#and he never fails to leave me IN AWE by his natural beauty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

papiliotao · 9 months

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꒰ 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 !! ✩࿐

pairings: albedo, alhaitham, childe, cyno, heizou, kazuha, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, very light angst in xiao’s and childe’s (they still ends with fluff though), kissing, established relationship

summary: in which your boyfriend tells you that he loves you, but instead of returning his sentiments, you decide to mess with him by not saying it back.

a/n: i said that i’d post soon like two weeks ago... oops. nonetheless, i hope you have fun reading this!

₊˚ପ ALBEDO

“What’s the matter?” Albedo asks, tilting his head slightly as the words fall from the tip of his tongue. Vivid teal eyes fill with hints of concern that dance through his irises loftily in a flurry of iridescent petals.

Albedo is worried, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. For now, he’ll test the waters of an unexplored ocean and scope out the situation, hoping that he’s just reading too much into things.

“Nothing,” you answer, tilting your head innocently as if you don’t have a clue what Albedo’s talking about.

Your boyfriend is perplexed, but he’s not an idiot. He’s often been regarded as a genius, and he’s spent almost as much time reading the sentimental words engraved into your heart as he has conducting his experiments. Albedo is absolutely captivated by you because you never fail to leave him fascinated and awe-struck. So naturally, he’s managed to pick up on all your subtle habits and all your strange quirks.

And right now, the expression on your face tells him that something is off. A missing brushstroke on a panoramic painting. A sour note in an otherwise enchanting composition. A sparkling daydream where you feel just a little too lucid.

You know exactly what he’s talking about. You’re just feigning ignorance.

Now all Albedo has to do is figure out why.

“I see,” he whispers under his breath in a tone so soft that even a light breeze would whisk his words off to neverland.

Albedo’s gaze remains fixated on you, his eyebrows scrunched and eyes narrowed.

Then a barely-audible chuckle leaves your lips. You stifle it in an instant, but Albedo has committed the melodic sound of your laugh to memory.

And suddenly everything makes sense.

You’re trying to get a reaction out of him, but sadly for you, you seem to have forgotten one key detail. Albedo is used to solving issues in a calm manner, his temperament akin to aquatic drafts that gently caress the surface of a crystal ocean. Cool and controlled.

“Ah, I understand now,” he says, and your eyes widen. The expression on your face rivals the beauty of a night sky dotted with various asterisms. You’re utterly ethereal. The corners of Albedo’s lips turn up, graced with a smile that shines with the light of a million stars. “You thought you could fool me, but unfortunately, you just gave yourself away.”

A pause. The tension within the air thaws, and the atmosphere becomes light-hearted once more.

“I’m not mad,” he clarifies, staring you dead in the eye, “but I would, however, appreciate it if you could make it up to me.”

₊˚ପ ALHAITHAM

Alhaitham is unfazed.

He sees right through you. You didn’t seriously think this was going to work on him, right? It didn’t take him long to get used to your antics when you first got together, and although you haven’t tried to play as many pranks on him as of late, it’s difficult to erase the devious grin you don whenever you’re up to something from his mind. Nor has the sly look in your eyes slipped from his memory.

Your boyfriend’s ability to read you is almost prophetic — a prediction of the future, yet no stars are read and no omens are required. He makes his predictions based on logic and logic alone.

And unfortunately for you, you don’t possess the same capabilities.

When you ignore Alhaitham’s honeyed words, turning your back to walk away with a coldness reminiscent of the farthest outreaches of the galaxy, he simply shrugs it off and heads to your living room to read a book. He sinks comfortably into a plush armchair, knowing full well that you’ll be back in no time.

Just four pages in, and Alhaitham hears the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallways, filling your shared home with a familiar sort of music. It’s only a few more seconds before he feels a tap on his shoulder — a touch that brings him back to reality entirely, away from the realm of scholarly pursuits.

“Is there anything you need?” Alhaitham asks, meeting your gaze with eyes tinted a turquoise found only in the most pristine of diamond waters. He remains as stoic as ever, not allowing so much as a single hint of emotion to show through his front.

You stare at him, dumbfound, for a few moments. Alhaitham knows what you’re thinking. He’s normally so observant — nothing ever slips past him, and yet this time, he failed to acknowledge the fact that you didn’t respond to his ‘I love you’. Besides that, it’s rather rare for Alhaitham to allow those words to leave his lips in the first place. He prefers to reserve them for tender moments, times where it feels like the only beings present in the vast universe are the two of you. You expected him to be more alert, and yet, Alhaitham has subverted all your expectations.

And it’s all part of his plan.

But then your eyes widen, filling with a light signaling that you’ve just experienced an epiphany. Alhaitham can tell that you’ve realized what he’s up to, and that your little scheme has backfired entirely.

“About earlier,” you start, assuming that Alhaitham already knows what you’re referring to.

Alhaitham smiles.

“What about it?” he questions you, acting oblivious even though both of you know Alhaitham would never be that clueless.

“You acted like you didn’t notice on purpose, didn’t you?” You’re pouting, but your irritation is clearly feigned. Alhaitham knows you like the back of his hand, and although messing with you produces some entertaining results, he would never go so far as to hurt you.

A rare smile graces Alhaitham’s face, as stunning as vivid ribbons of celestial light that compose an illustrious aurora. He’s not typically one to express emotion, but he can’t help himself. You’re just far too irresistible, and if there’s one thing he has a soft spot for, it’s you.

“My apologies,” he speaks in his usual calm tone. “I just couldn’t help myself — not when I knew I’d be able to bear witness to such an adorable display of anger.”

₊˚ପ CHILDE

The silence that hangs in the air is tangible — a thick veil of unspoken words, all consolidated into glacial fractals that cause the atmosphere to glaze over. An icy sort of tension permeates the moment, crystallizing the ambience and morphing it into something fragile.

And everything shatters when your boyfriend speaks.

“[Name],” he frowns, gazing at you with periwinkle hues devoid of illumination. He sighs, swallowing his pride. “Say it back. Please.”

A blank look fills your eyes, morphing once-lively galaxies into monochromatic jumbles of nonsense. For once, Childe can’t tell what you’re thinking, and that scares him. Either you’re messing with him, and you’re an exceptionally good actor, or you’re being serious.

“Say what back?” you say, cluelessness filling your tone filling your tone.

Childe is dumbfounded. It’s true that he tells you he loves you quite often, but he didn’t think that you’d become so accustomed to it that his words would no longer hold any weight. Although he finds it slightly odd, he supposes that even the most precious of glittering gemstones becomes mundane when fortune is the norm. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less disappointed.

“You really can’t tell?” he sighs yet again. He averts his gaze, looking anywhere but at you.

You shake your heart, and yet as you do, he catches a subtle flash of gilded lightning flash through your irises, setting your expression ablaze with hints of mischief. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but Childe knows what he saw. The initial melancholy that gripped his heart with cold fingers borne of frost dissipates, and in its place, amusement arises.

Silence. Shock. Disbelief.

And then he bursts out in a fit of sonorous laughter, the sheer volume of each chuckle rivalling that of an intense tempest.

Your eyes widen. It seems that you didn’t expect to be found out, but Childe has known you for long enough to be able to read your emotions. He’s spent an eternity exploring every nuance of your personality — every subtlety and every quirk, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And he loves every part of you.

That’s why he never fails to express his adoration whenever the opportunity is presented in evanescent moments like these. Although times like these sound like they’d be rare, they’re not when he’s by your side. Every second is filled with bliss, and despite the instances where azure skies are painted a dull grey and sapphire oceans turn tumultuous, he always knows that everything will be alright.

“I should have known,” he says. “You were just teasing me.”

Busted.

In less than a minute, your boyfriend has exposed all your plans, and you have no choice but to admit defeat.

“I was,” you admit, hanging your head.

Childe laughs, but once he settles down, he cups your chin in one hand and lifts your head to meet his gaze. With a surprising amount of tenderness, he closes the distance between your lips. Inch by inch.

You lean in as well. Time slows, and he forgets how to breathe. Even though he was the one who initiated the kiss, he finds you utterly enchanting. The beating of his heart speeds up, becoming erratic, desperate for the sensation of your soft lips pressed against his.

And then it happens. Although Childe had been looking for a verbal affirmation of love, this is even better. Fireworks seem to burst in the edges of his vision, painting the world in vivid shades of phosphorescent crimson and rose.

