them. Hob pulls back, and Morpheus drifts after him, tears streaming down his face. And for all that he has been through, he looks at Hob as though this, this love and wanting, is what will finally undo him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob kisses the tears from his cheeks, even as Morpheus shakes his head.

“I am not.” 

Hob tuts softly, “You are.” 

Feeling emboldened by his love, by a love he now understands is returned, he pushes gently at Morpheus’ shoulder, guiding him down to lay on the soft, rich fabric of his bed. Morpheus’ eyes are wide when he moves to straddle him, but he does not push him away. His hands hover over his hips hesitantly, and that is the moment Hob stops worrying about this being his king. Right now, this is just Morpheus, who has been torn apart, and pieced himself back together, and pushed Hob away because he was so certain he would not be wanted as he is. And Hob wants him, and so there is nothing more important than leaning down to kiss every inch of exposed skin.

“You are so strong,” Hob whispers, pressing his lips to the rough skin of his neck again, “but you have protected yourself for long enough. Let me, now.”

“Hob,” Morpheus’ voice is breathless, his hands finally come to clutch at his tunic, “I…”

“I have sworn an oath to you, my king,” he kisses the burns along his collar bones, “And I would swear another to you, my friend,” he kisses the raised scars on his chest, “and yet another for you, my love.” 

Slowly he kisses down to his stomach, where he feels Morpheus tense and shudder even through his robe. Morpheus is breathing heavily beneath him, gasps and sobs and moans as Hob touches him all over. He tugs at Hob’s tunic and Hob obliges, tugging it over his head and reveling in the way Morpheus stares up at him, his tears slowing and his throat bobbing as he swallows at the sight of Hob’s muscled chest, his body hair broken up by ropes of scars from his years of knighthood.

Hob takes Morpheus’ hand, calluses caressing calluses, and leans down to settle his weight on top of him. He pressed their chests together, pale and scarred against tan and scarred. “See?” Hob whispered against his ear, “We match.”

Morpheus’ breath hitches, and his hand clings tighter to Hob’s. He does not let go for the rest of the night, even after they have finished their gentle rutting and have both stained the insides of their clothes. He allows Hob to use his own shirt to clean them both, and to wipe his tears away, and to curl around him beneath the covers, but he does not let go. 

In the dark, Hob kisses each of his fingers, “Would that I could protect you from the things that have already happened,” he whispers, “But I swear to you, my beautiful Morpheus, that no new scars shall adorn your skin while I am here to prevent it.” 

He feels fresh tears fall against his skin, and he knows it will take time for Morpheus to truly believe his words. Hob will slowly reveal the parts of his past that he had edited out, and Morpheus will do the same, and eventually they will lay together with no fabric between them, and Morpheus will still cry at the kindness and the love and the want in Hob’s eyes, and that will be okay. For now, they sleep in the safety of each other's arms.

And in the morning, Hob will help Morpheus dress, kissing up his body as he buttons his robe until he is once more fully covered, kissing his lips as he fastens the last button.

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐙𝐘 ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

˖ ࣪⭑ - pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!oc

˖ ࣪⭑ - summary: imagine you go for dinner at your neighbours house and you’re told you’re getting married? you better get cozy for this one!

˖ ࣪⭑ - warnings for this chapter: none

˖ ࣪⭑ - saint’s team radio: hey y’all…. i told you guys i don’t have a planned schedule for this series and i’m really starting to think i should 😭. i hope you guys enjoy this and lemme know if you wanna be tagged 🤭

masterlist

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"Renaissance yachtin' in capri!" Nadia sang as she entered the driveway of the Hamiltons only a week after the first dinner. Knowing her mother's dramatics, Thembi had once again requested her presence at the home except she had to drive straight to the Hamiltons house. Finding the situation weird but not giving it a second thought, she parked next to the all black G63, one of her many dream cars and one she hadn't seen the last time she was here. Thinking it was just a simple visit (and Thembi hadn't given her a chance to dress up after the phone call), Nadia fixed the Nike tee and adjusted the biker shorts she had worn throughout her chill Saturday morning.

Knocking on the wooden door felt weird, given that she was welcomed into the house before but she felt like something quite suspicious was going on but she couldn't even figure it out. Rubbing her eye whilst waiting for someone to answer the door, she wrote a few reminders on her phone to not forget to complete the work she had to take home from the previous day.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Nadia had recognised the voice to be Nicola, adding a little laugh after her sentence. "I woke up late so this is valid." Nadia replied, giving a smile as she entered the house with Nicola making room for her to walk in. After the first dinner, the two women had kept in touch because of the growing friendship and Willow, who would send a voice message every day to say hi. But this time, Nadia couldn't hear the kids laughing or playing around the house.

Oh, this was serious.

"Is that Nadia, darling?" Linda's voice chimed through the entrance hallway leading to the living room. "Hello Mrs Hamilton." The young woman greeted, giving Linda a side eye as she held a glass of water in her hand. "Please Nadia, rather call me Linda. Do come through, my dear!"

"We're out by the patio, need the bathroom before we start?" Nicola asked, making Nadia way more confused the more footsteps she took. "Start with what?" She trailed off, seeing Nicola just smile and head into the direction of the patio with her following. This was officially starting to get weird but Nadia chose to push her thoughts aside for this lunch.

"Oh she's here! How was the drive, Nads?" Her mom spoke up as soon as Nadia's foot hit the wooden floor of the large patio. Different types of charcuterie boards were placed with juices and waters to accommodate everyone but the atmosphere seemed so different from the dinner last week, it rather felt like a meeting.

"Helloooo." Nadia dragged out the greeting as she eventually found an empty seat, once again, next to Lewis. The man was genuinely a sight to see as the sun shined on him as he sat comfortably on the patio bench chair. Wearing a black NY cap, a graphic tee once again with a pair of jeans this time and his jewellery on display, Lewis smiled up at her with a toothy grin.

After personally greeting everyone around the table and answering their fast questions, she plopped down onto the chair with a few of her bracelets clanging together. The familiar scents of each other from the last time they met fused together as they both studied each other once again.

Nadia's tattoos were finally on display, each dainty artwork fluttered around her skin with a few being inked in red. The most noticeable thing being her hair as she changed the colour to black and it reached past her back. The makeup was very simple and she only carried her phone and lipgloss in her hand as she placed the overly cracked device onto the table right next to Lewis'. When she smiled, he noticed a small gem on one of her front teeth and he definitely admired her style, not one he would regularly picture on a high school teacher.

"You know Nadia, we were just talking about how odd it would be to suddenly become famous within a matter of hours." Linda started, grabbing the large jug of grape juice to give the girl a glass. Helping the older woman, Nadia lifted herself off the chair and gave Lewis a look, non verbally asking if it was true and his eyebrows furrowed whilst pursing his lip upwards, making Nadia smile a little.

"Really? In what aspects?" She sat back down, lifting the glass to her gloss covered lips and only taking little sips. "Oh just how you'd maybe have to close off social media for a while and suddenly having people around you to help with everything." Linda said, taking her glass of water and eyeing Nadia's mom after her sentence. Tilting her head in confusion, she made sure to sit comfortably as this was definitely an interesting conversation.

