#Upping the saturation was so good I love the colors

[coconut530]

panel that hurt me so much I redrew it ✨

[dexaroth]

lovely palettes. always. even just by scribbling random color spots on him outside of his normal head markings to test it out

it also works fine with his current markings

i also recolored that last one with his current blue palette (altered midtones though) and instantly my brain goes OOH saturated blue colors better. you love blue. blue so good, remember? BLUEE!!!

aeugh. if i up the saturation of the monochrome it looks a lot like the style of a past layout there. which works as well!.. but when i compare daron's blue palette and this monochrome one its like the mono loses all its charm even though i know i love that palette too.. its like the more saturated palette is eye candy and i cant get enough of it to the point everything else looks worse by comparison if theyre not vibrant. cmon man. let me enjoy different things

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lipstick stains.

reader decides to dabble with art using several lipstick as her tools and sylus' sleeping face as her canvas.

fluff. inspired by one of sylus' texts in the game (included down below near the end). no warnings, just little kisses and reader having a little fun <3

It's two in the afternoon and there's nothing to do until sunset, when it's time to get ready for a date with your lover who's currently sleeping.

No... maybe there is something you could do.

A certain someone recently just bought you several new shades of lipstick from the brand that you love. Maybe now is a good idea to see which color would suit your outfit best for your date.

You wore a sly grin as you gathered all of your new lipstick and tiptoed your way inside Sylus' bedroom.

He's still in the same position as when you put him to bed: mostly on his back, though his upper body's slightly on a higher level due to the fluffy cold pillow supporting his shoulders.

He's wearing his satin burgundy robe, which had gotten a little loose to expose a portion of his chest. You were tempted to rest your head against it, but you can't afford to be distracted right now. You have a mission.

You're going to test the shades of your new lipstick with Sylus' help.

First up is cherry.

You put on a single layer of that color on your lips, then you carefully leaned down towards Sylus' face and softly kissed his forehead. You made sure it was as light as a feather so he doesn't wake up and end your fun so soon.

Next: rose.

You painted your lips with the brighter shade and pecked Sylus' left cheek. It gave a similar result as the previous contender: it looks great, but this particular color probably won't match your outfit tonight.

Third candidate is: wine

This one went to his right cheek and your gaze lingered on it for a little longer than the rest, as the color seemed so fitting on Sylus' face. The stain of wine always did compliment him, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

Up next is blood-red.

It's darker than wine and you also love its velvety texture. More importantly, the kiss mark of its hue looks wonderful on Sylus' left jawline.

Following that is blush.

This one's brighter and more on the pink side. Even though you like it, tonight won't be the night when you'd wear it. Nonetheless, it certainly looks lovely on your lover's chin, which twitched for a second after you kissed it.

Next one is apple.

You kissed the right side of Sylus' jaw and awed at its surprisingly vibrant tone. This one might work quite well with your outfit.

There's the shade called merlot, too.

It's more on the darker side, but you're not sure if it'll look good with your outfit tonight. On the other hand, it's cute on Sylus' nose.

Last but not least: ruby

This one seems like it's in the middle of the palette in terms of saturation, and it appears to have an appealing texture as well. To test it out, you put it on your lips and left a mark on the little spot just above his lips.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Sylus stirred all of a sudden, so you ended up kissing him on the lips.

From the very moment your lips touched, your face heated up and you backed away in panic.

You've kissed him plenty of times. You've kissed him on the lips and on spots that are not his lips. You've done way more than kissing. And yet still, your heart raced at the thought of him catching you stealing kisses from him while he sleeps.

It's still a little early for him to wake up, so you decided to leave him alone for now. You took all of your lipstick with you and ran out before he could detect your presence.

//////////

Your mouth drops at the text message you just received.

"I need to hide, quickly! You guys better not snitch on me! Especially you, Mephie!" You glared at the crow before leaving Luke and Kieran, suddenly ending your game of Kitty Cards.

You fled to look for a hiding spot, but it's too late. Your face planted against a strong chest.

You swore you heard a cough from behind you, followed by the sound of someone's phone clicking for a picture.

It didn't matter though because Sylus spared no attention to Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto as his eyes are completely focused on you.

"Sylus....." you laughed nervously. "Good afternoon. Had a nice dream?"

"Mhmm." He crossed his arms, giving you a raised brow. "In my dream, I was being attacked by a mischievous kitten while I was asleep."

"...."

"You're coming with me." He took one step towards you and leaned down to whisper to your ear. "You have to be punished for your crimes."

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and retreated back to his bedroom.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other.

"Did you get the picture?"

"Yeah."

[luckystrike-x]

.

[mazken]

[ID: A digital drawing of Serana from Skyrim, lying on her side. Her arms cross over each other at the wrist, her hands in front of her mouth. Her eyes are open, slightly, and downcast. One strand of hair falls over her face and hand both. End ID]

sorrow

[studioeisa]

hard carry 🧮 mingyu x reader.

your math major soulmate is the only reason you’re surviving college, but how long can you rely on him for help?

★ math major!mingyu x art major!reader.  ★ word count: 2k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: college/university, alternate universe: soulmates (you and your soulmate can communicate with thoughts), romance, fluff, humor. a math term/solution i am not 100% sure about. reader’s thoughts are in pink while mingyu’s are in blue.   ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. when are @maplegyu and i not self-indulgent? alas, brainiac!kmg is one of my favorite versions of gyu— so i’m glad to finally have an excuse to play with it. ily, maple! 

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ hard carry by got7. no song without you by honne. in the same place by girls on top. let’s love by suho. lilac by iu. mariposa by peach tree rascals. love equation by vixx. common denominator by justin bieber.

Barnett Newman. Helen Frankenthaler. Mark Rothko. 

All fantastic abstract expressionist painters, known for their vibrant compositions and color-saturated canvases. Some of your peers turned their noses up at the movement, presumably because it always took a little more of a critical eye to understand it. 

You didn’t share the same distaste. Most of the time, you enjoyed the colors, lines, and shapes that all served to be a bigger part of a whole. 

If anything, the math problem in front of you was the most abstract thing you’d ever faced. 

You stare at the test paper, your pencil hovering uselessly above the page. The numbers have all blurred together— a mess of equations and symbols that could rival the work of Jackson Pollock. 

It’s almost comical, how you slot so easily into the stereotype of art-major-who’s-ass-at-math. Some people are an exception to the norm. You are not one of them. 

“Fifteen minutes left,” your hard-pressed professor drawls from the front of the classroom, and you snap out of your woe-is-me reverie.

Question five taunts you. If f(x) = 3x² - 4x + 7, find f'(x) and evaluate f'(2).

Derivatives. Okay. You know this. You should know this. 

Except, right now, your brain is a blank canvas.

You purse your lips. This isn’t going to bode well for you, but you’d held out this long. You’ll be lucky to get a C on this test— to pass by the skin of your teeth— and so you deserve to get at least one question indisputably correct. Right? 

Mingyu. You reach out through the bond, desperate. You there? 

Some have said that once you’ve met your soulmate, once you know how they sound like, it’s their voice that rings in your thoughts. If you haven’t, though, you’re left with something more akin to subtitles. Text flashing in your head in a font of your choosing. 

(Your poison is Courier New. You asked Mingyu once, what his font for you was, but he never really ‘got back’ to you on it.) 

There’s a pause— just long enough for you to feel guilty— before a response flashes in your mind. Aren’t you in the middle of a test? 

You can almost imagine his tone. You anticipate it’d be something sharp and warm all at once, which is just your way of coping with how desperate you feel right now. 

I’m seriously failing in the middle of my test, you respond. Hopefully, he can read how frantic and desperate you are. I just need a little nudge. 

A beat. 

You tack on, Please? 

If Mingyu could sigh, he probably would have by now. He’s a man carrying the weight of your academic shortcomings, after all. There’s just enough exasperation in his ‘tone’ when he shoots back, Fine. What is it? 

Your eyes dart over the problem plaguing you. Once you’ve mentally relayed it to your soulmate, he responds without missing a beat. 

Power rule. If you have something like axⁿ, the derivative is naxⁿ⁻¹. 

You blink. Say that like I’m five. 

So help me, God, Mingyu says, forcing you to tamp down a laugh. Okay. What’s 3x²? 