₊˚ପ CYNO

“Say it back. There’s no need to continue on with this prank of yours because cy-no you’re only joking,” he says. His voice is as monotone as ever, as tranquil as cerulean seas beneath a sky dotted with snowy white clouds.

His words provoke no response from you. You simply stare at him, too shocked to speak.

“Do you get it? Because Cyno is my name, and ‘cy’ sounds a little bit like ‘I’ while ‘no’ sounds like ‘know’.”

Cyno watches as your features scrunch in a twist of disbelief, embarrassment, and fear. He internally chuckles, secretly delighting in the adorable expression adorning your face.

Your reactions are always priceless, worth more than the most precious of gold and the most luxurious of diamonds. Because basking in the splendor of your smile is true opulence.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle, the embers of mischief within your eyes flickering, “you win. Please stop with the puns. I can’t take it anymore.” Your tone is playful, light.

The corners of Cyno’s lips turn up slightly as a smile graces his features. He’s well aware that your exasperation is feigned — nothing more than an exaggeration fabricated in order to tease him a little. Besides, if you didn’t like his sense of humour, you wouldn’t even be dating him right now.

“Victory is mine,” Cyno speaks triumphantly in a tone full of a hyperbolic sort of grandeur.

He feels light-hearted for the first time in a while, and it’s in that moment, that fraction of a second, that Cyno realizes something.

Your presence is liberating.

When he’s with you, he’s free from the troubles of daily life. With you, the responsibilities that go hand-in-hand with his status are put on hold, allowing him some time to truly experience what it’s like to be unburdened. With you, he’s not the General Mahamatra, one of the most renowned figures within Sumeru.

He’s just Cyno.

He feels his grin widen as he opens his mouth to speak once more.

“I love you,” he repeats his words from earlier, his tone one of pure adoration and bliss. The beating of his heart picks up, setting a new tempo that seems just right for the moment, a perfect backing for a myriad of silent declarations.

That seems to do the trick because you admit defeat without hesitation and utter the same words back with an extra one following in tandem.

“I love you too.”

₊˚ପ HEIZOU

“Oh? Do you not love me anymore?” Heizou confronts the problem head-on, feigning sadness. A smirk spreads across his face when he sees your confused expression, but he manages to erase it in an instant, deceiving even the eyes of his partner.

You should have known better than to play a prank of this sort on him. After all, Heizou’s always been one to turn your tricks against you.

As soon as your eyes widen and your jaw drops, Heizou knows that he’s won. To his relief, you don’t notice the way his verdant pools of peridot sparkle with mischief. You’re too absorbed in your panic to sense that anything is off.

He has to continuously stifle bouts of laughter. Heizou finds your reactions slightly too cute.

“N-No! I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurt out in a tone laced with desperation. “I’m sorry. I should have known that you would have noticed something was off. You’re always so perceptive,” you speak sheepishly, averting your gaze. “I just wanted to see how you’d react if I didn’t say it back…”

Heizou chuckles.

“You’re too cute, darling,” he muses, staring you straight in the eyes. “Fortunately for you, my intuition told me that you were just messing with me.”

You groan.

“Of course you figured it out,” you sigh.

Heizou can’t help but mentally agree. He’s already used to solving mysteries, and the fact that the two of you are so close doesn’t quite work to your advantage. Your boyfriend knows you like the back of his hand, and unfortunately for you, he enjoys the thrill of piecing together the puzzles you craft in an attempt to elicit reactions from him.

“I think I deserve a reward for cracking this case,” he says, pointing a finger at his lips.

When Heizou sees your eyes light up, glowing with the opalescent radiance of a nebula, he knows he’s about to get what he wants.

With one quick movement, you lean in nervously to place a shy kiss on Heizou’s lips, clearly still embarrassed by your failure. When you pull away, you take a few steps backwards before gazing deep into your boyfriend’s eyes. In that moment, Heizou realizes that the sentiments swirling through your irises — feelings embodied by the warm hues of a dying sunset — are nothing but sincere.

₊˚ପ KAZUHA

Kazuha knows you’re teasing him. From the subtle grin you’re trying to hide to the mischievous light dancing within your star-flecked irises, it’s not difficult to discern that you’re teasing him.

But despite everything, he decides to play along.

“I love you,” he repeats, gently taking your hand in his. He plants a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, a charming habit more than a calculated measure.

Kazuha glances up at you and smiles — a gentle expression that lights up your day with rays of golden sunshine. In a single flash, your cheekiness vanishes, and instead, an awestruck gaze paints itself across your face.

Kazuha suppresses a giggle. Far too often, he finds himself enamoured with you, especially when you’re flustered. He attempts to memorize the sight before him, engraving every dip and curve of your facial features into his memories.

You’re just far too endearing for him to resist, and besides, you’re his muse. Kazuha isn’t exactly sure how he knows it, but somehow, he’s certain that someday this moment will undergo a metamorphosis within a hall of crystallized memories, transforming from a fond recollection of the past to strings of eloquently phrased words — a haiku.

You look absolutely captivated by him, and although he didn’t intentionally try to send your heart into a frenzy of vivid daydreams and rose-tinted adoration, he’s glad you find him so attractive. A few seconds pass before you give in.

“I love you too,” you whisper breathlessly, grinning at Kazuha before leaving for the day. As soon as you’re out the door, Kazuha chuckles, eyes containing the essence of autumn mingling with a bright moonglow, swirling with amusement.

“I love you more.”

₊˚ପ SCARAMOUCHE

Scaramouche is confused, but he tries his best not to show it. He’s fairly certain that the two of you haven’t argued recently, so why is it that you’re not reciprocating his affections?

Although Scaramouche acts like he doesn’t care sometimes, he knows all your small habits. And as your lover, he finds it odd that you aren’t uttering those three powerful words back. That coupled with the fact that it’s rather difficult for him to express his feelings makes him desperate for a response.

“Are you forgetting something?” he grumbles, not wanting to seem too desperate. Deep down, his emotions cause whirlwinds of conflicting thoughts to swirl in his mind.

He watches as you blink — slowly, gradually as if you want to stretch seconds into eons. A frown etches itself into his forehead, and he feels irritation begin to overtake his heart. Storm clouds, tinted an ominous grey, overwhelm the ambience.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you shake your head.

“I don’t think so,” you tell him.

Scaramouche’s features twist into a pout, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. Yet at the same time, your boyfriend is embarrassed beyond measure. He feels his cheeks heating up, and he’s absolutely sure that shades of pink reminiscent of a sunrise have begun to dust his pale cheeks.

“Fine,” he breathes out, rolling his eyes and turning away. “Forget it. I’ll see you tonight.” Scaramouche tries to brush it off casually, attempting to erase the odd experience from memory.

He want nothing more than to hear you say those three words back, but he’s far too proud to admit it.

He nearly walks away before he feels a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Wait,” you say. “I was just kidding.”

Scaramouche groans. He turns around in order to face you.

“How irritating,” he sighs. He brushes his hair, silken strands spun of midnight, away from in front of his eyes. Scaramouche can’t believe you were able to sense his vulnerability.

You giggle upon seeing Scaramouche’s grumpy face.

“You owe me for this,” he states.

“I know,” you whisper, stepping closer to him and leaning in.

Scaramouche feels his breath hitch, and before he knows what’s happening, the sensation of your warm lips against his overwhelms his senses. Sparks fly in the edges of his vision, and soon enough, a passionate fire is set ablaze in a grand display of crimson elation.

Although you didn’t say anything in response when he told you he loved you, your wordless exchange of adoration speaks volumes.

I love you.

₊˚ପ XIAO

Xiao sucks in a quiet breath as you turn away from him. It’s not often that he expresses his affection verbally, and the fact that you’re barely responding to his declaration of love is unnerving.

He looks down, strands of seafoam obscuring his gaze, blocking eyes of honeyed amber from your line of sight. However, he raises his head after only a few seconds, attempting to ignore the feeling of unease creeping up on him, freezing his very being with a subtle chill. It’s barely there — a pain nowhere near the sting of a frostbite — yet it still eats away at him, reminding him again and again that something is wrong.