"I never really thought about it like that actually. The way teams assemble within a matter of hours is something else but I always hear my students say that they're one hundred percent ready for fame." Nadia watched the two older women constantly look at each other with the older men being suspiciously quiet. "Oh and don't even get me started on the scandals you're put through." Nicola submerged from the house, holding a fresh pizza on a wooden board with an extra plate.

"Lewis, you'd know a thing or two about these things right?" Nicola smirked as she placed the plate on the opposite side of the table. Snapping her head towards Lewis, he sighed then nodded before straightening up his posture as it was before. Now Nadia was incredibly confused. Although she spent at least two hours in conversation with Lewis, she never really found out what exactly he does for a living even though he knew what she did as she went on a whole rant about her day with the teenagers. The way he had carried himself whilst speaking with everyone and just how he listened made it seem like he could be a businessman of some sort that clearly made his money and he made it well as he wore jewellery pieces that she could only dream of seeing.

A beat of silence passed and a knock on the door was heard. "Oh, that must be Gerald." Anthony got up in quite a hurry, with the table falling into conversation to detour the previous topic. After the man was welcomed onto the patio, he placed his small briefcase next to him on the chair with Nadia's suspicions growing more and more.

But what if he was really just there for lunch?

The word 'deactivate' kept being thrown around between Nicola, Thembi and Linda for several minutes, snapping Nadia and Lewis out of their conversation on her tattoos. "Nads, come here really quickly and bring your phone." Her mom ordered as the young girl walked to their side of the table. Standing over all three women, she held her phone in front of her mom's face. "How do you deactivate your Instagram? Nicola here made one for me but i don't want it anymore." Thembi asked, once again eyeing Linda.

Showing the directions on her own phone, Nadia then became distracted by her stepdad's question. "Nads, do you know when Rea's flight lands? Will you be okay to go?" He asked, slightly jumping at something. "Yes, I'll be fine. Her flight lands at like two in the morning so after here I'll just finish up some work then go to the airport early." Nadia responded, feeling her hand move a little as she spoke to James.

Thembi tapped her daughter's hand as Nadia focused back on her phone. Seeing her instagram page now logged out, she groaned at the thought of her completely forgetting her password to it. Plopping back into her seat defeated, Lewis eyed her then her phone that she placed on the table. "You good?" He asked, turning his body to look at her. "I think I  accidentally logged myself out of insta and i forgot where i wrote down the password." Nadia frowned a little as she clasped her hands together. Even though he didn't want to seem like he was smiling at her misery but the little pout she had on her face was adorable and obviously he wasn't going to admit that anytime soon.

"Okay, I cannot do this anymore." Anthony announced out as he sighed which caught everyone's attention. "Dad, what's going on?" Lewis asked worried, he had noticed his father was quiet most of the time but he brushed it off knowing that his father was usually like this.

"Son, listen. I know what I'm about to say will sound insane but I need you to listen very carefully. Along with you too, Nadia." Anthony stated. Linda then stood next to her husband in terror. "Wait, Anthony. Are you sure you want to do this right now?" She muttered.

And now the uneasy feeling came right back.

"Lewis, you know I care for you deeply however these past few weeks have been tough for you... and pr." His dad started off, earning a sigh from Lewis and a pinch on the bridge of his nose. Seeing Lewis stress like this was weird for Nadia and what exactly did his father mean by PR? Anyone could tell that he wanted to say something but chose to keep quiet.

Now sitting up properly, Nadia was intrigued with the entire situation and wondered how famous Lewis actually was.

"Linda and I, along with Nadia's parents and Nicola have decided that we wanted to help you to clean up your image a little more even though you are a private person. And for that, we've come up with the concept of a fake marriage between you and Nadia." Anthony concluded and took his seat.

It was as if the blood from Nadia completely left her face after that very last sentence however her face stayed extremely neutral. Her face rather snapped towards her parents who were avoiding eye contact with her.

The silence was so loud, the birds chirping ever so slightly as if they were part of the plan as well. Looking at everyone's face, anyone could tell that this had probably been discussed many times before. "What?" Nadia being the first one to say something, spoke in a monotone voice.

"Look we wanted to see how you two would get along when you first met and it had seemed to work very well. We're only really looking out for you, Lewis. These rumours have kinda taken a toll on you." Nicola voiced, seeing that their faces were stoic yet burning daggers into everyone's skulls.

Finally looking at each other, Lewis and Nadia's eyes met with no source of attraction to each other in that present moment. "This is crazy." Lewis muttered to himself as he shook his head whilst looking down at his shoes.

"Okay." Nadia said, crossing her arms and looked at her mom directly. "Okay?" Lewis grumbled with slightly narrowed eyes to the girl. "Yeah. Clearly this is important and stuff so I'll do it." Nadia responded with a calm facade but she was truly screaming on the inside, her leg shaking underneath the table. Shocked as he was at her nonchalant response to the situation, he slumped back and chose to not speak up in front of guests. Lewis wasn't frustrated in the slightest but he was just extremely confused.

"What about the details?" Lewis sighed, feeling through his beard and accepting his fate.

"Wait, you're actually doing this?" Thembi expressed. If anything, Thembi felt embarrassed to even coming up with this suggestion thinking that it was going to help the driver and his many social problems. "Ma, please tell us the details before we rethink doing this for you guys." Nadia deadpanned, grabbing a grape from one of the charcuterie boards displayed.

"Well. You would have to tell the world that you've been married for at least a year or two and I've already told your PR team, Lewis, to get everything ready before you announce. For now, you're only allowed to tell your closest friends and coworkers about this so that it doesn't seem suspicious that your friends didn't know of your marriage." Nicola started.

"Nadia, because you're now affiliated with Lewis, security and a team will have to assembled to be at your beck and call. Marie from Lewis' team will come over to help you choose potential candidates for your everyday team. Now the difficult part. You two have to be married legally because you know how people get, Lewis. They'll want evidence. And that's Gerald is here for." She concluded, gesturing to the guest to open his briefcase but god, did he feel awkward.

"Uh, hello. Here's the marriage certificate you two are meant to sign for the court to recognise it as an actual marriage." The poor man was red in the face as he shakily placed the certificate between Nadia and Lewis with a pen. With her freshly manicured hand, the girl picked the pen and signed underneath her name officially as a Mrs. She took a quick glance at Lewis' name and it seemed so familiar but the thing that intrigued her the most was the 'Sir' before anything.

Lewis had a good look at Nadia's side profile as he watched her sign the official papers. She didn't seem bothered with anything that was said, it was as if everything just defeated her and she just accepted it. If there's one thing he noticed was that it looked like she didn't have a clue about who he was at all and that was so fascinating to him.

She handed the pen to him, their hands touching a little with the warmest touch as they made eye contact. They both couldn't read each other's eyes, only dark brown pupils staring into each other's souls. Lewis then also signed with a bit of hesitation, the reality falling on him as he dragged the pen to the very last of his signature.

"Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Hamilton." Gerald broke the silence as he uttered his words. He quickly packed his briefcase and walked away from the table with a small wave to everyone to escape from the awkwardness of the lunch table.