Uh… 6x? 

Good. And -4x? 

-4? 

And a constant? 

Zero— 

You sit up a little straighter, faltering mid-mental correspondence. So f’(x) is 6x - 4.

Mingyu can’t really sound amused— or proud— but you picture it all the same when he urges you to go on. And f’(2)? 

Your pencil is already scribbling furiously across your test paper. Eight, you triumphantly declare. The answer is eight. 

There you go, he answers. 

For not the first time, you wish you’d already met him. It must be nice to have a smile in your mind, a cadence instead of sentences. But you and Mingyu had agreed that neither of you were in a rush. You were both uni students wanting to explore your individual lives at your own pace before attempting a happily ever after. 

It’s only through your ironclad will that you’ve resisted the urge to look him up, to find out if there was a math major named Mingyu within your area.

This is the last time I’m going to help you cheat, he says as you move on to correct your answers for some of the other questions.

A corner of your mouth twitches upward. That’s what you said last time. 

Yeah, well, I mean it this time. Get a tutor or something, woman. 

Are you presenting yourself? 

Don’t tempt me with a good time. 

Your professor keeps you from responding immediately. “Five minutes,” she calls out. 

Your fingers tighten around your pencil. It wouldn’t be the first or last instance where academic integrity might be compromised because of the whole soulmate bond, but Mingyu is right. You can’t keep summoning him like your personal math genie. 

Fine, you concede. I’ll stop bothering you with my [math] problems. Nerd. 

Mingyu asked for it, so, really— he’s to blame for missing it. 

It’s an odd feeling, this restlessness that comes in the absence of your out-of-the-blue inquiries. The two of you still occasionally reach through the bond to exchange an amicable word or two, maybe recommend a song, but gone are the times you’d come running to him for help. 

He’s sitting in the library, his notebook opened to a half-finished proof. His pencil twirls idly between his fingers as he attempts to focus. Instead, his mind keeps drifting to what was once a daily occurrence. 

Panicked whispers of Mingyu, help. Last-minute pleas for salvation. Complaints about how math is ruining your life, how this would most definitely not be useful in the real world. 

(He would never admit it, but he had always liked when you tangented into the last one. It felt a bit like a betrayal to his field, the endearment he felt whenever you’d flood his mind with paragraph after paragraph cussing out Newton and Leibniz for inventing calculus.) 

With a sharp sigh, he stabs his pencil into the spiral binding of his notebook and leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. His fingers drum against the desk. His leg bounces. He debates reaching out first— just to check, just to make sure you haven’t actually given up on math altogether. But what would he even say?

Hey, fail another test yet? Are you alive, or did calculus finally take you out? I kind of miss you annoying me. Don’t let it go to your head.

No, no, and definitely not. 

He doesn’t even know you like that. You’re soulmates and that’s pretty much it. He’s lucky that you’ve been rather chill about the whole affair, not hurrying to meet him and lock him down like other soulmate horror stories he’s heard. 

He knows bits and pieces. Your major, your love for survival reality shows, your utter distaste for anything beyond multiplication. 

Mingyu mumbles something like “for fuck’s sake” to himself. He tries to refocus, and he manages to make it halfway into his homework when it comes. 

Mingyu. 

When you wanted to tell him something inconsequential, like The new Fantastic Four movie sucked or I’d kill for a slice of pizza right now, you went straight into it. You only ever ‘said’ his name when it was related to numbers. 

Took you long enough, he says, his lips twitching. 

Shut up. I was trying to figure it out on my own this time. 

And? 

Your brief moment of hesitation has Mingyu wondering if he’s too cruel. His mother had always advised him to be nice to his soulmate, to not overwhelm you, and he contemplates throwing in an apology. Before he can, though, you’re back in his head. 

I need you. 

Something in his chest tightens. He tells himself it’s just relief. 

(The truth of the matter is this: Mingyu liked being needed by you. He wasn’t sure yet why, but he did.) 

Yeah, yeah, he responds as he absentmindedly sketches a heart into the corner of his notebook. What’s the problem? 

You’re starting to think that a tutor might not be that bad of an idea. 

While Mingyu is always obliging, the guilt of relying on your connection was beginning to weigh on you. You scoured the university boards until you found a girl named Somi willing to meet with you twice a week, and it was going pretty well. 

Still— is it weird to admit that you kind of miss running to Mingyu? 

You try your darndest to keep those thoughts catalogued. A couple of your friends have talked about accidentally slipping some of their innermost thoughts to their soulmates, and God forbid Mingyu find out that you crave his dry wit. 

You can’t miss somebody you’ve never met. 

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself as you go to Mingyu less and less, instead filling in the gaps of your conversation with menial, everyday things. 

What coffee do you usually drink?, you ask him one afternoon. 

You’re in the world’s slowest-moving line, at the cafe you and Somi frequented for your tutoring sessions. Your phone is dead, you’ve analyzed the art on the walls at least seven different ways, and there’s no one around for you to talk to. Might as well abuse the soulmate connection. 

His response comes in by the time you’re nearly at the front of the line. Iced Americano, he responds. Why? 

No reason. 

“Next.” 

You offer a sympathetic smile to the dead-eyed barista at the counter. “Once large iced Americano, please,” you say. 

You go to stand off to the side. As you’re waiting for your order, Mingyu asks a question of his own. 

What about you? 

What about me? 

What’s your go-to order? 

You contemplate it for a moment. Salted caramel cream cold brew. 

The barista hands you your drink. A corner of your lip twitches upward as you accept it, Mingyu’s response coming in at the same time. 

That sounds obscene, he taunts. A toothache in the making. 

Hey. You’re mentally britsling, readying to defend your coffee of choice. I’ll have you know— 

“Oomf!” 

This was sometimes the problem about getting lost in your thoughts. You tend to get dragged out of the real world, stuck in your conversation. You exchange a quick apology with the person you bumped into, the tips of your ears flaming red. 

With your drink in hand, you make a beeline for the table that you and Somi always sit at. You’re distracted enough to forget that you were mid-‘conversation’ with Mingyu, and so you barely register that your usually punctual tutor has yet to arrive— or that someone else is coming up to your table once you’ve settled in. 

Later, you will get a text from Somi telling you something came up, but not to fret; she called in a friend to help. Someone who was more than willing to pick up Somi’s slack after joking that he’d already been doing it for the soon-to-be-love-of-his-life. 

Your gaze flicks up to the boy standing in front of you. 

‘Cute.’ ‘Cute.’ 

It’s a two-way record scratch. 

The stranger hovering by your table seems to freeze, too, and the pieces fall together in your head like a puzzle— no. It’s like when you squint at an abstract painting and the whole thing comes together.

You had said sorry earlier, hadn’t you? To the person you bumped into. He had apologized as well. 

Now, there was a voice to the words in your head. A face to the soulmate you’d been missing.

“Hey,” your soulmate says, he says out loud. 

He plops down into the seat across from you, trying and failing to fight off the biggest smile on his face. There’s no need to exchange introductions. He says your name, and it’s so much better than anything you could have ever imagined. 

When Mingyu sets down his drink, you actually laugh. 

It’s a salted caramel cream cold brew. 

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Is it so hard to ask that sabo follow his dream he had when he was a kid? IS IT??????

Also, his boat was commissioned from Franky! And he did a great job :)

Design talk:

Im gonna start with just sharing his canon designs

Colors:

Something i want to call attention to is the blue and black in his design.

When he was young, Sabo wore his heart on his sleeve. He had a dream for himself and was taking steps to complete it. Likewise, that blue on his coat is on full display its bright and vibrant and saturated. But also theres that dark blue, almost black, thats underneath it thats being hidden by that coat, the pants, and his tattered cravat. Likewise again, Sabo is hiding his darker side. He has secrets he doesn’t want his brothers to know of and he lets his aspirations and relationships he has with them outshine his past.

In his present design, that blue that was representative of his dreams, is now the one being hidden. Its covered by a complete black coat, a representative of the darkness in his life that now is drives him. This color switch up is symbolic for how he’s put off his dreams and kept it locked up (belt), while choosing instead to pursue a life of darkness for the greater good.

Also, these pictures of young sabo and young adult sabo, you can visually see how less saturated it is. The blue is duller of the coat/undershirt and even more-so with the pants. You can see how he’s much less vibrant than how he was.