But although Xiao wants to ask you if anything’s bothering you or if he did something to upset you, he can’t. Translating his emotions into words feels far too difficult, especially because in all honestly, this situation is probably no big deal — or so he tells himself. Your nonchalance contrasts with his overthinking, causing doubt to well up within his mind.

In the end, he allows you to leave, wallowing within an aquamarine sea of thoughts. The world has been painted a watercolour blue. Although he refuses to admit it, melancholy overtakes Xiao’s heart, as he’s now both confused and lost.

Did he upset you?

The idea doesn’t seem too outlandish. Xiao’s never been good at interpreting emotions or expressing them, and it’s one of his greatest insecurities as your boyfriend. He’s gotten better over time, but there are times where he still worries about being too oblivious to your feelings.

Unfortunately for Xiao, you’re out for the day, so there’s plenty of time for negative thoughts to ruminate in his mind, festering until they reach the point of becoming a soulless black hole, draining every bit of confidence from him.

As the skies outside the glass windows of your shared home begin to tint with a rosy blush, and a golden light paints the world in shades of ephemeral warmth, Xiao becomes restless. You’ll be back any moment, and then, he’ll have to face you. Anticipation causes his heart to beat in a frenzy as the minute of your arrival approaches.

And sure enough, you return at the exact time you always do.

As soon as you walk through the door, Xiao walks over to greet you, gauging your reactions. When you see him, the corners of your lips turn up in an ethereal smile, and the rest of your face lights up.

Your delighted expression takes Xiao aback. He didn’t expect such a pleasant greeting after the events of this morning, but he brushes it off, allowing a grin to dance across his features in tandem, reciprocating your look of absolute adoration.

“I missed you,” he whispers, stepping closer to you in order to gently take your hand in his.

To assure himself that you’re here in the moment. That nothing’s wrong.

He sighs contently when you don’t pull away. The solace of your intertwined fingers is akin to the tidings of a viridescent spring after countless days of pure white dusting a panoramic landscape. It’s a breath of fresh air after eons spent hyperventilating in the frigidness of a crystallized wasteland, silently fading away amongst seas of sparkling snow.

Xiao can finally breathe again.

And when he laters asks why you didn’t return the three precious words he uttered under his breath earlier that day, as the sun had just begun bathing the world in aureate light, your answer causes his face to heat up.

It was nothing more than a prank.

disappearing back into my gremlin cave for another fifty years now!! thank you so much for reading!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #alhaitham x reader #childe x reader #cyno x reader #scaramouche x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #heizou x reader #albedo x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin fluff

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undercoverpena · 7 months

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comfort came against my will

gif credit to @perotovar

joel miller x f!reader summary: it’ll begin with a little beg, a whispered plea—fingers wrapping around his chin, mouth ghosting over his: Let me ride you, Miller.

word count: 1.8k warnings: smut, p in v, jo's spelling and poetic nature. dedication: happy birthday to my friend, @swiftispunk - i know you love Joel, and i hope you love this. special thanks to @perotovar for letting me use their beautiful GIF that inspired half of my imagery, if not all of it.

There’s something about heavy rainfall.

The way it’s cleansing, renewing—almost reinvigorating, depending on when the last time it fell.

Joel found that the only downside is the scent it leaves behind.

Once, a long time ago, it used to leave behind a smell that others wished to bottle—a wish to burn it in candles or hang cheap versions from their car’s centre mirror in haphazardly cut-out trees.

Now, it has an aroma that reminds him of death. A stench which has dug itself into the hairs in his nose, unwilling to let go—clinging, desperate not to be forgotten.

But, you like the rain.

He'll always find you near the window when it pours, eyes tracing the droplets. Your chair purposefully, and with all intentions, pointing to the muck-covered window. Nothing more perfect, you’d murmur—fingers wrapped around one of the crystal glasses the two of you discovered on a run, pressing it to your cheek, off-coloured liquid sloshing as you sigh.

He’s pretty sure he could name a few other things more perfect than rain, but he does find it hard to argue that it isn't the most perfect soundtrack when your thighs are on either side of him.

Especially when the weather is like this. Where a flash of lightning can illuminate you, casting you in a brief spotlight that kisses over your curves and the evidence of your survival.

Tonight, it begins with you draining your glass, turning your head, eyes shimmering as you move from your place, coming to join him on the bed.

Your fingers, both a little rough and soft, wrap around his chin, before a little beg, a whispered plea fills the air—mouth ghosting over his: Let me ride you, Miller.

He couldn’t argue, would never protest. But, your mouth stealing any words he wishes to say. Because he likes having you under him—pinned, close, unable to look anywhere but directly at him. For when you stare, you make everything else pale in comparison. Made the world around mute, it all fading to nought.

You do so with ease, with a single look. One he imagines has always been there, all very much you, even if the state of things has tried to steal it away. He can easily imagine a younger you modelling it, one without the stress lines of living, it all softer, gentler.

Joel doesn’t mind that isn't the case now. He doesn't care for gentle or soft. He likes how sharp you are, that you can cut, wound and make him bleed. He enjoys that, even if he doesn’t deserve anything from you, you stand side-by-side with him, choosing him—wanting and needing, all raised brow with a smirk to match.

If you listen, the rain is telling us something.

You're close to his ear as you mumble it, lips ghosting down his cheek before a clap of thunder steals the phantoms of your whispered echo.

His hands fan over your hips, pushing up one of his tees that you're wearing, sliding it up with his thumbs—feeling how your skin moves, shifts, lengthening over your muscles and bones. His mind busy, occupied, only thinking about how beautiful you are, even when drenched in darkness.

How you’re all untouched except the few scars, the nips and scratches left by those who wished to end you, but found that you weren’t so easy to dispose of.

Joel knows that you’re vicious, all sharp teeth and a menace with a knife many shouldn’t ever want to meet in a dark alley, not that the world has cottoned on. Each try, each fail. He often watches, in awe, pleased, because you're like him. So smooth in the way you're prepared to split someone open, coat your boots in their ichor as the rest of them spill out. Leaving him, often, battling his feelings at the sight.

But while he knows that side of you, Joel also knows the other you.

The one who still believes the rain is romantic. A soul who wishes for a pretty print on a dress, even if you'll only wear it in the four walls of the place you two share. Modelling it for him, dipping your toe into a fantasy with him. You also like the little things, such as a pair of matching glasses, enjoying that they belong together, a metaphor for something you clearly desperately crave.

If he were an honest man, one not ripped to shreds and put together all wrong, he’d tell you you’re a more perfect sight than rain. Not just when you’re sitting on top of him or when you’re under him; not just when you’re panting, venom in your eyes and splattered with cherry-red. But, when you’re just beside him.

Breathing, existing, sleeping.

He’d tell you that you’re an image perfectly cut out of an old version of his happy ever after, slapped down and glued beside him now, even when he’s all tragedy and tragic. That your darkness dances with his faultlessly—making him less alone.

That for you, he’d want to be better, which included letting you go—even if you’re pulling him close—because a man such as him, with hands stained and scarred with horrors, shouldn’t get to touch smeared perfection. That you’re not really poisoned or rotten, just living, fighting—claws digging into the soil, all desperate for another moment.

It’s why he lets you have your fun, and then he flips you under him, palm to your cheek, stare burning into yours.

What’s it tryin’ to tell us? The rain.

You fit him inside of you perfectly—just like you’ve fitted yourself in his space. You’re all knotted around him, heat warm—inviting. Your thighs pressing close, legs crossing behind him, aiding, helping.

Not because you don’t think he’d get you there, but because you’re conscientious, caring—it appears in smaller gestures others wouldn’t notice, but he sees them. Bottles them. Keep them close when you’re not beside him.

Not that he shows it.

Unsure once again, for the billionth time since you stood beside him (and never left), what you see in him—what you think he can give you. Because he’s old, worn, somewhat broken beyond repair—not that it stops you from trying.

“More, Joel. Please.”

You don’t call him pet names, but he hears them in the silence.

They quiver and talk in hushed voices in the kitchen that is covered in grime and not fit for a beauty such as yourself. Some even sprout on his tongue, a fresh seedling, all untouched and unruined—not yet weeded from his throat.

He finds it harder to not let them fall when you sound as pretty as you do. When your nails press half-moons into his skin, leaving a tale of your own in his forearms and biceps, meeting him with everything you have as your walls tighten, delightfully, a match made in hell—because heaven would never allow him. Or you now, he supposes.