"You only have to do this for a year or so then you can either divorce publicly or privately. And the living situation has to be changed. Nadia, you will have to be almost everywhere with Lewis now that you've signed that certificate so I am not sure how you will handle this at your workplace. Do you have an active passport?" Anthony ended with his question to which the quiet girl just nodded.

"Wait, where am I going to live?" Nadia asked, eventually snapping out of the quiet demeanour she had. "Well you'll have to speak to your husband about that." Linda smiled at the two, the smile slowly falling when seeing their deadpanned faces.

Sighing out for the final time, Lewis sighed and lightly tapped Nadia on the arm signaling for her attention. He held his car keys in his hand and she knew that she had to go because being there any longer would've suffocated her. The newly married couple simultaneously stood up and gathered their belongings, making everyone's faces grow into confusion.

"Where are you guys going?" Thembi asked, standing up as well with a worried expression. All Lewis did was shrug as he fixed his shirt and move out of the way so that Nadia could walk before him. "Bye everyone! Your charcuterie boards looked amazing by the way, Linda." It was as if someone completely different had greeted the group goodbye because her mood changed in a matter of seconds as if nothing happened.

"What the hell did we just do?" Nicola asked, rubbing her forehead as she watched the two walk away and out of the house.

-

"You've arrived at your destination." The automated voice rang through the large car as it approached a large black gate behind an elegant building.

The drive to the unknown destination was not as quiet as they thought it would be. When entering the car, all Nadia could do was to laugh as soon as Lewis entered the car so much so that a few tears of laughter came out. It was a sound that he appreciated to hear and he joined her in her laughter. They couldn't believe that they even went through that, mainly laughing at the fact they went into the house for lunch and left as a married couple.

It was quite the lengthy drive but it seemed much quicker as they spent the time speaking about what happened at lunch yet they never got to the topic of his job and also because they decided to play music to get rid of the negative mood they both had.

“I thought you were going to kidnap for a second. I still do.” Nadia joked as he playfully rolled his eyes at her. “Where are we even?” She looked out of the window to see the back of the large building, eventually spotting a small yet visible sign on the wall reading ‘Harrods VIP parking’.

Letting the smallest gasp escape her mouth, she gazed at Lewis once again who was typing on his phone and wondered what he did for a living for him to be able to decide to park his car here. The rumours from this department store were unbelievable so to see them bloom in real life felt surreal to Nadia.

Lewis definitely saw Nadia to be a good friend to him and could keep her around his circle and vice versa. It was a sign that a friendship was brewing between each other and they’re somewhat grateful for that although it happened so quickly.

“Seriously bruv, where are you taking me? I have to get home to watch catfish.” She asked, flicking her hair back and he laughed once more. “Bruv?” He said in between his giggles. “Okay my pookie wookie buddy bear, where are you taking me?” She said, fluttering her eyelashes at him which made him burst into so much more laughter.

“Since you want to know so badly, we’re going to Cartier to get our wedding rings.” He smiled a toothy grin, turning off the ignition of the car while looking at her stunned expression.

“…what?”

taglist: @non-stop-imagines @folkloresthings @tispys-blog @userlando @lorarri @thisismeracing @thatsdemko @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @goldsainz

dividers by: @cafekitsune

faceclaim for nadia: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

all pictures from pinterest and ig!

[k2ntoss]

okay, so, adding onto your, as of this moment, most recent post, just picture it: you catch onto the fact that jason gets all smug seeing his handiwork on your nails when you jerk him off, and decide to surprise him by going out and testing literally every possible red nail polish available until you find the exact perfect shade that matches his helmet, and giving it to him as part of his gift for some occasion or another (personally I'm thinking either his birthday or Christmas, anniversary could work also)

but like, just imagine how thrilled he would be and how eager he would be to get that colour on your nails, and how impatient he would be for them to dry so he could see them in action, yknow? 👀👀

-🦊 (also omg i have my own tag now?🥹)

allow me to tell you that since you're the first "formal" anon with an emoji you are indeed my favorite, plus i'm always happy to see you around here bc you feed my delusions so thanks 🦊 ily, so yes you have your own tag

jason had to get used to his birthday being a little different since he started dating you, he had a reason to celebrate now and it was lovely, since he woke up you would shower him in details and little gifts and he loved to feel like a spoiled child because he felt all the love you had for him.

this year it wasn't different and his day was filled with things he liked a lot until he had to leave on patrol for a while so it was the perfect opportunity for you to prepare his last gift. it had been a while since he found out he liked painting your nails just to see artwork when you wrapped your hands around his dick, it simply made him grin proudly because it was his girl pleasing him and showing off her pretty nails, done by him so you decided to feed that little monster in jason's head. a whole week going into every store you saw to get the perfect shade of red that could match his helmet, carrying a pic on your phone just of the color to compare it until you found the one.

as soon as he slid into your apartment through the window he noticed the lights of the living room on which meant that you were there waiting for him so he made his way there. as soon as he saw you he took off the helmet, holding it under his arm and giving you a wide grin "isn't it past your bed time, princess?" jason asks teasingly as he walks towards the couch to sit next to you.

"no, it isn't because i have two last things for the birthday boy" you reply with a mischievous smile, handing him a small white box tied with a pretty red bow that he didn't wait to undo just to open the little box.

the smile that crept to his face was enough to know he was thinking about the reason behind the red nail polish bottle he was holding between his fingers, his eyes fixed on yours before he leaned in to kiss you but he stopped as soon as you tilted your head "are you gonna give me your pretty hands or do i have to ask?" jason's voice drops low and it makes a shiver run down your spine and even lower between your legs because you know what he wants.

"isn't it past my bed time? maybe we should wait until tomorrow morning so we can sleep" you reply, pushing jason a little just to build a little more of that pretty glint of need and desperation on his eyes and you let out a chuckle when he shakes his head, hair going messy and his white strand mixing a little with his jet black hair.

"you don't expect me to wait, right? give me your hands and let me see how they look when you use them on my cock, baby" jason's words make you swallow hard before you lay your hands on his thigh so he can start painting your nails and he's quick without messing it not even a little bit and you can't help but smiling when he's blowing on them to dry the nail polish.

"someone is getting a little impatient" you tease him which only earns you a low growl from his lips, he's impatient and needy because you can already see the outline of his half hard dick under his tactical pants and how his chest heaves under the chest plate so you blow a little too on your nails. jason stares at you, he even counts into his head how many minutes he has to wait until his trained eye sees the paint is dry.

"down on your knees. now" he almost barks the order as he spreads his legs to let you sit between them on the floor just to be met by his helmet placed between his thighs "put your pretty hands on the helmet, baby" jason says and you do so, his blood is boiling at the sight because the shade is exactly the same and his hands go a little clumsy when he decides to undo his belt and the buttons of his pants, taking away the helmet just so your hands can start to stroke him over his boxers.

there's soft grunts escaping his lips even if you're not touching him completely yet but he's so turned on by the color on your nails he can't really help it. leaning in he grabs your hips to move your body until you're sitting over his heavy boot, the rough material making you tremble ever so slightly "be a good girl and sit pretty there for me, yeah, love?" his voice is low and he smirks when you are the one sliding your hand under his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard dick, nodding at his words.

for jason there's nothing hotter than his girl but seeing you like this, getting him you know he likes to use with you makes him feel so good, the way you always seem to guess what he would enjoy a lot is like touching heaven and having you know, kneeling in front of him while you jerk him off sitting on his boot feels like the perfect birthday gift. your hand going up and down his length with the right amount of pressure before your thumb slides up to play with his tip drives him crazy, he thrust his hips a little just to urge you to keep going at the same time his hand holds your chin slowly guiding two digits into your mouth "don't you have anything to say to me, baby?" he asks with a smirk as his thumb presses your tongue to mess up with your words.