In my Post-Story idea, what happens leading up to it is that Sabo succeeds in taking down the world government and after he’s sure the world can move on without him, he goes sailing alone as a pirate to write a book about the world, like he’s always wanted to do. Also, Luffy returns his straw hat to shanks.

So in my design, sabo wears a vibrant blue coat again. He’s living his dream and has nothing holding him back from doing it. The black is still used, and its not being covered, but its on his pants and his gloves. He still has that darkness, but he doesn’t use it as protection or as something to hide, rather as something he moves forwards and progresses with. He will never forget what pain and hardship he went through and he’s not trying to. However, whats underneath all the layers is not darkness or dreams, and its not necessarily being hidden either, its light. Not BRIGHT, but light. Mellow and calm. The settled true nature of a healed man.

I took more colors from his child design than i did with his young adult (YA) one, too. I wanted to show how he’s reconnecting with his younger self by bringing them through to his Post-Story look!

Also, since his journal is his dream, it is blue, as well.

———

Items of Clothing:

In both of his canon designs, there is a sense of properness. A top hat, cravat, tailcoat, etc etc.. Its all properness. But more than that, its the idea of responsibility.

Whether he acts responsible or not isn’t what matters in his case, instead its that he wants to look responsible. He wants this because a) he was a little kid who wanted to grow up too fast and be taken seriously, and b) because he has an incredible amount of responsibility being the second in command of the revolutionary army.

To further prove that, I would like to point out his silly little cravat. I love his cravat. But how the hell is that practical for his line of work? Sabo is concerned with being practical, hence his baggy/movable pants and leather gloves. Additionally, just the waist/trench coat, belt, top hat combo would suffice for a proper looking person, but it’s taken excessively with the cravat. The cravat is purely for appearances.

Further symbolism with his cravat, i think, is that this appearance is visually choking him. Its wrapped tightly around his neck when he was a child and when he was most under control of a much higher power. However, when he’s a YA, it’s a lot looser. He’s got some agency, but he’s still being suffocated by responsibilities.

On with my design.

I took away his cravat. Im sorry but it is SYMBOLIC!!!!!!! He is not worried anymore with appearances, he is Free.

I took away his top hat but not his goggles, too. I think that after Luffy gives back the straw hat, Sabo forgoes his hat as well. In solidarity, maybe. If you think about it, the top hat isnt what makes his hat so special, its the goggles. So i got rid of the hat and kept The Goggs. Although it is sad that they are no longer Hatted, as that is one of the beautiful appeals of ASL, they are no longer ASL.

I wanted to keep aspects of his YA design, since even though it is very perforative, its still a style that he’s stuck with since childhood, so he’s gotta like it in some capacity. I just tried to make everything look a lot looser/open on him.

Lastly, i gave him a bit of a beard cuz i think he deserves it.

———

Alright! If you got this far, thanks so much for reading my insane ramblings!!!! I fr feel like this rn 👇

Visually, sabo’s design is not too complex, at least not when you look at him next to Ace, but theres a lot of depth to it. I didnt even think of half of these notes before i started typing this up, its just the more time i look at it, the more i noticed!

[astralprisms]

Xa'rok's guardian is an unfamiliar but ultimately friendly face amidst a sea of unfamiliar people - a tether to an old piece of themself they lost when they were exiled from their home creche - and one who seems to understand the allure and potential in illithid culture. They trust the guardian implicitly, at first because he's friendly and open-minded, quick to reassure and encourage, and later because his actions continue to prove his words true.

He looks like a githyanki, but the face the Guardian wears in this guise is actually a Githzerai, one [redacted] met briefly during his imprisonment at Moonrise Towers many, many years ago, before that body was destroyed and its mind caged, to be found, coincidentally, by a curious adventurer, who was given a boon for its release. By then the mind had forgotten the outline of its mortal shell, sustaining itself on the fortified psionic resolve inherent to all githzerai. But perhaps within the prism a spectator stirred, when Xa'rok took that mind up in conversation. It was a smart guise to take, as it gave the Emperor reason to caution his foolhardy savior to avoid the creche, not that they listened. After all, githzerai were the only beings the githyanki hated beyond even their former illithid masters.

Ironic that Xa'rok would fall for them both. But then, Xa'rok was never exactly a typical gith.

OG Guardian look back when Xa'rok was a short-lived Durge, though I didn't write down his skintone/specific hair sliders combo and fucked up attempting to color pick in screencaps when remaking him, much to my continued ire. Much more golden and saturated, I love the way the scar stands out starkly against this skin tone.

Tav Question

What does your guardian look like? (Submitted by @spacebarbarianweird)

[hoseoksluna]

TANGERINE | myg (m)

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff — comfort

rating: 18+

summary: yoongi has figured out a way how to make your life easier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: brief sexual intercourse — controlled riding, anxiety, crying, feelings of fear, provider!yoongi, hoseoksluna's inner child trope, smoking habits as a form of coping.

luna's note: i wasn't planning to post anything as i was just trying to stay alive this week. i tried to write something, but the words felt weird, so i thought i was to abandon writing for the week. that is, until i saw a reel of a guy, a girl and a tangerine (not spoiling it for you). so i ran to my yoongi and allowed him to make me feel better. this took two days to write, and i hope you enjoy. i love you all with all my heart. thank you for all your comforting messages. i read them everyday. mwah. luna loves you so much.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

It was the color of the ripest, the sweetest tangerine that unfolded across the pendulous clouds, undulating around their soft, puffy bodies before it entered them, saturating them with its potent tint. You had just finished your cigarette on the darkened street outside of your home with your boyfriend by your side, who had dropped the last hour of his office work and came straight to you—simply because he sensed that you needed him. 

Yoongi knew by your curt, short sentences, which lacked your usual zest and life, that something was wrong. He didn’t suffocate you with useless questions about the evidence of your sadness like anyone in his place would, but instead got inside his car and sped down the road, still wearing his midnight blue military shirt and dress pants that never fit him right. You always thought that detail perfectly illustrated how he doesn’t belong there, how he shouldn’t, in fact, be there at all. 

But the office work does him good, thankfully. He gets the job done and gets to come home right after the fifth hour of the day—into the warmth between his music-strung walls. Sometimes, you wait for him there with dinner ready on the stove. Sometimes, he asks where you would rather spend your night, attuned to your moods and wishes like no one in your life is. They’re as important to him as the fact whether you’ve eaten at all, as you have the tendency to forget. Especially, when you sink inside the wooden cube of your sadness. 

He knows, intimately, the color of the wood that once used to be a tree. Spent time inside that stifling confinement with you on many, many occasions. But something about this occasion is different. 

It seems as though he’s no longer willing to dwell inside that unlit space with you. 

On his way to you, he had called your favorite restaurant and ordered you a big bowl of beef broth with hotteok on the side. It’s the reason why he didn’t come up to your apartment, but instead called you and told you to come down so that you would both wait for the food to be delivered and go back inside. You grabbed your winter jacket, with your pack of Marlboros and your white lighter in your pocket, and, slipping your feet inside your thick-soled, fluffy outside slippers, you went down to him as fast as your legs allowed you. Your muscles were weary, influenced by your mental exhaustion, and they appeared to have loosened upon the sight of him, leaned against the sleekness of his black car, still wearing his military uniform, made discreet by the largeness of his long puffer coat. 

At this point of your three-years long relationship, he doesn’t have to get out of his car, but he does—despite the fact you’d recognize his car even if your vision failed you. He does it out of his unfailing respect for you, and he had told you so, once upon a time. Guys that don’t get out of their cars for their girls are lazy and they don’t give a f—they don’t give a damn about them. 

He never liked to swear around you. Said your ears were too precious to hear something so indelicate. Your heart swelled with a wave of such premature love for him at that time. It had been just the beginning of your relationship when his honesty, which bore such colored words as these, worked into the flesh of your too wounded heart. You knew, right then and there, that he was the one for you—the one you dreamed about having, the one you searched for in your closest and in strangers alike. No one was like him and it cost you welts that he regards as birthmarks, pathways of stars on your body that he likes to kiss. Likes to take care of. Likes to caress.

Husband, he became to you. At the freshness of it all. 