It’s why his thumb slides between the two of you, licked with his spit, mixing with the slick against your swollen clit. You gasp, spraying sweetness around the air that's heavy-layered with sex.

He’s forever starving, never quenched—a need for you that runs deeper than mere living and existing. Not ever able to purge you from his system, never wanting to either. Because you’re entangled with him, rooted, anchored inside of him so you can bob along and never go under.

Not that he’d let you.

Joel would never.

His hips punctuate that sentiment. Wanting you to know it, driving them in, so the words don’t go in one ear and out the other. He aims to stamp them in you, fuck them so deep into you you’ll never forget. The sound of skin on skin, groan and grunt, all filling the space, evidence of his determination, swirling around your returning breath, still moaning, murmuring—all scratchy and rough.

“—Let go, Joel. Fill me.”

It rips from him, your name.

Each letter is important, each sound giving the attention it deserves as it coats the air—mouth finding the space between your ear and neck, kissing, teeth nipping.

“Stuff me full.”

The rain hammers heavier, beating its fists against the glass as though it’ll only calm when he does as you’ve asked. As though you and nature are tied together, bonded—the real pairing made in paradise.

It’s then your lips find his, sloppy, messy, all uncoordinated. He can taste the bitterness of your drink on your tongue and the pleasure he’d given you. His mouth lapping it up, licking into yours, tongue far past your teeth as he grips you a little tighter, ruts into you a little deeper—as if hoping there’s more of you to explore, more vastness he can leave a mark on.

It's muffled, but you cut the air with his name as if your tongue is a blade. Your body tightens, mouth ripped from his as you bare your throat, chin lifted, eyes closed as it washes over you and your walls become a vice, hugging his cock in a way no one else ever has.

He's close.

So close.

Another flash, it all bright, exposing the sweat collected on your skin, the path it has made between your breastbone, the way your body looks under him.

Then it’s electric, ripping through him as he stains, writing you’re his all in thick ropes of white—his hips stuttering, slowing, riding it out what it is you do to him. It’s a feeling akin to being folded inside out and then put back again—making his muscles tense and relax, his bones forget they ache, as his throat burns with the force of his exclamation.

It’s minutes, little seconds clumping up until an expanse of time collects, and he’s ready to leave the space between your thighs.

Your eyes on him, all unwavering, mapping his features as though you’re an artist, ready to make him into a sculpture.

He doesn’t tell you to stop, he's learnt his lesson from doing as such—eyes ablaze, full of molten, words sharp as ice, all a twisted juxtaposition as you lay into him all the ways you were, are and am enamoured by him.

He’s sure his list is longer, but he swallowed that, too.

Joel had just nodded, left you angry for half an evening until his arms wrapped around you, and he felt you melt, less lava and more a candle-lit flame licking at him until he took you to bed.

Even if a scrap of time has passed since then, Joel is still no closer to finding himself comfortable with the look—the one he suspects comes with words. Ones you don’t thankfully spill, but ones he would mean just as much if he really asked himself.

It isn’t until you tap him, that he moves. You’re more nimble, quicker on your feet to fetch a rag to clean yourself and then him. Each touch delicate, your stare concentrated before the cloth is cast to some corner—a thing you’ll move and clean tomorrow.

And then, you’re beside him, finding the place you usually choose—all intentional, willingly given—as his arm finds itself around you. A flash of lightning displaying the two of your shadows pressed together, merged in ways the two of your souls are.

Swallowing, he finds your stare is back on the window, the world outside painting its own version of a masterpiece.

“Y’never said what the rain’s telling us.”

You smile, before you lift up your chin, looking at him through your brows. “Just stories. The rain likes to tell stories.”

an: ily, han.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #joel miller smut #pedrostories

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ventiswampwater · 7 months

Text

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where’d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

#I FINALLY finished this shit. it's horrific. tysm for coming there are drinks n snacks @ the door #we're goin back 2 ambrose I'm sorry 2 say #and our first stop? oh. just down these stairs #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher community #x reader #my fics #in his basement like damn bitch u live like this #shit is dis cos tang #r/malelivingspace for fuckin real #I've stared @ these bingo bongo ass words for far too long. so I'm sure there's errors. but I will fix them when BRAINCELL lmao

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pullingyourstrings · 1 year

Text

Headcanon: Eddie Munson is a menace as a boyfriend. Here's a few things he definitely does:

• Turns off the bedroom lights and leave you in the dark because he thinks it's funny to hear you shriek.

• Flirts with you in public while pretending not to know you.

• Calls you in the middle of the night to ask the most unhinged questions that are really not important and could definitely wait until morning.

• Pretends to give you a massage only to attack you with tickles.

• When you're crouching on the ground he'll tip you over so you loose balance and fall.

• If you have long hair he'll steal all your scrunchies and hairclips.

• Uses all your beauty products and denies it later. "What do you mean?! I smell nice like this naturally, thank you very much"

• Doesn't order food for himself because "he's not hungry" but the second your food arrives at the table, he's picking on your plate. Eats the last fries everytime.

• Tries to bribe you into doing things for him because he's lazy. "If you roll this joint for me I'll wash the dishes later, I promise" He did not, in fact, wash the dishes later.

• Turns off the videogame before saving when you win because he's a sore loser.

• Likes playing footsies with you. It never ends well because he's competitive and kicks you too hard at some point. Feels bad and apologizes later though.

• Starts food fights whenever you cook together. He promises he won't, but still does it everytime.

• Makes up silly little songs about everyday activities and sings them to you all the time.

• Tries to carry/manhandle you and fails miserably. Trips over himself while holding you bridal style and drops you.

NSFW (ish?) ⚠️

• Slaps your butt when you're going upstairs in front of him.

• Steals your underwear. Don't ask.

• Playfully talks to your genitals like it's a separate being, gives it a cute name and everything.

• Teases you in public, whispering naughty things in your ear.

• Also likes to come up behind you on stores/supermarkets and get very close, so close your back is pressed against him, only to reach for something in front of you and leave.

• Smirks when he leaves you flustered. "Aw, are you blushing baby?" Fucking idiot.

• Teases you about your kinks. Not in a mean way, just an annoying way. "Look babe! You like those!" while pointing at something that involves it. Does it in public too just to see you get embarrassed.

• Loves licking and biting you for no reason. If he sees any parts of your skin exposed? He will lick and bite you, be prepared.

• Won't stop talking during sex. You have to kiss him or make him suck on your fingers because he just won't shut up. It's not even dirty talk either, he's just rambling away because his brain stopped working.

• Blows raspberries on your tummy and thighs during sexy times. Yes you've asked him to stop multiple times. No he absolutely won't stop because he likes hearing you giggle. Somehow it doesn't ruin the mood.

#I'll add to this post when I think of more things lol!#if you have any headcanons like these and you want to share pls send me an ask #I'll add them too!#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson headcanons #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie x gn!reader #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things 4 #no thoughts only eddie

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chokochip27 · 1 year

Text

SHU YAMINO X READER

blurting out his true feelings by accident

you just looked so beautiful.

your eyes shone the brightest when you looked at the fireworks that you two lit up together near the house.

you were already so beautiful to him, yet... right now, he was just in awe of your everything. in awe of your beauty, of who you are, and just... you.

his heart skipped a beat when you turned to him, smile bright as you showed off your lighting fireworks that you twirled around. the way your childishness showed without any constraint endeared him.

everything that you do is so naturally you that he couldn't hide the feelings he had inside him. he no longer could repress the feelings he was having for you.

he stood up, confusing you, who was just skipping and dancing around unknowingly. the curves of your mouth and your eyes turned upwards, and much to your confusion, shu stared at you, gaze glossy and amethyst orbs shining in an emotion you couldn't decipher.

"shu?" you approached him, worried. you have never seen him look so apprehensive. "is there something wro—?"

"i love you."

"eh?"

blankness was the only thing you could feel right now. realization hit you after a few seconds and you snapped back to reality. you could feel your heart beating five times faster than usual. your cheeks were so hot that you're worried about yourself having a fever. you stared at him, eyes so wide, stunned and puzzled.