"happy birthday, jay..."

[kwoojii]

hiii i saw the "thank god I'm the only normal person here" player chain idea and immediately blacked out and woke up with my Girl fully drawn. so if you ever actually start that i am hands shaking here for It. I think it's such a fun idea asfghgfd

(Girl in question:)

HELP WERE REALLY DOING THIS. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to add your girl or if you wanted to add her yourself. Here's the PSD file if you'd like to add her yourself or make edits to your artwork!

She's GORGEOUS by the way. I adore her so much.

For anyone interested in joining, feel free to send me your PNG or add your Player manually! I'd love to see it so tag me if you do end up adding your keykid LOL

PSD DOWNLOAD

JPEG DOWNLOAD

[kewpie-aisle]

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤

pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x gn!reader

notes: suggestive language, mental stripping, general horniness, yoga poses, workout talk, minors do NOT interact pls

wc: 1.5 words

AN: I saw this artwork by @akiisks and every neuron in my brain said, Bo had to be the next installment in the series. Mm mm mm I love ONE owl themed gym bro. banners by @cafekitsune my hero you like what you see series other parts: Atsumu

The gym in the early morning hours was always quiet and peaceful. Majority of the MSBY players preferred evening or late night workouts, considering it a cool down for the day. The early morning hours introduced a peace and lull that was necessary for those that start the day with energy to expend. Calming overactive minds and bodies, both gifts held by the outside hitter of the team. 

Bokuto needed the cool down early in the morning, to ease down his energy levels to a “normal person”. That’s what Akaashi has always put in his head since they were younger, unsure what it means but the morning workout is now a routine for the man. As he got older it became an anchor to familiar times which helped him navigate unknown feelings and obstacles; riding through any crashing wave in peace. That peace has recently been shaken up.

Pulling out his headphones, he reaches for the gym door, coming to a halt when the sounds of the room touch his ears. There’s someone else in the gym already. He checks his watch to see it’s 4:30 am. Frustration is what he should feel, with a disturbance in his routine, but he could feel anticipation flush across his face and tickle the tips of his ears with heat. It’s not just someone in there, he had high expectations on who beat him to the gym. With a heavy pull, the door swings wide open and his eyes scan the floor, easily finding the source of the noise. Lo and behold, there you were. 

The new MSBY athletic trainer, who had joined a month ago. Clad in fitted black workout gear, long sleeves compression shirt and shorts covering each dip and curve of muscle and skin. Edge of the shorts seamlessly meeting the start of skin down your thighs and shins, glistening in sweat. Bokuto gulped down a lump in his throat, slammed by waves of uncertainty uprooting his anchored mind. 

With your headphones on, canceling out all noise in the room, you had missed Bokuto entering. You woke up that morning with more energy than usual. Chalking it up to new hire jitters, but that’s not what it was. Surrounded by players with large egos wasn’t new to you, it came with the territory of being an athletic trainer. Hell, even if you’d stayed in personal training, there’s no escaping the egos of gym bros. Everyone lifts more, knows more, trains better than you. With a smaller stature than most, you’d gone your whole life always being underestimated. Working out had always been a safe relief for pent up frustration and anger, letting you maintain a calm for the rest of the day. A godsent gift in your chosen profession. The MSBY Black Jackals’ team reputation was known far and wide in the industry. The most polite and friendliest team, hungry for growth. The “Eternal Rookies”, a moniker agreed upon by journalists and teammates alike in the volleyball world. It had been just the right move for you, but your professionalism had been shaken up from Day 1, when you met the rising star outside hitter, Bokuto Koutaro. 

Most guys that looked like that were always wolves in sheep’s clothing, regardless of team reputation. But Bokuto had surprised you in every area, clumsy yet straightforward and honest. Earnest in practice and a trusted leader during games. Strong and smart but humble and kind. And agonizingly good looking. Work days became an every day battle to not ogle the man every second he was in your sight. Coming to the gym in the morning was your refresher, a clean way to start the day to ensure you're energized throughout. But it seems Bokuto also frequented the morning time, so you had been adjusting to come earlier and earlier to try and avoid him. Waking up at 3 am from a particularly delicious dream, was enough reason to head straight to the gym to clear your head. Taking a quick break you glance up to the mirror to ensure proper stance, eyes widening seeing the very devil from your dream getting off the treadmill and preparing for his routine. Head down, completing incline chest rows, your entire backside on display for Bokuto. He had finished his cardio and started his lat exercises, fortunately unfortunately the machine was positioned to maintain the weights area in direct line of sight. He had wanted to power through his routine, crushing on the trainer was a childish distraction and completely unprofessional. Having childlike fun is one thing, but entering frustrated territory was completely unlike him. The heat that sat in his core, rising up, coating his entire torso in a voracious fire with desire he’d never felt before. He hated it. He’s always been in control of all his emotions and desires, but you shook every semblance of proper thought from his head. Failing miserably at keeping a focused mind, he dove into the siren’s song and watched you closely throughout his workout. Wiping down machines, adjusting weights, huffing through his sets, but eyes trained on your body throughout it all. He had watched you wrap up and make your way to the yoga mats for cool down stretches. 

With only a nod of acknowledgement, the two of you hadn’t exchanged any words in the past couple hours of working out. Maintaining distance in balanced routines for the day, a dance playing out in the gym. But the tension was palpable, suffocating in the already stuffy gym air. You watched a bead of sweat drip down his chin into the crevices of his pecs. Wondering if it had traveled down his abs and through the defined v-line you could glimpse every time he raised his arms. You licked your lips in hope for a taste, even if in your imagination. The craving for a taste increased, because you had felt his eyes on you the entire time. Watching every movement, eyeing you from top to bottom and back. You could feel the ghost of his hands running over your body. Leaving behind a tantalizing trail of heat everywhere, yet not placing a single finger on you. As you leaned down into downward dog, Bokuto had stopped to take a water break, eyes washing over your body in haste. A smirk playing on your lips as you feel yourself fall over the edge of your self control. “Bokuto-san, could you help me stretch out my back?” 

The last gulp of water catches in his throat, coughing as he averts his eyes. Finally breathing air back into his lungs he turns his attention to the voice calling for him. Headphones now out, he hears you repeat your question, as if it hadn’t been bouncing around the walls of his mind already. His throat somehow dry despite finishing off his entire bottle, he makes his way over. Watching as you adjust yourself into pigeon pose, left leg fully stretched out and right leg folded out and tucked in. Opening up your hips to stretch, you motioned him to push down on your back. Palms on your back he leaned down on you, folding you completely over, without any resistance. Your chest flush against the mat and arms spread out forward. With a slight push up off you, he stands up to watch over your form. Drinking in the ease of your stretch, mind running with other ways he could be folding you to take him in completely. A jolt running right to his core when he meets your eyes to see a flush on your face, still pressed against the mat as you watch him. 