His eyes were glossy as your feet took you to him. You wore your fuzzy, pastel-hued sleep pants with a few sizes too big sweatshirt of the same material that had the resiliency to protect you from winter’s cold alone. Your smoking sweatshirt, your sleep sweatshirt, too. Someone had comfort food or characters; you had a soft, teddy bear sweatshirt that you clung to. Yoongi didn’t reflect any surprise to see you dressed in this outfit. His mouth was lopsided in a firm line as he sprung from his car and swathed you in his arms, cradling your head in his hand, which he then pressed into the crook of his neck. The wind filtered through your unbrushed hair, tousled from your post-work lazing around, and his palm smoothed down those little hairs that have always managed to get on your last nerve. 

He kissed them, too. Tamed them, for the sake of your mental health. 

That hug and that gesture of his unknotted your sadness, giving them airways to breathe through. Naturally, while inhaling the briskness of the winter’s breath, you pulled away, and Yoongi knew what you needed next. He fished a pack of his Raisons and while you smiled at the little elongated, elegant cat drawn on it that resembled him more than anything, he nudged the butt of the cigarette between his lips, lighting it up for you before he placed it between yours, holding it as you took a drag. 

Your heart palpitated—as if he did it for the first time in this lifetime, but he didn’t. 

Acts of service was his love language and him lighting up a cigarette for you was one of the many ways he showed you how much he loved you. You never grew tired of it. Hell, you never got used to it. It invariably flooded your irises with a wetness of tenderness, no matter how many times a month he would do it for you. 

No one could ever love you like he loved you. 

The tangerine tinges cast a certain glow of homely familiarity as you quietly smoked your cigarette, sharing it with him every two puffs. And once he threw it out for you in the makeshift glass jar ashtray you stash in the thickness of the bushes lining the pathway to the apartment complex, the tinges darkened to the midnight blue of his shirt uniform and Yoongi took your hand and hid you away into the heated snugness of his car. 

There he began to talk. 

“Did something happen at work?” 

You could only nod. Could only scoff with hatred for the cursed building and let out an unnecessary remark that felt necessary for your heart, for your mental well-being. 

“Like always.” 

And at times like these, when you emerge from the difficulties of your workplace, he never opens the suggestion of you finding another job. Your family members and friends, they always fling it at you, not aware of the deeper difficulty that would come with your leaving. They don’t understand that you have to push through, but Yoongi does—because he has done so many, many times throughout the eleven years of his idol journey. 

You’re most thankful to him for it. 

“Why didn’t you call me on your lunch break?” he asks, taking your flaccid hand in his, warming it up with gentle squeezes on his lap. His eyes glide over the side of your face, softly demanding your response, and you blink at the sudden pressure. 

Something has changed. Something feels bigger than your vision is able to take in. 

“I—I forgot,” you say, truthfully, inhaling this severity of the shift, and you straighten your spine, prepare yourself for whatever it is. “I’m sorry. I blanked out and then I ate, and then I had to go back to work.” 

Yoongi sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. “I could’ve helped you.” He kisses your knuckles, made rough by the winter’s icy touch. “I could’ve done something that would prevent you from going home like this.” His lips pucker against your upper knuckles, and then he turns your hand and rests the side planes of his face against that little half-cocoon of your palm. “Is that not what I’m here for?” 

Guilt compresses your clavicles, traveling all the way up to your throat. As you thickly swallow, a lump forms inside that column, triggering your tears that haven’t had the chance to pour out just yet.

“I know you don’t like to talk about what happened. I respect you don’t want to relive it, I understand, but it’s my responsibility to help you,” he rasps, his tone so low and woody, mimicking the surface of your sadness and destroying it in the process, for it punctures you in your gut, buzzing your butterflies for him with vigor. “I’ve thought about this for a long time and I came to a conclusion while driving to you.” The same glossiness that you saw filling his eyes liquefies and the extent of it all breaks his voice as he continues to speak. “Do you see your future with me?” 

Something akin to a rock bashes against your heart and your stomach drops. 

The panic doesn’t settle in. Not just yet. Not until you verify that you understood the meaning of his words in the way he was trying to get them across. You need clarity before the principality of it can force your world, your life to collapse over your delicate head.

“Are you breaking up with me?” you ask, whispering—because if you use your full voice, it’ll break just like his, and you’ll break, too. 

Like the tangerine hue unfolded across the clouds, pain permeates his countenance in the same way. Wrinkles dig into his skin as his features pull in, twisting them while he comprehends your question. The breath he lets out is short, coated with a kind of heaviness that you know by heart, that you know is induced by the enemy that carries the name ‘anxiety’. 

And then his phone rings. 

Yoongi wipes off his tears, lifting his head from the premises of the warmth of your touch. Clears his throat. Presses the green button on the screen of his phone. 

“Yeoboseyo?” 

He nods his head as though the other person on the other side of the phone call could see him, hums, talks and apologizes while you stand at the edge of the earth, about to be flung out into the bottomless space by one singular, uninterrupted sentence directed towards you. 

That much power he has over you; that much he means to you. 

Yoongi ends the phone call without saying goodbye, a fatigued huff of air escaping the small hole of his mouth as he stares down the screen of his phone, contemplating something. You can’t think about what it is, you can’t pivot on your feet and run away from the cliff to help him. Not when this is a life or death situation and you can’t breathe. 

“My boss just cursed me off for leaving an hour early without excusing myself,” Yoongi explains without sparing you a glance, his eyes glued still to his phone that he soon rubs with both of his hands whilst he tries to compose himself. “I fu—I hate it here so much.” 

A stab to your gut. You relate to him, relate to him in such heavenly and beyond heavenly measures that the tears that flow out next are for him, too. But this can’t be the matter to flesh out, not right now. You murmur his name, painfully so, bring him back to the airy context of your relationship because you need to know if you still have him. 

Yoongi glances at you, at last. This thumb and forefinger are instantly drawn to your chin and he tilts your head to him, leaning over. He doesn’t kiss you on your lips. No, he kisses the glimmering traces of your tears upon your cheek, which are the only source of light upon this sphere. No sun, no moon in sight. Only your tears, only the remnants of it—the tears that are so very often internal, let out merely on the inside of your body. Never in front of him, never externally. 

His kiss is hard, demanding once again, but this time you don’t know what he’s seeking. 

“Don’t cry,” he purrs against your skin, against the shine of your tears—and because he didn’t ask about the reason behind them, you perceive what he’s truly demanding. 

Mending. 

Solace. 

Mollification. 

There, beyond those wishes, hides his regret. You feel it strongly, as if it were the veins that lined translucently your skin. He’s not the only one who’s attuned to your moods and wishes; you’re connected to him by an invisible string, which lets you in on the different hues of his heart, his emotions, his lacks and his wishes. It’s a team play that works, watering each other like that, and right now you need to overbrim with the essence of his intelligence, dominance and spoken word. 

You need the truth. 

“Are you leaving me?” you ask again, choosing alternative words with more softness, demanding his response with more power than he ever used. There’s no time to give substance to the reasons—perhaps they were already painted on the sunset you both watched together while sharing a cigarette. You simply need to be shown the roads of yes or no. 

Yoongi blinks in this proximity, his wispy eyelashes brushing against your cheeks, and he withdraws, piercing his gaze through yours in a certain pensiveness, pain and poignancy that makes this even worse. 

“I want to marry you.”

You gasp in a soft manner, which is an oxymoron to the firework that begins to pelt against your internal flesh. Your vision blurs in the speed of light, your liquid emotions pouring down and following the trails your past tears left behind without an ounce of care. Yoongi purrs as he witnesses it, his hand coming to pat down your unruly hair, giving heat to your cold fear, but the sound he makes isn’t of endearment. 

It’s one full of ache. 

“For the longest time I thought about how I could make your life easier,” he begins to explain, his thumb rooting at the apple of your cheek to collect all of your ceaseless tears. “I know you can’t quit your job right now just like I can’t quit mine so I had to think of other options.” He wipes the digit on the underside of your bottom lid, catching the blackness of your mascara. “And the only option is that I buy a house in the future, I marry you and I pay for your health insurance.” His mouth cracks into a half-smile that ripples beneath the blurriness of your vision. “You can be at home, focus on your hobbies. Maybe you can get an income from those, too. Whatever you’d like.” 