"...huh?"

shu pursed his lips and looked at you in the eye. without even a moment of hesitation, a tight smile appeared on his face as he continued, "i love you. i love you... so... so much." his lips trembled as he continued, "i'm sorry for being so selfish. i'm sorry for blurting out these feelings of mine without even considering you first. but... i really wanted to say it." he looked troubled, a little panicked even. he scratched the back of his head, smile boyish and sheepish.

"i just... i'm sorry... you were so mesmerizing. your eyes, your smile, your everything... just you..." you jaw was on the ground. you have never heard your usually reserved friend talk so much, much less about his feelings. your heart shook against your chest over and over again as he continued looking at you with that gaze. "i... just... can't help but say i love you."

he flinched and bowed his head at your silence. "i'm so sorry if i'm being selfish. if you feel uncomfortable, you can tell me to leave or you can leave me here if you want to."

a loving smile painted your lips.

why was he calling himself selfish when it was such a normal thing to express one's emotions? you chuckled, confusing the poor boy. my, he was and is always so kind and thoughtful of others, never failing to prioritize other people before himself.

"shu?"

"yes?"

"my shuey-shu."

"yes?" shu responded as normal as always, but when he realized what you called him, he blushed and stared at you with wide eyes. "yes...?!"

"did you know...?" you grinned. "i love you, too!"

he gasped, hands clenching into fists behind his back. "really?!" he leaned a little forward towards you. he noticed how high his tone was and softened. "really...?" he mumbled, hopeful for your response.

you nodded, softly responding, "really." you reached out to him, stopping before you could touch his face. "can i touch you?"

shu's stomach soared with butterflies. this was one of the reasons why he was so in love with you. he grabbed your hand, placing it on his cheek and leaning towards it. he nodded vigorously, closing his eyes at your warmth. "yes... yes, of course. as long and as many times as you want."

the way your (e/c) eyes softened at him in genuine adoration and love made him think how lucky he was to have his feelings returned so wholeheartedly. his heart almost leaped out from his chest when you caressed his cheek so gently and affectionately. he could feel your love radiating from just a single touch. he wanted to cry. he wanted to shout out to the whole world how much he loved you. how incredibly lucky he was to simply have you by his side.

he... just... he just wanted you.

"this is a dream, right?" he muttered.

your eyes fluttered in confusion before you chuckled at him. "no, it isn't. we're here, shu. i'll repeat it over and over again." you cupped his cheeks, smiling. "i love you. i love you. i love you so much. i love you... as you are."

shu stared at you, gaping. he closed his mouth, shook his head and opened his arms. "can i... can i hug you?"

"of course."

he has never done something so quick in his life. as soon as he got the permission, he wrapped his arms around you, fingers tightening on your clothes. he gazed at you and laughed. he placed his forehead on yours, nuzzling onto it.

"i love you."

you gazed at him before smiling and returning his embrace.

"i love you, too."

- - -

note: this is my first time writing here, so apologies if it seems bad, lmao. also i am a yaminion thirsting for fluff, so here i am! i might do other stuff like haikyuu, genshin impact, bnha and such. but i think i'll focus more on luxiem since i just want to give them all the love they deserve.

hope y'all enjoyed this! sending lots of love!

#shu yamino #nijisanji #luxiem #luxiem x reader #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino x y/n #fluff #love #romance #confessions #soft #shu #vtuber

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a-crumb-of-whump · 6 months

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ANB Drabble: Yearly Changes

ANB Masterlist | Comfortember 2023 Masterlist | @comfortember

~ Comfortember | Day 3: Leaves Changing ~

Content: Vampire whumpee, multiple caretakers, [mentioned] torture, recovery, past pet whump, pet whumpee.

Carlos couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside purely to enjoy the scenery and everything that mother nature had to offer. Now, he got to do that with the full moon shining over him and during the peak of Autumn, when the trees were slowly losing their leaves and the ground in Ryker and Adam’s backyard was covered in a blanket of every shade of orange imaginable.

“This happens every year?” the vampire asked in hushed awe as he knelt down on the grass. Ryker and Adam stood behind him on the last step of the back deck, unable to help their smiles.

“Every year,” Ryker confirmed. “It’s Murphy's favourite season, solely because it means he gets to bowl through every pile of leaves he sees.”

Adam snorted. “Found that out the hard way.”

As if on cue, Murphy suddenly appeared from the gap at the side of the house, running at full speed towards the three men as if he’d only just realised they were there. Carlos grinned and rushed to gather up a small pile of leaves before crawling towards the house a little ways.

And before they knew it, the dog had barreled his way through the pile as if it were nothing, effectively spreading them everywhere all over again in a way that made Carlos laugh. It was by far one of the nicest sounds Ryker ever got to hear these days. Pure, genuine laughter from anyone was beautiful to him but there was something about hearing Carlos’ that never failed to make him smile until his cheeks hurt.

“I think Autumn may be my favourite season, too,” he commented as he picked up a few of his favourite leaves. “Nature is so beautiful this time of year. I never got to appreciate it as a pet, but… it’s all I can do, now.”

He looked up upon hearing two sets of feet stepping onto the grass. Ryker and Adam were both coming to sit down on either side of him, and as soon as they were seated Ryker pressed his head into the vampire’s shoulder.

“You’re always welcome to come sit outside in the evenings,” he assured him, instinctively shutting his eyes the moment Carlos rested the side of his face against his head. “Not all of them will be this pleasant, though. It’s supposed to get really windy and cold over the next few days.”

A small hum. “I prefer that to the really warm days. At least I can still enjoy it from inside. I don’t feel safe when it’s hot, even if the sun is gone.”

“I don’t blame you,” Adam chimed in. “I can’t imagine the horrors you’ve been through where the sun is concerned. At least you know that we’ll never do anything like that to you.”

To Ryker’s relief, Carlos gave Adam a smile and nodded. “Yes, sir."

Comfortember 2023 Taglist: @topsheepstudent

ANB Taglist: @choppedflowermuffinchild @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @lumariane @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @paniatheweirdone @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @whumpdreamz

#whump #anb stuff #comfortember 2023 #whump stuff #whump things #whump thoughts #whump tropes #recovery whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee

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dysconymph · 4 months

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The Boy and the Heron - Review

There’s a kind of joyous expectation many of us feel towards watching any new Hayao Miyazaki film. A nostalgia for those fairy-tale narratives abound with child-like wonder. This is what I was gearing up for when I went to see The Boy and the Heron - a box of tissues ready to hand. The beginning of the film sets you up perfectly for this. Some of the most beautiful animation pulls at the heartstrings as we see a young boy, our Protagonist Mahito, facing the death of his mother: the rough, drawn out style of the artwork heightens Mahito’s desperation as he runs through crowded Tokyo streets, emphasising the chaos and confusion around him. Moving to the countryside during the second world war, meeting his father’s new wife, the pace of the film drops dramatically. We get a languid, sensual, slow cinema marking the boy’s grief. Moreover, the introduction of the titular heron is done with such mythic grace that one is immediately spell bound by the power and horror of it.

Miyazaki films famously lean into the dual nature of traditional childhood fairy tales. Being at once moving and gentle whilst also leaning into darker topics: death, loneliness, fear, environmental collapse. Despite this common feature, this new Miyazaki film seems to be more mature in pace and style, darker even. The voice of the Heron aping Mahito’s mother, taunting him, is so horrifying I was shaken out of my initial ‘ghibli giddiness’ - falling deeper and deeper into the promise of this new twisted fantasy. However, the rest of the film fails to live up to this promise.

In a typical hero’s journey, Mahito falls into a fantastical world (the afterlife? The spirit-world? The psyche? Who knows), saturated with a large cast of mind-bending characters. However, none of them are particularly well developed, if at all, and as a result it’s hard to find any emotional claim or hook to the narrative. In other ghibli films, the twisting, oneiric storylines offer us a close examination of the main characters’ fears and anxieties (Spirited Away); their sense of duties (Princess Mononoke); their pleasures (Ponyo) etc. However, in The Boy and the Heron, characters come and go with a light hand, scraping the surface just enough to keep the bizarre story going. Half way through the movie I couldn’t even keep up with what was meant to be going on, what was necessary to the plot and most importantly what was at stake.