“Ya like what you see Bokuto-san?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. The heat of the room, the thrum of your heart in your ears, blood rushing to multiple places at once, has all your senses on high after your workout. Bokuto’s weight against you had set your entire back on fire, engulfing you completely and you ached to feel him over you again. “My form, it looks ok?” You tease as a flush comes across his face. With a lick of your lips, you roll over, legs spread open wide. “Can you help stretch out my front too...I can fold into another position if you’d like?”  The question crashed over Bokuto, anchor ripped out of the ground, untethered and washing away into the depths of the ocean. He closed the distance in a few short steps before pulling you up into him, lips against his in an instant. Tasting you finally, feeling you with his hands, swallowing you completely. His parched throat slowly soothed as he drank you in, the way he needed.

Relentless moans falling out of your lips, echoing in his mind. He looks down at you ruined, but you reach your hands out to wrap around him to bring him closer for more. He closes his eyes to fall right in, a new anchor rooted in your waves pulling him as close to you as possible.

[seaoflove07]

Cravings in the Dawn🌹

• A commission artwork by Lesyarei •

Oc x Canon.

Characters: Azusa Mukami & Christine Melendez. (Rose)

A commission Fan Fiction Written by @afi-writes @afi-mukami

Author Oc @yuriko-mukami

Fandom: Diabolik Lovers.

🔞⚠️⚠️ NSFW, Not for Minors! ⚠️⚠️🔞

Note: I can't bring myself to write my own smut. 😅 So I'm glad there are writers who do steamy commissions.

I did give the dialogue to the writer and the rest she poured her magic with her style.📝 🔥🔪🌹

The pinkish hue spreads through the sky just above the high trees, the first cue of the morning. Christine has been watching the dark sky for a while now, tossing and turning every now and then. Now light dangles into the room, caressing the rosy curtains and bedsheets with its sparkles. No way Christine can fall asleep this morning, not when every nerve in her body tickles. There is this deep yearning rising in her, pulsing through her veins, demanding attention.

The arms locked around Christine aren’t truly helping the situation. Especially not when Azusa nuzzles her locks in his slumber, his scent of fruity black tea with a hint of flowers sailing in as Christine draws breath.

Five days.

For five days without making love to the man who lays next to her. A sigh presses past Christine’s lips. Five days full of work for Karlheinz’s plans. Five days full of chores in the mansion. Five days hitting the bed in the brick of dawn and passing out from exhaustion.

Yet now, Christine is wide awake, feeling how neediness courses through her body. Such a wrong timing.

Azusa lets out a soft mumble while Christine’s gaze embraces him. He has worked so hard, deserving every ounce of rest he can get. Not wanting to disturb him, Christine sneaks from under his arms gradually. Another mumble, an arm tugging a pillow, hugging it instead. An adorable sight.

But adorable isn’t what Christine would need now. Not even the long bath earlier has shaken the throbbing need away. Slightly annoyed by her urges, Christine grabs a silk robe from the backrest of a chair and wraps it around her. Even though the fabric is light, its touch on her skin is enough to send shivers all over. Oh, she would need so much more. Drawing a breath, she pushes the longing aside and heads for the kitchen. Perhaps a glass of water can cool her down.

But this isn’t a lucky morning for Christine. Of course, the water couldn’t help her. Heading back, yet another sigh vibrates through Christine. She reaches for the doorknob, but it escapes her fingers just when she’s about to grab it. Lifting her gaze, she meets the eyes that bore through her full of worry and anxiousness.

A second passes, perhaps two. Cold fingers grip around Christine’s wrist, and Azusa hauls her into the room, slamming the door shut.

“Azu, what’s the matter?” The question jumps off Christine’s lips.

“When I woke up…” Darkness slithers into Azusa’s eyes and he only firms his hold. “...you weren’t there near me in the bed… Or rather… you weren’t around… in the room at all... I feared that you might… have abandoned me...and had left me... Just thinking about it… It got me feeling… very sad… and incredibly scared...”

“Azu…” Slowly, Christine pulls her wrist from Azusa’s fingers only to lean in and cup his icy cheeks. “I will never leave you because I love you.”

But Azusa’s gaze is like the one of a hurt animal. “Then why… did you leave the room… without telling me…!?” His usually sluggish tone of voice pitches higher.

Christine shifts in front of him. “You were still sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you up.” She allows a tiny sigh to leave her mouth again. “I couldn't sleep. So… I went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.”

“Really…?” Confusion wafts over Azusa’s face. Yet it is soon twisted into suspiciousness. “Or you might be using that… as an excuse for me… to lower my guard...then use that opportunity… to run away and leave me…”

“Azusa stop!” Christine frowns, staring at her love. “You need to learn to trust me. I haven't given you any reason to think that I'll leave you for someone else.” So frustrating! Always this! Always! Why can’t Azusa see how much she loves him? Why can’t he trust that she will stay? Stomping her feet on the carpet, Christine gives the man a final glare. “I'm done talking to you, I'm going to bed now.”

“Wait!” Azusa’s voice is almost insinuating with desperation.

But Christine doesn’t mind. She has gotten enough of this. Turning her back, she refuses to answer. The bed is calling for her.

The next step is never taken.

“Don't you turn your back on me…! I’m not done talking to you yet...!” Azusa seizes Christine’s shoulders, his fingertips digging into her skin as he turns her around so fast, that her head is spinning for a moment. But only for a moment, for the reliant lips capture hers.

“Azusa, no…” Christine shoves Azusa’s chest, breaking the smooch and forcing a whine out of the Vampire. “I want you to trust me…”

For a while, nothing is being said. The couple stares at each other and the silence is thick between them.

Azusa shifts as if he is feeling physically uncomfortable. “It’s hard, Rose… especially when I know… that other men want you…”

His anxiety is kicking in, isn’t it? Christine locks her gaze with Azusa’s while she lets her robe slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. Lifting her hands, she tugs the straps of her nightgown until they run down her upper arms. With a sway of her hips, she allows the piece of garment to drop and pile around her ankles.

“Azu…” Without a hurry, Christine steps out of the nightgown and brings her hands on her curves. There is fire in her loins and desire in her belly. “...you have had my body many times. But…” She slithers her fingers under the waist of her lace pink thong. “...I want you to know.” She draws the lingerie down little by little revealing everything as the ache between her thighs grows more and more insistent. “I'm still yours. My heart and body will always be yours.”

As Azusa’s eyes caress her with lusting, invisible fingers, Christine steps closer. He is all she wants; all she can think of. “My body craves you… Azu…” She sinks into his eyes, and the wet heat flares in her. Lust burns in her brain and she can concentrate on nothing else. “Please… make love to me…”

Azusa swallows. “Rose…”

For a tiny while Azusa’s eyes settle on Christine’s breasts. Just a moment later, he lifts his hand and starts to unbutton his shirt. One by one, the fastenings drop open, baring his chest to Christine’s waiting gaze. He drops the piece of clothing on the floor, and with a swift movement, he scoops her up and carries her through the room, tossing her on the bed so hastily that her head sinks into the pillow. She doesn’t even have time to dampen her lips with her tongue before he is over her, showering kisses on her.