You can’t hold yourself back from hugging him, and Yoongi can’t hold himself back from manhandling you and placing you on his lap. He rubs your thighs, let your feet rest on your seat, and he goes the extra mile to take off your slippers to be even more comfortable while you cling to his neck. And the way you transform into a little girl taken care of is the ultimate ointment to your stress-induced sadness. Its airways burst into smithereens, dispersing off and away from your system, and you begin to breathe in the aroma of his car and his personal scent as a girl forever changed, forever provided for. 

He kisses your forehead, cradling your jawline. “That’s why I asked you if you see your future with me. I want to do that for you. I want to set you free from your stress and take care of you because I can.” 

You whimper against the column of his neck, your fingers sinking into the length of his hair at the nape. “Of course I see my future with you. I can’t see myself with anyone else, Yoongi. I love you; you’re too important to me.” 

The purr he emits next is different, covered with an overflowing fountain of love and pleasure for you from your words, and the sound penetrates your mind, untwisting all of those bad thoughts and pushing them away. “I love you, too. You want to marry me, baby?” 

He pulls his lips away from your forehead to look down at you, that glossiness once again overwhelming his eyes, and you nod. “I do.” 

And with those words, you perhaps did tie the knot somewhere in the spiritual realm. 

Yoongi pecks your nose. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?” 

You hesitate, shy all of a sudden, thoughts of how it’s not right, how you don’t deserve it, how it makes you less of a woman than you are resurfacing in your mind—and it is as though Yoongi can read them because he smooths out the wrinkles on your forehead with his thumb, fighting them. 

“It’s your decision, think about it,” he says, softly, sweeping the belly of that digit down the slope of your nose. “And in the meantime when it gets bad again at work, I want you to remember it. Use it to distract your mind from the stress, even if you end up declining my offer in the long run. Nothing changes, I’ll still marry you, baby.” 

The thoughts, once again, wither in the overgrown bushes of your mind, and calmness like a tide washes over your folded body on his lap. You nod, tucking that reminder into your heart to remember later in the future, and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat the accompaniment to your ultimate peacefulness. 

Yoongi reposes with you for just a minute. He, then, begins to rummage through his glove box and only stumbles across a small tangerine that nearly gets lost in the width of his palm. He peels it for you while you watch—and once he’s done, he takes the ring finger of your left hand and holds the body of the fruit at the long tip of your nail. 

“I, Min Yoongi, promise to take care of you until the day I die,” he proclaims and slides the tangerine down the length of your slender finger until it sits at the base like a true promise ring. 

You hiccup, overloaded with another onrush of tears, and you scramble up to kiss him. And you do—you give him so many kisses until his lips are puffy and until your moment is again interrupted by another phone call. And it’s not his boss, who’s calling him this time around. It’s the food delivery guy, with your hot beef broth and hotteok in his bag, and together you step out of the car with carmine-wash cheeks. 

Inside your apartment, Yoongi watches you eat. Sitting on the sofa beside you with his elbows propped on his knees, his blush deepens with each spoonful of soup you take to your mouth. And when you begin to share your soup with him just like you shared your cigarette with him, Yoongi is so smitten, so endeared that he can’t let out a full sentence without stuttering, without messing up so bad that he hides his face in his hands, his gummy smile prominent and lighting up the living room. 

And then you’re in bed, but the love making isn’t as quick and lust-dripping like it traditionally is. Everything about the snap of his hips into your core is slow, yet meaningful as if he was fucking his promise into you. You’re supposed to be riding him, being on top like that, however Yoongi isn’t letting you. He’s fleshing out his promise of being the provider by having your wrists in a tight grip behind your back while he pounds your future into you with hard, yet controlled thrusts that empty your brain out of every little left-over fragments of your negative thoughts and emotions. His breathing is ragged as he works so hard, breaking a sweat as he changes your life, holding you upwards by your neck, maintaining an authoritative and vigorous eye contact that throws you over the edge. 

But it’s not the edge you feared so much. 

The bottomless space is a sea of his love he’s dipped inside of, ready to catch you with his arms stretched out in your direction—and he does. Together you swim in the afterglow of your orgasms, swim out into the openness of your shared future with you as a stress-free little girl and Yoongi as the provider. 

Yoongi breaks your wooden cube as he feeds you the half-moons of the tangerine he used as a promise ring and you chew them while half-asleep on his chest—because, truth be told, you don’t need it anymore. You have his promise to envelop you from the inside, to keep you safe and to keep you feeling comforted, even when he’s away in the office and even when he’s travelling around the globe, singing for the world and for your tender heart. 

You’re his wife and he’s your husband—and the bitter spirit of life can’t touch it. 

You’re protected, and you’re taken care of. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[zeropro]

hi I really love your art I just wanna eat it and consume its knowledge but that’s kinda impossible so I wanted to ask a bit about your process? How do you pick your colors? I really like your color palettes :))

Aw heck thank you!

Here are my color swatches since you asked:

I can go over what I remember of my thought process when picking these colors.

Lets start with Starscream since I really wasnt drawing anyone else back then. I know some of the toys has him as more of a grey mech but I always saw his body as white, but even then I didnt want it to be a pure white. I decided silver would be a good compromise, and to me silver is a light grey with more of a cool tone to it, which meant the grey of his helm and faceplate had to also be more cool toned to match. I also didnt want his helm to be too dark even tho I think it’s supposed to be black? It’s just better for readability, I use that helm color for anything that should be dark grey to black, like car tires. I gave his face a darker grey than the body since Starscream has a darker face than Thundercracker and Skywarp in the cartoon.

From there I think I just tried out different reds until I found one I liked, a bit of trial and error. I might have made it slightly muted cuz it felt less heroic? I don’t really know haha. I just know when I picked a red for the Autobots I made it more saturated. I also don’t know why I chose that particular shade of blue, since I think Starscream’s arms are usually a lighter blue? Must have just decided it worked best with the red, or maybe the reference I was using just happened to be darker.

His eyes (and the eyes of pretty much all cold constructed bots) are pure saturated red.

And then I decided all cybertronians would have blue tongues since their blood is blue.

When I started drawing other seekers I decided they should all have the same faceplate and helm color. The only exception is sunstorm, who I decided to give a warmer toned grey for his helm and faceplate. I think it makes him look out of place among the seekers, which is the point

Thundercracker just straight up shares his color pallet with Starscream, but Skywarp needed his own swatch since neither of them had purple in their designs besides the decepticon logo, and I wanted skywarp’s purple to be different from the purple used in the decepticon logo.

For the longest time my color swatches were just Starscream’s colors plus a purple for Skywarp. Ive been slowly adding colors as the need arises. I prefer reusing swatches over color picking new colors every time, like how Sunstorm and Bumblebee share the same color Yellow. That said, I’m also stingy about adding swatches too XD usually I wont add a color to the pallet until the third or fourth time I have to pull up an old comic to eyedropper from. not sure why I havent added swatches for rumble yet tbh

idk if any of that was interesting or made sense, but thanks for asking XD

[yeloenk]

WOOO PARABLE!!!! redesign yay!!!!!

im gonna go more in depth for exemplum and parable's redesigns in this post -- it'll be under the cut!

DISCLAIMER!!! this is NOT to bash CS.MT or their designs at all! this is all something i did for fun and nostalgia/love of the AU.