To some degree, in hindsight, this kind of light-handed, floating quality to the film makes sense to the themes of grief and loss. It feels almost as if Miyazaki himself was in some kind of lethargic slumber whilst making the film - unable to connect and ultimately commit to the verisimilitude of the fantasy world he has built. The Boy and the Heron becomes a series of beautifully crafted shots that never fully hit. Events pass the characters by with such little emotional investment that even the climax feels rushed and uncared for. As mentioned, maybe this is the point. The film doesn’t give us any revelation or catharsis, perhaps the most accurate depiction of how we move on from grief, but it also comes off as under-developped and inchoate. You’re constantly waiting for the penny to drop: for the world to fully invite you in and leave you wondering in that ghibli-esque state of awe.

At the end of the day, a Miyazaki film will always be a masterpiece - even at its worst it rises above the rest. However, I wonder if I’m being dense, if maybe my inability to connect says more about me than the film, if maybe I set myself up to fail by expecting something more. But there was something in the beginning of the film: a dark, horrific splendour, one that I wish had been more consistent in the rest of the film.

#the boy and the heron #studio ghibli #movie review #movies #films #anime #animation #ghibli movie #hayao miyazaki

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scarletwritesshit · 6 months

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🪴 Argenti x Potted Plant 🪴 I Promise to Never Leaf You

His dramatic, flamboyant self-welcoming party onto the Astral Express was rather short-lived. The idea of Argenti’s sharp eye for anyone and anything beautiful never failing him could be argued in this case, as his attention was captured not by the lovely, pure-of-heart woman, but rather, a simple potted plant that was tended to as a reminder of solid earth. Unable to resist the sight before him, he ran over to it as fast, yet surprisingly graceful, as a man of his build could.

"My, what a splendid beauty," Argenti said, cupping one of the potted plant’s many leaves. "I have never quite seen anything like this...something that could ignite such a mysterious warm feeling in me..."

He trailed his finger along the many leaves branching off of its stem, taking his sweet time to feel every little bump and vein on his fingertip. His eyes glistened with awe at how full its foliage was, and its healthy green color only filled him with more heart-racing excitement.

Running each individual leaf through his fingers, Argenti could not stop admiring how flawless the plant was, observing not a single blemish or imperfection. He wanted to knead each individual leaf through his fingers so that he could truly feel its bountiful health connect with his very soul, though he had to do so very gently, careful as to not harm the plant in any way.

He longed for something that only this potted plant had to offer, something that no human, Vidyadhara, or Foxian man or woman could provide; a truly pure, beautiful heart. This plant had no conscious thoughts, as it was built merely for its own individual survival and for the propagation of species. It did not worry about its self-image, nor was it concerned with the perspective of others. Perhaps the plant’s beauty lied in its ignorance, attracting Argenti to a living being so pure, that it made him feel like he was in the presence of the Aeon of Beauty itself. One might argue that this plant was personification of Idrila tugging on his heartstrings and intertwining their destinies into a singular united path. To think that what he had been searching for his entire life was on the Astral Express of all places, but in our boundless universe, the nooks and crannies where surprises are tucked away from the naked eye are infinite in number.

He gently lifted up a hardy looking leaf to his mouth and began to tenderly nuzzle it. The brushing of every individual vein felt like a goddess was lovingly stroking his face, satisfying the craving for touch so deeply rooted within him.

"It’s like you have the touch of an angel..." he whispered into the plant, closing his eyes and losing himself in its tender leaves.

How he so desperately wished to tightly embrace the plant, but the fragility of its leaves made that too much of a risk to take. The pot was there and solid, sure, but it would not satisfy his craving of feeling each and every leaf brush against his body.

Such a tease, this plant was. Its natural beauty was so tempting to Argenti, yet he could not indulge himself for fear of blemishing its exemplary appearance. If he were any less of the man he was, he would free himself from his mental shackles and satisfy his urges to be bathed in the glory of this immaculate potted plant. But no, Argenti had to restrain himself, as tense as his body might become from his feeble attempts at resisting his growing urges. He wanted, no, he needed to get as close to the plant as possible. He needed to feel it as much as he physically could, and he needed to completely indulge himself in his newfound love.

It wasn’t just respect for this plant’s well-being that held him back, but respect out of the rest of the Express. He could sneak the plant out of general view for a little bit of private time, but wouldn’t the crew notice if it has gone missing? And a plant of this size is rather difficult to smuggle in the first place, and with all eyes currently judgmentally on him, he doubts that he will be able to slip it by like this.

Argenti turned around in a fleeting hope that perhaps the crew had left him in the lonesome comfort of his earthly beloved, but they must’ve been shooting him disturbed glances for an uncomfortably long time. If only they could understand - or perhaps they refused to - the longing he had for this gorgeous plant. He turned back around, saddened by his unfortunate situation and tears beginning to form in his eyes.

"My dear...if only you were aware of how beautiful you truly were," he whispered softly. "Alas, communicating my appreciation for you is all but simple, and I fear that I can only offer you this simple parting gift for the time being."

Completely ignoring his disturbed onlookers, Argenti gently pressed his lips against the leaf he held in his hand, restraining himself from going too far, lest he damages the plant by allowing his desires to take over his consciousness. Briefly grazing the tip of his tongue over its slick leaves was too little to fully please him, though allowing himself too much would feel no better than an intoxicating drug.

He bid his lovely partner farewell one more time, but this was a farewell that wasn’t going to last forever.

#argenti #honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #argenti x potted plant #plangenti #i hate myself

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actualbird · 2 months

Note

Of course your writing is highly influential!!! They are the backbone of my thinking sometimes hehe

Some excerpts that particularly remind me how you’ve influenced me:

About the nature of his guilt - “The mere thought of her brought him so much joy. The least he could have done was protect her somehow. Reach out somehow. In Luke's mind, such is the gulf between she who is everything to him and he who has failed to be anything to her. If he is so awful at being even her best friend, then why should he deem himself a worthy lover?”

About the Radiant Sunlight card - “The card shows that Luke tends to think "I will choose to leave because we will part. In due time, the happy memories we made will become stark reminders of all the time we never got to spend, so it is better to never make such memories in the first place." In direct contrast to Luke, here Rosa's beliefs essentially mean "I choose to stay with you not despite knowing we will part, but because I know we will part. I will always choose to gather as much of you into my arms before then." If Luke doesn't marry Rosa I will”

About the 1st Anniversary SSR card - “"I pray you gaze upon my visage - all my devotion and loyalty, all my cowardice and fear. I pray I surrender myself to you and find you gathering the whole of me into your arms." (he doesn't say that I just made that up as an apt summary of his intentions). of course she loves the music box. of course she holds him tight.”

irt last night's anon that wrote 4k words on luke pearce

gODDDD THIS IS ALL SO GOOD, I APPROVE I APPROVE!!! i can see a lot of what ive talked about in my previous analyses in these and it makes me so giddy that it's informed your own thoughts and opinions like eeeEEE THATS DELIGHTFUL TO ME ;w;

this has gotta be my favorite part from the excerpts u sent "If Luke doesn't marry Rosa I will" REAL. and i mean this genuinely because rosa's outlook is always one that cherishes the present and cherishes hope, it's such a beautiful outlook that directly combats luke's pessimistic nature. it's an outlook that says "this matters. the time we get together matters, even if it has to end one day"

check out how hard i can cry PSSSHSHHHHHWHWWHWW

lukerosa just hits me in the feels so good....

thank u for sharing parts of ur 4k masterpiece, anon!!

#asks #anon #THE LUKEROSA WHEN THEY....AUUUGGHHHH

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presleyhearted · 1 year

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Yours Truly - Chapter 11: If I Whisper

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 7.5k (sorry!)

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. very angsty, but a lot of fluff too. But mostly angst.

chapter index | prev | chapter 12

"That guy with tears in his eyes and ghosts in his heart. He loved her, and you could see it." - Jamie Tworkowski

NOVA

Our footsteps brushed against the sidewalk, effectively resounding into the quietness of the desolate street. Boutiques, stores, and diners all wore the similar 'WE ARE CLOSED' sign on their doors. Unattended vehicles were fairly scattered, sitting empty along the curb. The night sky was void of the earlier presence of the sun, and in its place was the glow of the moon accompanied by the blanket of what I could only guess was an infinite of stars. To aid in fighting the inevitable darkness of nature, street lamps echoed circular bursts of light. One of which reflected perfectly on the man beside me, and I find myself gasping quietly. The blend of the natural and the artificial forms of light elevated his appearance. It may seem cliche to think, but I truly cannot believe how unreal he looks.