The smooches take over Christine’s senses as she sinks into bliss along with them. Trembles course through her as Azusa takes her lips with his own. So all-consuming. It’s impossible to resist the pull of passion that draws them both in. The kiss is hard, then soft and hard again, coming like waves to the shore, making her blood pulse in her veins with a scarlet web of desire.

Finally, Azusa breaks the kiss and tugs Christine’s bottom lip, scraping it with his peeking fangs. A metallic inkling of a taste wafts onto her tongue, a cue of her own blood. Azusa’s mouth moves down to Christine’s slender throat, his teeth finding the column of her neck and piercing it. The white pain strikes her mind, and she can’t hold back a whine that pushes past her lips.

“Sing more… for me, Rose…” Azusa traces Christine’s side while he focuses on sucking her blood. Releasing a moan, he licks over the bite mark and fishes the last drops of the delicious liquid of life before moving down.

When Azusa’s breath breezes over Christine’s skin, her nipples perk up from the mere thought of what is to come. A cry escapes her when his fangs thrust into the ample flesh of her mound. Drawing blood once more, Azusa caresses her other breast and toys with its hardened peak, gliding his thumb over the nub. Combined with the bite, the sensation hauls Christine into a mixture of sweet pain and luscious pleasure.

As if asking forgiveness, Azusa kisses the reddish bite, tracing the mound until he reaches the stout bud. Flicking over it, he forces a whine out of Christine. Grazing with his fangs, he sucks the nub into his mouth and whirls his tongue around it. Shivers run down Christine’s spine, and she squirms under her lover, wailing.

Releasing the bud, Azusa captures the other and gives it the same treatment. More laments of lust escape to the air while yearning ignites deep within Christine.

“Your voice… spurs me on…” Azusa breathes against the nipple. “Rose… let me hear… more…” He inches closer, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of Christine’s breast. Squealing, she laces her fingers with his hair, presses his head closer, and arches her back to meet his lips and fangs again and again.

And that is only the start of their tingling tango of delight and desperation. Azusa’s fangs find all the sensitive spots of Christine’s, for he knows them well. The mouthwatering scrunch of her upper arm, the cushiony of her waist and belly, the bounciness of her thigh. With each bite, comes a mark of ownership, a sign of love and dedication like no other, painted with pain like proof of life. The perfection the couple only shares with one another and no one else, raw need meeting pure desire.

Heat uncurls in Christine’s abdomen, the urgent need that demands more. She thrills at the thought of Azusa moving inside her.

“Azu…” A quivering whisper. Christine craves more, her body flaring with fervor and mind hazing with urge old as time. This man, this love is all she needs. Meandering under him, she calls him to take what belongs rightfully to him, teases him with the promise of delight.

“Rose… your scent…” Azusa showers Christine’s stomach with thousands of smooches. “...it is… like a garden… My own… rose garden…”

Releasing his grasp, Azusa shoves his pajama pants down along with his underwear as if a cue that Christine’s carnal desire will no longer be denied. He kicks the clothes off the edge of the bed. “You are mine, Rose… I will not hand you over… to anyone…”

Azusa seizes Christine by her waist and flips her over. Her cheek meets the pillow, sinking into it as she wheezes. Just a moment later, Azusa’s fingers entangle with her hair while he buries his nose in it and breathes her in. As he kisses down her nape, his breath is ragged in her ears. He traces her skin, enlacing his fingers with her hair and tugging gently while keeping his other hand on her shoulder blade and scraping her neck.

The soft pecks of his lips on her spine are ever-so-gently. Yet, the possessive desperation lingers between the couple and paints every touch, every lungful of air.

Nuzzling Christine’s spine, Azusa presses another series of smooches on it and inhales deeply. “Your scent… Rose… It’s intoxicating…”

Christine loves to hear Azusa’s sweet words. He clenches his hand in her hair, his digits delving into it for a while before he slides his fingers down her back, cherishing every inch of her skin.

Soft moans of satisfaction sail out of Christine as Azusa holds her waist and caresses the small of her back with his mouth. She can’t help but sway her bottom for him, and he answers the cue, hauling is closer and covering the buttocks with kisses as well while palming the squeezy flesh over and over again.

The fangs puncture Christine’s buttock, forcing a lament out of her. Azusa can’t resist suckling even more of her sweet liquid of life. Her palm meets the headboard of the bed, fingers scratching it as Azusa moves south while his hand reaches the apex of her thighs; the tip of his finger dips in followed by a moist draining sound.

“Rose, you are… so wet… for me…” Azusa’s words vibrate against Christine’s skin just before his tongue glides to the valley between her thighs, savoring the sweet cavern. At the same time, he lets his digit sneak past her pearly gates, sinking in and retreating again. He works his fingers into her once more, igniting her. Her body vibrates in response, and she bites back a whimper.

Azusa’s swirling fingers spread Christine wide, spreading her wetness all over her rosy petals. Curling his digits, he provokes more muffled moans out of her, inflaming her veins with gratification. Kissing and licking, Azusa traces Christine’s swollen folds. She opens for him like a flower as he inches his fingers out only to slash his tongue inside, working her entrance, driving her wild. The sensation locks her in the prison of desires, moistness spreading on her thighs with each delicate flick while his digits reach her already throbbing nub of pleasures.

Christine’s breath comes in soft pants as Azusa’s fingers keep stroking her, sending her into shivers of ecstasy. Her clit cries out for him, her back arches and her fingers clench the blanket as if it is the only thing that keeps her in this realm while he drinks deep from her candied well of bliss. Again and again, bold swipes of his tongue send her spinning in the whirlpool of sacred sensations.

“You taste… so good, Rose…” Kissing her entrance, Azusa slides his tongue toward Christine’s buttocks, snaking its way between them and forcing yet another whimper past her lips. She tenses for the unfamiliar sensation as Azusa tests the new waters, a soggy lick probing the opening he hasn’t conquered yet.

Shivering, Christine squeezes the blanket. What is this? But the protest dies on her lips as Azusa keeps going, kissing and lapping with relish. Small drifts turn into tidal waves of delight, taking Christine beyond reason. Whimpering, she surrenders while Azusa’s tongue wins over her confusion and his thumb dances over her pulsing pearl.

“Every part of… you is mine…” The whisper vibrates against Christine’s buttock, and right after the wet tip of Azusa’s tongue gives her another thrill of rapture.

• Full Uncensored Artwork, Here •

Wailing, Christine grasps the blanket under her and instinctively tugs it into her mouth, stifling her voice. If anything, that drives Azusa further, and his tongue starts to tantalize and tease her whilst his stroking and petting on her glossy bud never stops. She writhes against his hand and the tongue that slips in, tormenting her ever-so-sweetly.

Almost losing herself to the pleasure, Christine shifts her hips adapting to Azusa’s moves. Rapture shoots through her at his touch and tortured moans squeeze from her mouth. If this doesn’t stop soon, she will come apart right here and now. Her moans break through, echoing through the room… and just then, Azusa’s fingers withdraw, and his tongue leaves a wet trail on her bottom.