——————

when first sketching out some design ideas for the two, i had long forgotten they were redesigned by CS.MT themselves in 2021! these designs are a HUGE upgrade from the old ones, but i do think they could be better from a character design standpoint.

this is the two parable designs by CS.MT side by side. the one on the right is absolutely a huge improvement, and honestly, the one i have the least changes to.

in my redesign, i brought back the original crow elements the first one had, since he's meant to be based off one. i gave him back his black wings with lighter speckles, along with the addition of crow feet/legs! i thought it was pretty cool that his 2021 design has bird feet, but they're chicken feet, not crow feet. which, doesn't make much sense when considering the animal he's supposed to be based off of. it also appears that his legs have two sections, instead of three? i can't exactly tell with the pants, but i tried to make it more obvious his legs are three bones instead of two.

i also have an issue with the piece of fabric covering his tail feathers. the tail feathers are very important for flying, allowing birds to keep balance and steer themselves in the air. so, draping a thick fabric over it doesn't make sense to me. i kept the drapery around his waist, just removing the back fabric.

i decided to change up their other clothing a bit as well! i made the browns more saturated, which is just a personal preference, since i love warmer colors. i added back the swirls in his original design onto his pants, since i thought they were really cute and added visual interest! i also gave him a belt with the colors of their vials, just to add more color to his design. honestly i couldn't find a way to properly include his vials being on them without it looking funky, so i imagine he would keep them at their nest to be safe.

i also added pockets to the belt for them to collect shiny things! crows love shiny things, so i think parable would collect them and bring them back to the nest he shares with the crows.

that's really all i have to say for parable -- other parts should be self explanatory!

now, moving on to exemplum. his design is the one i had the most issues with.

the 2021 design is definitely an improvement in aesthetics, pose, and general outfit design -- however, the character design itself does not convey what it should.

exemplum is meant to be based off a moon jellyfish, a vibrant blue sea creature. he's also meant to live in the water, for the majority of his life. neither the first or second design convey that very well with the dry-land clothes, however, i do think the first design is better in a way.

the colors & shape language of the clothes say "jellyfish guy who lives in the sea" more than his new clothes. i like the way the top poncho (?) piece of clothing resembles the jellyfish's dome, while the strings trail out like it's stingers. the swirls also remind me of ocean waves, as well as the wavy eyelight and eye strings. in comparison, the newer design feels a lot more bland, and the only thing that could possibly tell you he's meant to be a jellyfish creature living in the sea is the arm strings—which, if you know about error sans, could come across as anything but jellyfish stingers! this is not a good thing, unless that was possibly the point of the design? though, i don't think it was.

this is my redesign of him!

first thing that i HAD to change was the arm strings. i made them into actual jellyfish stingers, with long frills and shorter strings at the top (in reference to the moon jellyfish itself!). i switched his eyelight back to the swirly one, as well as his eye strings.

moving on to the clothes, these desperately needed a massive overhaul. exemplum lives in the sea, meaning he would NOT wear a lot of fabric, since there's no need to & it would be a huge inconvenience while swimming around. i removed the bandages too, since those didn't make any sense to me either. i gave him a pair of loose-fabric pants that he stitched together himself instead, as well as a rope belt and some gold chains for decoration. i added back the vibrant blues and swirls of his old design onto his pants, to resemble the ocean waves. since i removed his scarf, i instead put the "assasin" symbol as a tattoo on his sternum!

i also changed up the colors of his bones a little, making them more purple-pinkish to mesh together better. i made the colors much more vibrant than his 2021 design, because i think they look really cool with underwater creature designs! they're meant to serve as a warning to other creatures as well, to not mess with him, similar to how poisonous animals are typically brightly colored.

to top this off, i gave him spotted turtle feet! they are semi-aquatic guys that can live on both land and sea, so i thought that would make sense for exemplum instead of having normal skeleton feet. plus, if parable gets animalistic feet, i think exemplum should as well :-) just for fun, i gave him a turtle tail, too.

here are the two redesigns side-by-side!! if you have any thoughts to add, feel free to!! i'm very happy with how these came out.

Exemplum & Parable by CS.MT

[scarfscrawls]

Happy Fakemon Friday! Unnamed, Dark/Dragon type 'Mon.

Glass Cannon Sp. Attacker. In addition to STAB Dark and Dragon moves, knows moves like Thunderbolt, Flamethrower, and Ice Beam. More design notes under the cut:

I found a palette I absolutely LOVED, it spoke to me with the lil guy's design! From there I just bumped up the saturation and let the design sort of float to me. Imps, jesters, mischief... I really like how it turned out. Returned to my lasso color-block sketch method for these to amazing effect.

I think it would get an ability like Magus to boost sp. atk moves, so theyre almost LIKE STABs. I'd balance that out with it only gets a few really good ones via TM list.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

First off, always love to see your art so 90s-ified billford is wonderful. Secondly, I grew up on Don Bluth movies and adore the style to this day but I find imitating it takes forever since the colours in the linework change depend on what's being outlined. Do you feel the same or is there an obvious shortcut I'm missing?

Oh! Good question! I did notice that the lines vary in color from looking at screenshots, but I didn't want to take ten years to change the colors of all the lines, and also I didn't care too much about being *accurate* or anything. I was mostly just aiming for vibe. So I really pushed the whole old, low res screenshot vibe, so I wouldn't have to put in as much effort into other, more subtle things, like the colors and textures of cel animation.

I made the lines dark brown (seemed like a neutral color that would look good), and then only changed the line color at a few spots: glasses black, bills hands and body outline white/light grey, and I decided to make fords pants light blue, just because if I didn't, they would blend in with the background. Since ford is mostly made up of warm colors, the brown lines as the default made sense. Only exception might be his blue shirt, but I didn't bother with it, it's not really noticeable.

I put a magenta "saturation" layer on top of everything - and not only did this make everything look brighter/more like animation colors, it also made the lines look more like their surrounding colors, for some reason. Mostly the white lines on bills hands. (Idk what half these layer modes technically do LOL! I just experiment with them.)

But like i said, I compensated for half-assing things by making it look very fuzzy. Here it is without all the layers to make it look like an old screenshot: (it's also just a very low res image to begin with)

Let me know if you have any other questions! I hope this made sense.

[spidersoulss]

Hair Dye

Pairings: Sam Winchester x f!Reader

Summary: you dye your hair and sam has some feelings about it

Warnings: mentions of sexual stuff, fluff? 

Word Count: 1,231

The bathroom was a wreck, almost every item placed into a basket to keep from getting dye on them. You had wanted a change, and what better way to achieve that than dyeing your hair?

There was no way to be clean about this process, splats of dye littered the counter of your bathroom and you prayed that it would come out easily and not stain. Don't even get me started on how your skin looked. Especially since you thought you would be fine without gloves…girl come on now.

You did not hear Sam walk into your room, the music you put on was too loud. “What the-” sam says your name once, shouts it twice, you poke your head out of the bathroom and he looks at you wide eyed, taking in your wild form. 

“Oh hey Sam!” you greet him with a smile, turning the volume down so you can actually hear him. “Uhh whatcha doin?” he raises a brow at the vibrant color staining your hair, and your neck, and your hands…and the counter..and the floor. It's like a color bomb went off.

“Just dyeing my hair” you grin, not missing the way his eyes glance warily over the mess. “Don't worry, I'm gonna clean it up, I swear” he sighs and leans against the door frame, “yeah you better” you roll your eyes at him.

You change your hair like every month, this is nothing new to either of you. Sam is always impressed at how messy you get with it and how well you're able to clean it up afterwards. He's always loved how you liked having unique hair. 

He watches you intently as you apply the color to your head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He huffs a laugh at your concentration face. “Okay! Finally got it all on” you put your saturated hair into a bun and place a cap over your head to keep anything else from turning a different color. 

Sam helps you with cleaning up the bomb that went off during the process. 

He wipes the color off of your skin and face, kissing your forehead afterwards. You smile softly and kiss his cheek. 

“Jesus christ what's up with your head?” Dean interrupts, looking very concerned. You and Sam take a step away from each other. “Hair dye, i needed a change” you tell him, Dean scoffs and puts his hands on your hips, “why not just..keep it normal?” he gestures to you with a sassy finger. 

“Because i like it, quit judging or i'll color your hair while you sleep” you point a sassy finger back at him. Dean throws his hands up in defense, “i think im good, ladies love my locks” he runs a hand through his short blonde hair. 

“Wrong, ladies love my locks” Sam interjects, dramatically flipping his hair. You laugh and dean scoffs lightheartedly, “whatever dude” 

You shoo the boys from your room so you can chill before you have to rinse your hair. 

You're finally done after an hour, you style your hair, put on some light makeup and a cute outfit to really get the effect going. 

The brothers are sitting in the library, looking for a case. “Ahem” you clear your throat, they look up from their research and Dean's jaw practically hits the floor. Sam has a different look that he definitely doesn't want Dean to see, that look is only meant for you. And you definitely see it. 

He clenches his jaw, holding back a groan. He loves your hair and anything you do with it. Seeing you confident and feeling yourself does a little something to him. 