No wonder all those people have emphasised how even more gorgeous he was in real life, and how photos simply did not do him justice. I understand the chaos now, a chaos with reason. It makes me want to snap a photo of him, a way to mark a moment forever before it slips through my fingers like leaves in the wind. Not only because of his outer beauty, but this odd setting he is in. Someone such as himself, you see him in many photos always surrounded by a mass crowd of people. Always. Even in photos when it's only him alone - no, this is different. The Elvis that I see beside me is in such an open space, walking freely and it's so quiet, so unusual, so human.

But snapping a photo only holds possible in the real world, not in the dream world.

I attempt to shake myself out of my reverie, but it seems as if he has caught me and not even a second later, his lips quirk up into a smirk as he fully faces me now.

"Doll?" He says, a petname that so effortlessly rolls off his tongue, and my mind openly welcomes.

"I-I'm sorry. . . what were you saying?" I sputter out, hardly saving myself from his inevitable teasing response that I know he is bound to say.

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Am I boring you already, honey?" He teases.

In previous encounters with him, I would be apologising right away. But now I know him slightly better, I have become accustomed with Elvis' playful attitude. A direct contrast from the seriousness that I wear all the time.

I choose to play along and frantically nod, "Oh no, you've caught me, Aaron." I say, purposely dramatising my tone.

Elvis draws out a long, exaggerated sigh, "I guess I'll call a taxi and we say our farewells, Katerina." He looks down, giving the performance of a lifetime.

"Such a shame, the dance moves at the reception was a showstopper." I mused.

He slowly lifts his head back up and gazes at me, those deep blue eyes never failing to make me loose my balance just the slightest bit. He mirrors the smile spreading across my lips and shakes his head again, an unmistakable shade of red coloring his face. I couldn't help myself, and laughter escapes me inevitably.

Elvis groans, as he closes his eyes in embarrassment, "Aw, hell. Don't remind me!"

"Why not? You looked so cute."

As per any wedding reception, there is always the part where everyone stands up and go to the dance floor. Surprisingly, when others ushered Elvis to dance, I saw that hesitation in him and how quickly he declined the offer. Well, he couldn't entirely escape it and found himself joining in after all, but his body was almost awkward. I did find myself laughing at how adorable he looked, as he seemed to be mumbling something to himself the entire time - probably disbelief in himself that he is in that situation.

He opens his eyes and gazes me for a second, and not long after releasing a laughter of his own.

"I'm glad that you find joy in my misery," He says, the lightness in his tone proving that he is only joking.

I shake my head with an involuntarily smile pulling on my lips, "Your words, not mine." I throw many hands up in defence. Although it is only lighthearted joking around, I cannot help but recall his initial reaction when I brought it up. I don't want to loose myself in another train of thoughts, another one in which that I know he'll surely snap me out of. I seem to always find myself zoning out, and I've done it an embarrassing number of times already - I don't want him to think that I'm not paying attention to him. Zoning out and being too in my head, it's such a bad habit of mine, one that I know I'll definitely need to break.

So, I let my curiosity slip out my brain and into our topic of conversation.

"No, but really. I just didn't expect to see you like that at all." I admit, attempting to phrase my words out in a clear way, slightly hoping that he catches what I'm trying to say.

Elvis tilts his head and glances briefly at me, "Like what, doll?" His voice purely confused at my words.

"So hesitant to dance. I mean, from the videos I've seen of you performing. . . you always looked so confident and in your element. " I explain further, noticing myself use my hands to emphasise my words. Another habit of mine - I tend to talk with my hands, as if I'm in a theatrical piece, whereby every bit of dialogue involves gestures.

He sighs and for a moment I regret my words, but a small, shy smile appears on his face which eases my worries.

"When I'm on stage as Elvis Presley, my body can feel the music and just move. B-But me just as me, getting up to dance . . . I-It ain't easy." He shakes his head, his words slow and a slight stutter that I've never heard before from him. His azure eyes look into me, as if silently searching for assurance that I'm listening, as if there is a time limit hanging above my head indicating my patience. A patience that I truly know is insurmountable when it comes to him. It's the veins of curiosity that twists itself so easily around the human nature of: yes, I am listening, and I want to hear more about you. Please keep talking.

To my relief, he continues.

"I-I was a pretty shy kid. . . never sang in front of an audience, or anyone before that day I decided to. Never the popular one in school." His forehead knots, and I can almost see his brain reaching through the files of memories past. I don't fail to notice that for each word that he utters out of his mouth, his eyes would flicker briefly to my face and then he would continue.

I find myself gaping in disbelief as his confession, "Shy?"

He nods and chuckles, as he scratches the nape of his neck.

"That hard to believe, huh?" He says.

I nod, "Honestly, yeah. At first glance of your performances, no one would think that you are a shy. How did you break out of your shell?"

"I did for my mama. She believe in my singing and I always believed her. I took my best shot with it, and found it helped with getting my family out of poverty. It was all for them." He says, his voice quieter now, a softer tone. A tone that was such a shift from the confident and playful man that shows himself to me these past few encounters. Instead, with Elvis' eyes casted off into a distance, his tone is a glimpse of that little boy who wanted to help his family. The little boy who found a passion in music. The little boy who dreamed.

A pinch into my heart was evident. So selfless to take on such a huge responsibility at such a young age, and by his choice as well. He has always been a kind soul, and I'm grateful that the movie explored the humanity of him. . . but I wished they explored more of this.

"I'm happy you took the step. Your voice. . . the world deserved to hear it, and I'm glad that in exchange, you've got to help your family have a better life." I say, and refrain myself from saying but you also deserved to live longer.

Elvis faces me now, and I realise that we've stopped walking. We stand still, facing each other and the light from the street lamp reflects on his features so perfectly. His high cheekbones so prominent, along with the sharp jawline. The Elvis before me is his appearance from the late '60s I would say. It's strange, in each dream that I have, he is there. But it's always different versions of him. So far, it's been mostly '50s Elvis and now lately, it's been '60s Elvis. But then again, why would I question this when the entire situation is even more of a question mark itself.

Elvis smiles, "Yeah, It made me real happy to do that for them. Thank you for listening, Nova." He says softly, sincerity echoes through his face. Both of his hands reach out and clasped into mine. I smile at him, as I find myself gently squeezing his hands in reassurance.

A strong gust of wind fills the surroundings, its effect not going unnoticed by my bare arms. I shiver instinctively. Elvis quickly notices this, and takes his suit jacket off without a moment's hesitation, carefully draping it around my shoulders. I loop my arms into the sleeves, although it probably looks a little big on me.I feel my cheeks heat up at his close proximity, the scent of his cologne evade my senses strongly.

"Thanks." I manage to say, in a quiet voice.

"What kind of guy would I be if I let my girl freeze in this cold?" He grinned.

My girl.

I hear a distant sound of chimming and it happens again. I furrow my eyebrows, racking my brain to decipher what that could be. I look around our surroundings quizzically.

I know now. It's almost like a sound of a clock chime.

"Did you hear that?" I ask him.

Elvis' eyes widen slightly in what I can understand must be him thinking if there is any danger lurking by. He clears his throat and takes my right hand in his left, tucking both of our hands into his pocket. His body faces forward, the way it was when we were walking.

"I-It's getting colder, let's go." He simply says, his eyes removed from my gaze.

Before I could say anything else, he is hurried in his walking as he tugs me along with him.

"It sounded like a clock chime," I say, as his walk picks up in speed and turns into a run. I try to keep up with him, his hand tightly holding onto mine.

I'm unsure if he heard me.

It seems I have been proven wrong. Every other building on the street is closed, except for one. It just happens to be Miss Esther's cafe. It doesn't go unnoticed by me that there is no one else in the cafe, and why would there be really? it seems so late into the night, which does beg the question on why keep a cafe open at this hour? Such an odd thing my brain is creating for this dream.

Well, no one but Miss Esther herself who welcomed us with open arms. Literally. The friendly lady was quick on her feet to draw us both in a tight hug, and an enthusiastic smile upon seeing us both again. We both order hot cups of coffee, which brings us to the moment that we are right now. Elvis and I sat at a table right in the corner, which is safe to say the best choice as the warmth of the place quickly dissipated the cold temperatures of the outside. Unlike the previous time, the lights of the cafe were dimmed - a true indication that it is in fact the night hours.