“No! Azu, please! Don’t stop!” Christine’s cries of yearning cut the air.

“We should… cum together, Rose.”

As Christine wails and heaves, Azusa collects her into his arms, supporting her against his chest. She can’t help the trembles that dash through her muscles from both exhaustion and eagerness.

Nuzzling Christine’s nape, Azusa nibbles it with the peaks of his fangs only. His mouth tells her without words how loved she is. He grabs her chin, gently tilting her head to captivate her lips and lock her into a prison of smooches. The earth-shattering kisses sail into Christine’s heart, for they are not only because of lust but adornment as well. Like Cupid’s arrow into her chest, Azusa’s lips speak a language of their own in a long and leisurely manner.

I love you.

I need you.

I’ll never let go of you.

Spoken words aren’t needed. In silence, they flow from one another as an endless stream that binds them together.

While they kiss open-mouthed, Azusa grinds his erection against Christine’s backside. It slides across her folds, and she can feel how ready he is to take her, to show her to whom she belongs. Nudging her dampened petals, he briefly pauses at her pearly gates, then pushes them wide and shoves his length into her core. Heat meets coldness, creating an inferno spiced with an ice storm.

Azusa sighs with satisfaction as his hardness fills Christine, stripping away everything but her need for him. He places one hand on Christine’s hip, holding her there as he hits the deepest parts of her. For a moment, he breaks the kiss and bites her lower lip, drawing a drip of blood. The wound is sealed fast but the swollen sensation doesn’t leave Christine while the couple sinks into the dance of smooches and bounces. Her body molds against his, as she enjoys the coldness of his skin and the roughness of his thrusts.

“Rose…” Azusa’s breath whispers over Christine’s lips. He ravishes her body while kissing her over and over, pushing all else from her mind. His kiss is full of possessiveness, greedy for even more.

Christine groans into Azusa’s mouth while he claims hers again and again, his lips crushing against hers. They gasp, moan, and writhe while the sun rises above the trees and paints the room with a golden hue of rosy pink. To kiss Azusa like this forever would not be long enough.

• Full Uncensored Artwork, Here •

Christine cherishes the feel of his tongue rubbing hers and can’t help but suck it, enjoying the suction. He’s in her, filling her completely. Not just her body but her mind and soul as well.

Azusa’s hands are cool but demand more and more from Christine. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and the golden cross along with them, hitting her chest every time. He cups her mound, squeezing and caressing it. Gently at first, then rougher. His thumb rasps against her hardened nipple, and soon, he can’t resist the urge to roll and pinch the aching bud, forcing out wailing moans from Christine but only to muffle those with his smooches.

They pant in pleasure, lost in heat as they move together as one. Azusa presses harder into her, deeper, filling Christine up with his cock. Her pussy tightens around him as his length pierces her from behind over and over again. As she stretches and melds, clenching him, he releases a hungry moan into her mouth. His harsh, rough strokes rock her body while they merge, lips on lips.

“Rose… you are…” Azusa pants onto Christine’s lips. “...mine…”

Trapped between torment and ecstasy, Christine’s inner walls ripple against Azusa. He slows down but only to hasten his pace again. Pounding into her depths, he groans, almost growls into their kisses.

Christine’s whole body is on fire with bliss. Her toes curl and her back arches as the waves come, sizzling through every part of her. Azusa’s steely bouncing sends her toward the edge as he pulses in her, making gratification rocket along her veins. He clasps her hips with both hands, pulling her hard into his final thrust, and at the same moment, a soul-shattering orgasm robs Christine of her senses. Azusa’s jerking shaft gushes into her, and his growls of pleasure mingle with her laments. His body tenses as he pours his load deep into her, unleashing his love and melting in her heat.

As he wraps both arms around Christine, Azusa stays inside, letting her milk him while nuzzling her nape through her sweaty hair. “Rose… I love you… so much…”

- End -

Thank you for reading. 📖 🌹

• Artwork by Alluraalteal •

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Happy Birthday, Cupcake

Title: Happy Birthday, Cupcake

Rating: G

Pairing: Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader (Cupcake)

Word Count: 900

Summary: Clark surprises you for your birthday.

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: For @lilacprincessofrecovery, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! I hope today is absolutely fantastic for you, you deserve it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

He had set the alarm for 11:59 pm to give you exactly a minute to get your bearings together while he placed kisses all over your face. His chuckle at your confusion is what woke you up fully.

“Happy Birthday, Cupcake,” Clark whispers in the dark to you before turning on the bedside lamp, “I couldn’t wait to get my arms around you again.”

“Clark, we just went to sleep less than two hours ago,” You chuckle at his impatience as his hands roam over your voluptuous figure, “You know I don’t want a bunch of hoopla over today, right?”

“Yeah, I heard you the first fifty times you said it,” Clark smiles down at you and kisses your forehead, “But that doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

“Clark–”

The rush of air as Clark speeds out of the room is enough to cut you off. Your hair whipping in your face muffles any words you tried to say. One of these days, you were going to get used to that. It’s not like he does it a lot, just mostly in the middle of your sentences.

In the blink of an eye, he is back in the room holding a gift box. He walks over to sit in bed with you and pulls a card out from behind his back. He lifts the card and waves it.

“Card first, then you can have what’s in this box, Cupcake.” He hands you the card and you read your name in Clark’s handwriting on the envelope.

You open it up to find a card with black and white artwork of a young boy kissing a blushing young girl on the cheek. You giggle at the sweet image and open the card to find Clark’s words.

‘Happy Birthday to the light of my life.

You are the reason why I smile, laugh, and hope.

I want you to enjoy your special day because you’ve earned it.

No matter what you think you deserve, take every smile and every wish, and every gift.

But, take mine first because it’s the best and I really want you to like it.

I love you, my sweet girl.

-C’

You finish reading and your heart swells with how freaking adorable this man is. He’s great at writing notes in cards and making you feel like a Queen. He loves you, after all. Every nook and cranny of you. 

“Clark, that was beautiful. Thank you so much, baby,” You kiss him and rest your forehead against his, “So can I have my gift now?” 

Clark beams, handing you the thin rectangular box. You return his smile and release the ribbon from around it. You remove the lid and find a gorgeous chain with a heart pendant encasing your birthstone as well as Clark’s birthstone. 

You gasp and cover your mouth. “Clark!”

“Do you wanna try it on?” He laughs and takes the box from you after you nod excitedly. Walking around the bed, he stands at your side and you turn your back to him so he can put on your gift.

After fastening the clasp, Clark kisses the nape of your neck. “Your other gift is in the living room, Cupcake.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Other gift? Clark, I told you–”

“Yeah, I know. Just, indulge me?” His arms wrap around you and you squeak as he lifts you off the bed with ease. Yet another thing you will just have to get used to. Clark’s strength was on full display whenever he picked you up like you were a bag of feathers. 

And let’s face it, sometimes feeling teeny tiny is just what the doctor ordered. Letting yourself feel precious is all a part of your self-care after all. 

He takes your hand, leading you through the hallway and into the living room which is lit solely by candlelight. Everywhere you look is covered in tea lights. It’s magical. Clark leads you to the center of the room and then steps behind you.