“Holy fuck dude, okay I was out of line earlier, this is fire” dean compliments and you chuckle, “see, I knew youd like it” you grin. Sam still hasn't said anything, he's too busy looking at you like eye candy. 

Dean elbows him out of his trance. “Huh?- oh- yeah it looks really good” he smiles at you. Dean gives him a look, “seriously dude? That's it?” he chastises his younger brother for not being more enthusiastic, despite himself judging you not even 2 hours ago for your choices.

“What? It looks great!” he says to dean and turns back to you, “it looks great, you did a good job with it” he reiterates. You giggle, knowing why he's acting like this right now. “Thank you” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Sam is trying so hard to keep it together. He can't help it, how can he when you're sitting right across from him looking so good. You offered to help them look for a case. The room is mostly silent and you're making the situation worse for Sam by rubbing your socked foot over his calf. 

He occasionally clears his throat to mask his growing arousal. He's not even focused on finding a case anymore, just looking at you through his lashes. You don't look up from your searching, smirking to yourself. 

“Aha! I think I got one” dean pipes up, talking about the strange details of a murder in Louisiana. 

“Great! Lets go check it out” you chirp, standing up ready to get your stuff together. Sam agrees to go but isn't moving from his chair. 

“Sam lets go, were waistin’ precious time” Dean nudges him and Sam clears his throat, “yeah, yeah in a minute” he waves him off and you laugh to yourself, Sam shoots you a glare. 

“Oh my god dude are you hard right now?” Dean accuses him and Sam gets defensive. “What? No! no, why would you say that?” he frowns, still sitting. Dean squints at him in suspicion, “okay then stand up” Sam rolls his eyes and shoots him a look. “Sam it's fine, we all get hard sometimes” you say

Dean looks at you like you're weird, “you're a girl” he raises a brow, “yeah, leave me and my imaginary dick alone” you defend. “You- what- okay whatever” he shakes his head. “Let a girl dream for once”. 

Sam sighs heavily, “Okay we have a case, lets leave in like 5 minutes” he says and finally stands up, turning to hide the tent in his pants, quickly going to pack his stuff. Leaving you and Dean laughing with each other about it. 

You go to pack your own things, right as you're about to pass Sam's room he grabs you and drags you inside, pinning you against the wall with his knee pressed against your core. Earning him a moan from your lips

He kisses you deeply and you sigh into the kiss. “You are so gonna get it later, you think you can tease me like that and get away with it? Look what you do to me” he says lowly, his hand guides yours to his bulge and you gulp. Butterflies flutter in your stomach.  

You knew you had got him going, but you didn't think it had this much of an affect on him. 

You whine as he kisses you again before letting you go, leaving you hot and bothered. “Go get your things before dean gets antsy” he nods towards the door and you nod dumbly. “Okay” you say softly, returning to your room to pack.

Good god above you are really in for it later. And you couldn't be more excited. 

A/N: I might write a part 2 for when she ‘gets it’ 👀

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

[fanaticsnail]

A bit of both

Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,900+

Synopsis: You and Rosinante take your trust to a new level, engaging in two levels of weaving you had yet to use in sequence with one another.

Warnings: Rosinante x gn!reader, vibrator play (reader receiving), bondage (reader receiving), gagged (reader receiving), overstimulation, cock warming, dominant Rosinante x submissive reader, service Dom Rosinante, pet names (cara mia, mi amor, little thing), size difference, love confession, established relationship, praising (Rosinante giving), no gendered titles used, insertion sex (reader receiving), 18+, MDNI, smut.

Notes: This was not the fic I was working on, but the service-dom wanted to get out before the mean, jealous one. Ever since I wrote the "T" section for the NSFW Alphabet fic, I needed to see it explored a little more. I hope you enjoy.

Trailing behind you, gift bags lazily slinging from his shoulder with their cord drawstrings caught in his fingers and palm, Rosinante rolled his eyes as you debated with yourself which item you truly wanted from the bakery. Drawing his arm down, he let the bags hang from his wrist as he shoved his hand into his pocket.

“I mean, on the one hand, I do want an almond croissant. The filling is almost like fresh marzipan, and it's so sweet,” you tapped your chin with your fingertips before looking to the other glass display, “But on the other hand, I kind of want something savory like a cheese danish. I don't know about the salt content versus the sugar. If you were to choose one-?”

“-We’ll take an almond croissant and a cheese danish please,” Rosinante held up his hands to the baker, gently shaking his head at you before glancing at the corner of his eye at you. With an arched brow, he placed his Berry on the counter and waited for his change.

“What are you playing at, Rosinante?” you question him linking your arm through his bad leaning on his shoulder, “That's too much, look at the size of them!”

“Take a bite of both of them, and then choose the one you like more,” he gazed down his nose at you with his hazelnut colored eyes, scolding you with his expression. “I'll eat the other one.”

“Smart,” you nod with your pout down-turning. He shot you a sly wink, taking the change and watching the attendant fold the brown bag down at the opening. Pastries already staining the covering with the fat from overly saturated butter, you reached up and made to gather the bags; halting immediately as Rosinante shot you a warning look.

Placing his Berry in your back pocket, he reached up and took the two paper bags in his hands while you laced your hand in the crook of his elbow once more. Sheepishly looking at the ground, you felt him stoop down and press his lips to your temple.

“You know I won't let you lift a finger, mi amor,” the low growl in his deep baritone caused your eyes to flutter closed and spine ignited with pricks of fine needles. Opening your eyes to fall half-lidded, you smile bashfully at him. He pressed his lips atop the apple of your cheek, his soft smile felt in his sweet kiss.

Pastry bags left crumpled in the refrigerator, gift bags lying messily by the door, clothes were scattered and discarded in the hamper in the corner of the room. Shoes placed together in the hallway, the dim light of the room illuminated the skin of your tall lover.

Gazing possessively down at you, his lip paint lay smudged on his cheeks and chin, as your own skin was littered with intentional kisses ranging from your littlest toe to the crown of your head. You pleaded with your eyes, your lips swollen and bruised from being mounted and dominated with his own lips moments prior.

He molded your flesh beneath his hands to worship you, before drawing out a lengthy piece of rope with the intent to accentuate and immobilize your features.

“You've been so good today, mi amor,” he whispered, coiling and knotting the rope over your breasts, “Such a good little thing for me.” You whimpered for him as he parted your thighs and drew one knee up to your wrist, circling it with the fabric.

You open your mouth to speak, his eyes shooting you a look of warning for you to hold your tongue. Elevating your other knee to your wrist, he insured you were snug enough in your ties that you were not uncomfortable. Crawling between your exposed thighs and lowering his chest and stomach over your torso, he smiled down at you with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Before we start, do you want a sip of water or to finish your danish?” he offered, giving you a sweet and genuine smile, “I can get it out of the fridge for you.” You smiled back in response before shaking your head at him.

“No thank you, sir,” you chirped back at him. He learnt forward, brushing your nose with his own before drawing a woven gag up to your lips. You parted your lips, causing Rosinante to coo down at you in glee.

“So well mannered,” he praised you, “So good.” He pressed his lips over yours, the material preventing him from truly feeling your lips on his. “Now, remember what we talked about? Give me a demonstration of what you need to do if it gets too much?”

You bobbed your head up and down to nod in understanding before humming three notes up through your nose at him in a melody familiar to you both. Bondage was not a new concept to you, but with the addition of the gag it felt like you had no communication for if it got too intense. When you were tied, you would use your safe word when it got too much, just like your rapid taps against the mattress in code would halt motions when gagged.

“Perfect, cara mia,” he pursed his lips against your temple, “I'm gonna sit behind you now.” You nod eagerly, darting your eyes between his as he moves from your torso and kneel before you. His cock was achingly hard, his red top shining in the light from how desperate he was yearning for you.

The shibari had you feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, just the way Rosinante enjoyed you. Each time he tied you felt like you were a little gift wrapped up just for his delight, his complete control and your complete submission to him alighting a flame of trust between both of you.

Rising to his feet, he gingerly walks over to his knight stand and finds a leaf-shaped object and it's remote ignition. Eyes widening he moves his way behind you and presses his torso flush to your back before moving his forearms beneath your legs. Lifting you with ease, his tip lined up with your entrance which waited eagerly with prior lubrication.

