#implied spice

[endopyre]

I uh… I don’t have a lot to say, Papa needs to unwind y’know

[xo-queenievee-xo]

🌶️🍲😈❤️‍🔥

[kingsdoodles]

I wish I could share spicy art here but I do have the full things up on twitter (same user name as here). Take these cropped though!

[zannilove]

A Promise in Bloom

Word count — approx. 1180 Character(s): Blaise (as a new lover) x reader Warnings: None Note: This is just a little implied spice drabble based on the mobile game King's Choice. Hope it's some goodt. I'm literally obsessed with it right now. Also in the near future expect some Epic fics!

The sun cast its soft golden light across the palace gardens, warming the stone beneath your feet as you stepped into the open pavilion. Ivy curled around the columns. Roses bloomed overhead in arches like nature’s crown jewels. The view beyond stretched into a sea of color, flowers arranged in careful symmetry, trimmed hedges guiding the eye to the castle rising in the distance like a dream too beautiful to be real.

Blaise was already there, seated with a canvas before him, brush in hand. He didn’t speak when you approached, just glanced up with that quiet, familiar smile of his. The one he only ever gave you.

You sat down by his side.

“This spot,” he said softly, “I’ve been saving it for you.”

You leaned into the silence. It wasn’t awkward, it never was with Blaise. Only peaceful. The kind of calm that felt rare in a life filled with court duties, politics, and endless decisions. Blaise was different. His world moved slower, more intentionally, as if he knew the value of a quiet moment more than most.

With practiced ease, he dipped his brush into color and began to paint. The strokes came quickly at first, then slowed as he captured the curve of a petal, the shimmer of light, the way the wind teased the roses. His brow furrowed not with frustration but focus. Every line he drew seemed to pull him deeper into a world where words weren’t needed.

You glanced away from the canvas and watched him instead. Blaise didn’t just see the world,he studied it, honored it. Maybe that’s why his paintings felt alive. They weren’t just scenes; they were feelings on canvas. And today, you were the subject. Not posed, not artificial, just as you were, sitting next to him under a painted sky.

“I made a promise,” he said eventually, his voice cutting through the quiet like a soft note in a still room. “To paint something beautiful. Just for you.”

You looked at the finished piece. At first, it seemed like a study of the garden: the roses in bloom, the sunlight catching the marble statue’s edge, the path that led through the arches. But then you noticed the way the shadows fell, how the light seemed to bend toward where you were seated. And in the center was a silhouette, peaceful and strong, not clearly drawn but unmistakably you.

It wasn’t a portrait in the traditional sense. It was something better. A feeling. The way Blaise saw you, steady in a world that often demanded too much, soft in a place that often valued sharpness. He had painted not just what he saw, but what he knew.

You reached out and touched the edge of the canvas, careful not to smudge the still-drying paint. “You didn’t just keep your promise,” you said, eyes meeting his. “You gave me something I didn’t know I needed.”

Blaise smiled again, softer this time. “Good,” he said, setting the brush down. “Because I think I needed it too.”

You let your fingers linger just a little longer on the edge of the canvas, as if the warmth of the painting might carry over into your skin. Blaise’s eyes didn’t leave you. His gaze had always been intense when he painted, but now it held something more, something quieter and deeper. Admiration. Want. Maybe even awe.

“I never thought you’d actually do it,” you said, your voice low, almost teasing.

“I never break promises to you,” he replied, and the way he said it wasn’t light. It landed between you with weight, grounding the moment. He shifted slightly, just enough that his knee brushed yours. The contact was subtle but deliberate. Neither of you moved away.

A breeze swept through the pavilion, tugging at your hair. He reached out without thinking, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, and instead of pulling away, they stayed, just for a second too long. You met his gaze again, and this time it wasn’t just quiet affection. There was heat in it, and a question he didn’t voice aloud.

The garden faded to a blur at the edges of your vision. The weight of duty, the clamor of the court, the endless press of expectations all dissolved, leaving only the immediate space around you and Blaise, closer now. The air crackled. A glance held too long, a breath drawn too sharply, these small shifts vibrated between you, stretching the unspoken thread from friendship toward a precipice neither had dared approach. The possibility hung there, potent and heavy.

“I didn’t just paint the garden,” he said, voice rougher now. “I painted the way I see you. Every time you walk into a room. Every time you look at me like that.”

His hand was still on your cheek. Your lips were inches from his.

“You could’ve just said something,” you whispered, heart pounding now, breath catching in your throat.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Then he kissed you.

The kiss lingered, a fragile bridge between the familiar and the unknown. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, suspended in the charged silence. Blaise's hand remained cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking softly as his gaze searched your eyes. Your own hand rested on his arm, fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, a silent question in the way you held him. The air between you hummed with a tension that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a potent mix of vulnerability and desire.  

A soft exhale escaped Blaise, the sound barely audible, yet it broke the spell. He dipped his head slightly, his forehead almost touching yours, and his eyes, those intense, observing eyes, now held a flicker of uncertainty. Tentatively, he traced your jawline with his fingertips, the touch feather-light yet sending shivers down your spine. The scent of roses, heavy and sweet, filled the air, mingling with the subtle, earthy fragrance of Blaise himself, creating an intoxicating blend that heightened your senses.  

Inside, a battle waged between caution and longing. Memories flashed through your mind: stolen glances across the court, the quiet intensity of Blaise's focus as he painted, the unspoken understanding that had always existed between you. He was more than just an artist; he was a confidant, a solace, a man who saw you in ways no one else did. His touch grew bolder, his fingers now tracing the curve of your neck, pulling you almost imperceptibly closer. A soft moan escaped your lips, a sound of surrender to the undeniable pull between you.  

The garden seemed to hold its breath with you, the vibrant colors of the flowers deepening in the fading light. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the pavilion in hues of gold and deepening crimson, mirroring the heat rising within you. Blaise's gaze burned with a question, a silent inquiry of how far you were willing to let this go. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, poised on the edge of something irrevocable.

[doughnutshi]

[Day 10/12: Play/Laughter] 18+

Just a couple of friends just messing around in bed and playing with each other 🥰 and they’re roommates of course nothing to see here just normal homie stuff 🫢

Ft. A full Background I put way to much effort in only to be covered up 😭 pls notice it thanks @taimizuweek

[numercnnightingale]

--> well, we know the REAL reason why

[wip]

[shayaltair]

To start off the third week of #XiaoLumiMonth2024 organized by @EternityXl (Twitter), here is "Hidden Treasures" 💫

> #XiaoLumi

> Rated M for implied spicy times

> Features fluff, cuddling, very light hurt/comfort

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[heythereofficerfriendly]

negan: ain’t you a pretty sight <3