“Clark, what’s going on?” You ask, turning around and seeing Clark on one knee holding out an open ring box.

“I know you’re not really big on celebrating your birthday, but I want to change that. I am so grateful for this date. I’m so thankful that you were born so that I could spend the rest of my life loving you,” He lifts out the ring and holds it up to you, “Would you do me the tremendous honor of being my wife?”

With tears in your eyes, you nod and choke out a “Yes.” Clark places the ring on your shaking hand and stands to wipe away your tears. Leaning down to kiss you, Clark wraps his arms around you and holds you close for a few moments.

“So, this is minimal hoopla, right?” Clark tests the waters and raises an eyebrow as he leans back to lock eyes with you.

“I’d say it’s the definitive amount of hoopla,” You reply, raising your hand to look at your ring as it sparkles in the candlelight before cupping Clark’s cheek, “Absolutely perfect.”

“I can’t believe it’s your birthday and I’m the one who feels like they’ve been given the best gift in the world,” Clark grins from ear to ear, “Happy Birthday, Cupcake. I love you.”

“I love you too, Clark.”

A/N: I’m a sucker for Clark Kent and so is @lilacprincessofrecovery. I am so excited to have written this for you for your birthday, my dear. Enjoy your day and take time to be grateful for the small things.

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[wandringaesthetic]

OVERTHINKING 30 SECONDS OF ALUCARD CASTLEVANIA:

I deliberately spoiled myself for whether he would be showing up before I started watching because I didn't want to disappoint myself if he didn't. So I saw this screenshot out of context and was like "no, put him back." He looks a bit too smooth and cherubic. Doll-like and a bit too feminine.

In context it's not so bad, in profile the change isn't so drastic and I think it's more that they have him exceedingly pale and that flattens out all of his shading than that they changed his facial shape much. Some of this is also just the slight difference in art style. Lines are lighter and more sketchy here and we don't have as much dark dark shading.

I expected that he would probably have white/gray hair a la Symphony of the Night and he does. A lot of the Ayame Kojima artwork he looks more pale blond but I most people playing the game interpret that sprite as having gray or white hair.

Also like Symphony of the Night, he's got a cravat. All laced up to the chin versus loose, low necked shirt or walking shirtless scene in Series 1

I always guessed that they had his first appearance like this to confirm beyond a doubt that the long haired pretty person was male so foreign language markets wouldn't be tempted to change his gender. And also I guess let's show off that scar.

ANYWAY. I always interpreted Alucard's silvery SotN hair as an expression of age/weariness/grief. He's canonically been taking a dirt nap for a while, right? An expression of the fact (?) that he hasn't been feeding. Homeboy is anemic.

By the way, it's never really made clear in Castlevania the animation whether Alucard needs to drink blood. I always assumed that he did at least sometimes. In part, because of this:

He has a confidence here that says to me that this is not the first time he has lunged after someone's throat.

Also it looks like the coffin apparatus he rises out of when he's introduced is feeding him blood somehow.

[He also eats food obviously, from his foraging and cooking montages in S3. my fanon interpretation of this is that he needs some of both but not as much blood as a full vampire would need and not as much food as a full human would need. He can survive a long time (probably a very very long time) without either but he'd suffer for it]

Some Castlevania vampires have more inhuman features than others. I'm speculating on this being more true the more old/powerful the vampire. Drolta's black sclera, Dracula's ridiculous height, Olrox's glowing eyes, etc. So the white/silver hair (and the 'is he glowing or is he REALLY white' complexion) might be an expression of Alucard aging and coming into his powers. Because a lot of our Castlevastle vampires are paper white but not all.

Him being laced to the chin versus tits out implies a more closed personality. Maturity, perhaps. Less emotional and sexual availability.

(In the first season he just woke up so you can't blame him for not wearing a shirt. In season 4 the shirtlessness is a Choice.)

I would say "please, someone fuck this man" but we all know how that went.

IIRC, in games canon he went immediately to sleep after Castlevania III and then didn't wake up until Symphony of the Night. This implies some self hatred and maybe depression. Feeling like you're something that shouldn't exist but being unable to easily self terminate and/or sticking around just in case you need to fight a monster worse than you.

Animated Alucard doesn't seem to have that level of self hatred. In series 1, he seems to identify more as a vampire than as a human (his comment about being less than excited about the Belmont hold because it's a museum dedicated to the extermination of his people) and doesn't seem to think that existing as a vampire is wrong in and of itself. In fact he seems to have some pride in vampires as preservers of knowledge even after the events of season 2. ALSO, his relationship with his father seems more positive in the animation than in the games. In the animation, he loves and respects his father up until the point he decides to exterminate all humans. In the games it seems like that father son relationship was more fraught and possibly more distant.

HOWEVER. If his kill count really is in the thousands, that makes me believe that not only has he been awake most of the last 300 years, he's spent most of that time killing vampires and that he may have started killing vampires generally rather than just those making problems. Even if he hasn't come to the conclusion of "all vampires must die and then when I have finished my grim work I shall die too" if he has been hunting and killing vampires for SO LONG he has to have started seeing them, and the parts of himself that are like them, as the problem.

I don't love that kind of moral absolutism, but. In Castlevania we have (correct me if I'm wrong) two morally ambiguous vampires (Dracula and Olrox) and the rest are evil. Castlevania the animation seems to not come down on the side that vampires are soulless monsters, but the overwhelming majority are evil. I think it would go against the series core to argue that vampires aren't people or can't be good people, or that you get one choice and that determines your whole life and impact on the world going forward (how Christian of you--also, a lot of them didn't get a choice!) But the fact remains that vampires have a strong incentive to view human beings as not really being people.

Alucard MIGHT be choosing to abstain from blood and that MIGHT be why he's so pale he glows. Drink your juice, Alucard. Take care of yourself.

I don't love the idea of Alucard being so self hating because I love him and I want what's best for him, but I have to admit that this kind of self hatred is what makes Symphony of the Night Alucard and most notable dhampir characters compelling. A monster fighting worse monsters. A cursed, bastard existence that nonetheless gives you great power. Choosing to do good even though you yourself are damned. Being constantly on the verge of a fall, of awful temptation, of becoming the thing you hunt. Fighting for a world that has no place for you in it.

LASTLY. As a Trephacard shipper. In animation canon he probably AT LEAST stayed awake for more or less a human lifetime. With Sypha and Trevor, in whatever capacity. Undeniably, he loved them. But there are ways that might contribute to the self hatred. It would have distanced him from the vampire part of his identity. I keep thinking of the fact that Trevor corrects Alucard ONCE when he refers to Dracula as "my father" and Alucard refers to him as "Dracula" for the rest of the series. I keep thinking about him staring at the cabinet of vampire skulls in the Belmont hold and Trevor and Sypha both seeming to not really notice. It would be tempting to minimize or fight against that part of his identity. He might feel like he has no place with them if he doesn't.

(AND THAT'S NOT EVEN GETTING INTO THE FACT THAT DRAC IS ALIVE NOW. I have no idea how they're going to choose to deal with that, but I have trouble imagining Alucard and Dracula having a positive relationship going forward. That might even contribute to Alucard feeling like he had to choose.)