Placing the tip over your quivering body, he eased you to softly impale yourself on his cock. Inch by inch, you took Rosinante's impressive length into you with your eyes wide and lips falling wide.

“You okay, mi amor? Not too much too quick, is it?” he hastily checked in, knowing the size difference may cause you some discomfort while you adjusted. You whined and shook your head, wriggling in his arms in a bid to take more of him within you. He chuckled, giving into your request and slinking you down on his steely cock. Hissing at the feeling, Rosinante let out a shuddering deep moan as he felt your body move to accommodate him.

“Oh, so good,” his deep voice praised you, his lips finding your shoulder blade and caressing your skin. “Okay, stay still. One more tie, and we'll be all done.” You knit your brows in focus, tensing your abdomen as his hands move around the both of you.

The small leaf was pressed against your sensitive nerves at the front of you, prompting you to unintentionally gasp at the sensation. The small bud encumbered your nerves endings completely, the anticipation eating at you as he chuckled lightly. Adjusting the ropes, he insured the object was flush with your skin before wrapping the ropes around both of your waists. Each touch his hands gave you left tingles on your skin, your body fluttering around him as you kept yourself as statuesque as you could.

“Now all you have to do is keep my cock warm for me while we watch a play on the carrier snail,” he whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your lobe, “All I want you to do is cum for me. So, so much, mi amor.” Your eyes widened as you felt his hands reach for the switch for the projector snail, and for the remote attached to the soft leaf.

“Just sit pretty like you're doing,” he clicked on the projector, the lights flickering over the wall and starting the dancing lights and music to follow, “And cum on my cock.” The leaf buzzed and shook to life, your back arching into his torso at the intensity of the motion. Rosinante chuckled against you, feeling your body contract around him almost immediately.

The rhythmic thump of your entrance adjusting and the coil tightening in your abdomen was enough to strike lightning in your vision. Immediately writhing on his lap, you bucked and ground yourself back into him as best you could against the bonds. Your body chased your high, leaving a mess on both yours and Rosinante’s body as you came hard against the leaf.

“Oh, good job,” he whispered against your cheek, adjusting the switch as he felt you fall back from your high to not overstimulate you with too much intensity too quickly. Giving your thigh a gentle tap as you panted behind the gag, Rosinante soothed your skin before reigniting the switch.

Keening and choking through your gasp, he continued to dart his attention between focussing on you and the moving picture in front of you. Each time he felt your body almost reach its high, he would gaze down at you lovingly while he watched your face contorting in pleasure. Letting go of all thoughts as euphoria washed over you, he would always end your climax with praise and a soft kiss.

“So good for me,” he purred at you, the deep rumble in his chest cutting over the whines and mewls you'd release in ecstasy. “That one was a big one, huh? Keep it up, mi amor.” His hands began to dutifully worship your thighs and devote all of his attention to you. Constantly engaging with your feet and wrists to ensure adequate blood flow, he had you unravel on his lap another eight times for the duration of the moving picture.

Each time he felt you cum, he did his best to keep himself edged and not spill over too soon. Your body wrapped around and exposed for him and him alone had him fighting with himself for a sense of control: just how he needed it. He needed you to be a channel for his lust, his greatest escape and refuge from the hardships of his mission. Something he could control, to focus on, and to have an immediate response to his intentional actions. He needed you to have the release and freedom that he couldn't, waves of empathetic bliss being felt as he felt your body become void of anything other than him.

He needed that complete control.

Eyes glazed with dewy water, cheeks stained with hot tears, body and nerves shot with oversensitivity, gag damp with your own saliva, you felt completely void of all thoughts other than to engage in Rosinante's commands as best as you could.

Keep his cock in your body while the play projects, and cum as much as you could.

As soon as the screenplay ended, Rosinante let out a soft moan as he tested his cock by rocking you on his lap. Your body felt limp and pliable, nodding in acknowledgement as you felt him begin to move. Each follicle of your body was engaged, mind numb and pleasure coursing through your veins. Thrusting up, you heard him whimper a soft whine of your name as he rocked you harder and faster on his lap.

Head lulled on his chest, you felt him flick the leaf back to life and reach a hand around in front of you to add more pressure to the stimulation. His fingers and palm gave you that final push you needed to begin to chase a fresh wave of desire as he huffed and panted behind you. Jolting your body up and down his girthy cock had his blunt tip reach depths within you that had you cry out for him. Sobbing and whining, you felt the coil begin to tighten and compact into a ball as he continued to pummel up into you.

“O-Oh, fuck. You've got one more for me, don't you? Just one more,” he kissed and bit at your neck, tongue and teeth dragging at your skin, “Be good a little bit longer and give me one more. I want it. Give it to me.” His gruff bark had you immediately whine at yourself to focus on chasing your release, your oversensitive body almost giving out while bound in the safety of your harness.

A scream found its way through the muffled gag as you came hard around him, body shaking and trembling as he moaned deeply for you.

“Oh, fuck. Good job, such a good listener. Fuck-... Nghh-... I'm c-cumming,” he shuddered, burying his forehead in the crook of your neck as he shot ropes of his release into you, “Yes, yes. Take it. Take. It.” He continued to usher you into a lengthier release as his balls sucked into his abdomen and shot a viscous expulsion of desire up into you.

Huffing and panting, he kept rocking you as he fucked his release back up into you. Your body was limp like a doll, a marionette dancing bound in strings for him as your master. His movements staggered, his soft calls of your name singing to you his sweet song of praise.

Finally feeling himself still, the aftershocks of his twitches spurting the final shudders of release into you, he finally switched off the leaf and tugged your body to lie flush with him. Showering your skin in soft kisses, he panted against you while his cock lingered within you.

Straining against the bands, you attempt to unravel yourself from the ropes by rotating your wrists in a bid for relief. Rosinante is immediately refocused, gently coaxing his cock from you and manuevering you over to the pillows beside him. His digits flew like lightning, hastily untying you and insuring your body had regained circulation by massaging and pressing his lips against your skin.

“Rosinante, I'm okay,” you reassure him, smiling through your glassy eyes up at him. He smiled down at you while continuing to focus his attention on the knots and weaves. Releasing the last length of rope from your body, he pressed his lips over each point of strain on your wrists, thighs, backs of your knees and sensitive abdomen.

Each time he releases a small part of the bonds, you feel his devotion in his delicate touch. Each kiss, each caress, each gentleness in his intimate touch: he was a devotee to your altar. His prayers were to see you thrive and come undone by his motions. His dedication each of new session to explore the trust in one another was unmatched, and you truly adored him.

And he loved you completely.

As you moved to stand, your body was overcome immediately by the intensity of pleasure your body endured. Your skin was hyper sensitive to touch, and your bones congealed under the pressure. Rosinante rapidly clicked his tongue at you, pouting his lips before smiling up at you.

“Oh, come now. We've been through this,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose with yours. You smiled through tight lips up at him, your vision hazy as you matched his doting twinkle in your dual vibrant afterglow.

“You know I won't let you raise a finger.”

Lips finally colliding, passion through overexertion lingered in the atmosphere. Parting lips, you gingerly hooked your arms over his shoulders and tugged him closer. He hummed against you, grinding his tongue against yours and stealing your breath from you. Lacing your fingers through his hair, he rotated his chin slowly to take on more of you through each languid motion.

Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes with his orbs pooling with emotion. Caressing your skin, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath huffing softly against your skin, “So, so much." To re-emphasize his intent, he repeated his phrase, "So much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper softly against his skin, moving your hands from his hair to his cheeks. “My heart. My sweet Corazon.” He smiled at you, taking a moment to linger in the world you forged together before humming softly at you.

“Yes, I'm all yours cara mia. Let me get you cleaned up.” The creases in the corners of his eyes were the most beautiful sight you'd seen, "You want bubbles or salts?" His gorgeous glimmer in his grin found purchase and roots in your heart with each beat.

“You think I can choose?” you giggle up at him. He hooked his arms behind your knees, your back supported by his other as he cradled you into him.

“It's alright, mi amor,” he chuckled at you, stumbling a little as he readjusted you in his arms. “You can have a bit of both and share it with me.”

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