"Thank goodness for this place, it got so cold so quickly." I say, as I take a sip from the mug of the hot beverage in my hands. It's taste and warmth, perfectly melting into my throat.

Elvis nods, "I second that."

Elvis places his coffee mug down and leans forward, "Another one crossed off your list? How are you feeling, baby?" He grins, that familiar southern drawl in his voice.

baby.

To save myself from dwelling on his close proximity, I attempt to subtly lean back against my chair to answer his question. Although the crashing of the wedding reception happened in my previous dream, it still astounds me to no end that I truly did that. At the start of this dream, I found myself walking with Elvis. Both of us still wearing the attire that we wore for the wedding reception. After waking up from the previous dream, my mind cannot help but replay how even in the crowded room full of people at the reception, his attention was on me and he kept asking me if I was okay. Yes, he pushes me to be braver, to try the unknown. But at the same time, he knows how set I am in my ways and reads me so well - easily seeing if I'm overwhelmed or not.

"It said 'party' on my list. Not wedding." I smile playfully, "But either way, it was something I've never done before. It was fun. . . surprisingly."

"See? It ain't so bad to cross the lines sometimes, Katerina." He muses, grinning at me.

There he goes again with my middle name.

"That's true. But I won't be crashing another wedding in the future." I chuckle with a shake of my head, as I prop my elbow on the table with my chin resting on my hand.

"Fair enough, honey. Some things in life, you only need to do once. Just to make you feel. . . a little crazy. We all need that feeling sometimes." His voice is quieter now, almost to the level of a whisper, as he smiles at me.

"Thank you for helping me." I say, almost feeling the words hard to get out of my mouth. It's strange, whenever he is so close to me and his voice is that gentle and quiet. It's so attentive and I feel that he is looking through me, like a pristinely transparent glass. As if to silently say with his eyes: Of course, I'm listening to you too.

He takes my left hand and plants a kiss on the top, all the while maintaining his piercing eye contact with me.

"I'll find a way. Always."

Such a small sentence, not even ten words and yet, my brain desperately clutches onto his words. A brief string of words that feel like they are spinning around in a carousel in my mind, and ultimately melting into the depths of my heart. And I guess, for once in my life, I have a feeling that the latter wins the key of keeping it close.

"Tell me something. . ." I begin after a while of silence.

He nods. Elvis absentmindedly draws invisible circles around the palm of my left hand, which does tickle a little, and soothes me at the same time.

"How do you know my middle name? It left me speechless when you dropped that out of nowhere." I chuckle.

There is a twinkle in his eye as he chuckles, "Lucky guess."

I roll my eyes as I shoot him a smile, "Of course. No one calls me by my middle name."

"Did you know that my middle name is Aaron?" He asks, clearly rhetorically.

"Yes. But that's not the same thing." I lean back against the chair again, feeling a little tired. But nonetheless, wanting to keep talking to him.

"How is it not?" He muses, clearly enjoying this.

"Everyone knows you. Well, knows your name."

He ignores my response and simply says, "Katerina is a very sexy name, I'll say."

Never have I ever heard my name pronounced like. . . that before. He said it a few times now, but this time, I feel he intentionally says it in such a. . . certain way. The way that my name rolls of his tongue in such a way - it makes my cheeks heat up involuntarily.

I clear my throat and try to avoid his eyes, "Thanks. Aaron is a cool name too."

He laughs at my flustered expression, clapping his hands.

"Oh my, I hear a lot of laughter. I do hope that he is not annoying you, sweet Nova." Miss Esther appears, walking closer to us with her hands on her hips.

"I haven't done nothing wrong, Ma'am. " Elvis shakes his head, joking along.

Miss Esther narrows her eyes at him, but with a smile on her face, "Hmm. You better not do. I need your help, I can't seem to reach the box from the highest shelf in the kitchen. " She explains.

Elvis doesn't hesitate to stand up, "Okay."

Miss Esther smiles and pats him on the shoulder, "Thank you, sweetheart. "

Elvis turns back to me, "Honey, will you be alright here while I go help Miss Esther?"

I nod, "I'll be fine, go."

"Besides, you'll be doing all the work whilst I take a seat right here and hang out with Nova." Miss Esther chuckles at him, easily taking the seat across from me.

"Alright, no bad tales about me Miss Esther." He jokes, and I feel that he wanted to say something more but he stops himself. Instead, he confirms to Miss Esther about which box it is, and makes his way into the kitchen.

"It's nice to see hear him laugh and smile, dear." She says.

"Yeah, he loves to joke a lot and teases me all the time. He's a complete contrast to how I am." I shake my head, chuckling.

"I'm afraid I haven't been clear with my words," Miss Esther replies, smiling apologetically at me.

I tilt my head, "What do you mean, Miss Esther?"

She sighs,"Elvis is a nice boy. But from the moment I met him, the boy was anything but a jokester. Determined, yes. But very down. It made me worry an awful lot from time to time."

Of course, from my knowledge from the movie, Elvis' life was filled with it's fair share of trails tribulations - but I thought that coming into the afterlife, a sense of peace would replace such a heartbreaking emotion. Well, that is if he is from the afterlife. If my theory is correct, then Elvis is from the afterlife and is visiting my dreams. This is the only plausible explanation. . . right?

"Down?"

Miss Esther nods in confirmation, "Very. But ever since. . . you. . . I have never seen him so much as frown no longer. It's a good change. You are good together. " Her voice is warm and sincere, a bright smile on her face.

I offer her a kind smile back.

A thought enters my mind. Should I or should I not?

"Miss Esther, can I ask you something?"

She nods, "Yes, of course."

"When we first met you told me something. You told me that Elvis was looking for me, and you thought that he told me about that. But he's difficult with answering questions. So secretive. I. . I guess I just want to know what you meant by that?" I find myself lowering my voice, fiddling my fingers nervously.

I see a flash of hesitation in her eyes and she sighs deeply, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, sweetheart. I'm sorry. My answers will not offer you anything helpful."

"Please, just anything." I plead, "I-I've been having these dreams back to back, every night. They continue on one after the other and I just want to know why."

She sighs,"Sometimes good things are not as simple. It is not the simple case of why and how, but trust me answers will come to you when the time is right. Okay?" She says, putting a delicate finger underneath my chin as she smiles.

I feel defeated by her response, but I can feel that she is genuine with her words.

Instead, I sigh and whisper back, "Okay."

Before any further conversation can continue, Elvis returns and tells Miss Esther that the box is now on the kitchen counter. He inquires on what our topic of conversation was, in which Miss Esther replies that we've been talking about her secret recipes. I am grateful that she didn't reveal our true conversation to Elvis. But her words will ring a little longer in my brain. She is essentially saying to just go with the flow of things. But the rational part of my being is desperately screaming out against such a relaxed perspective. I've never been rollerblading toward letting happenstance being what it is. There is always a reason for everything that happens, and if it can be helped - I'd like to know that reason. But I suppose this time around, life is closing its doors to my logical tendencies and throwing the key away.

My eyes cannot help but glance at the black and white photographs of Hollywood actors, presumably from the '50s and '60s, adorning one wall of the cafe. A few I can easily recognised and others not so much.

"I like what they did with the wall." I comment.

Elvis smiles, "I do too. The best of the best on there."

"Who's your favorite?" I asked, nodding to the wall of photographs.

I have a sense that I know his answer before he says it, well, in the movie Elvis mentions his admiration for James Dean a few times and how he wished to be as great as him in acting.

His eyes wander around and stay fixated to a photograph of James Dean, "A real great actor. It's shame he died so young. " Elvis shakes his head, "I remember starting out in Hollywood, wishing and hoping that I'd become a serious actor like him. I wanted to do good movies that told a really good story. Script after script, I-I knew then that my hope was impossible. I fell sick, mentally and violently ill from all that. . ." He looks at me now, shaking his head and blue eyes watery now.

I frown, "Oh, Elvis."

"Thirty-one movies later and I knew that this folks in town laughed at me. 'Course I knew. I-I just wanted to make one good picture I could be proud of, before I went." His words breathe harder into the air now, as he closes his eyes shut and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

It pains me to see that even now, those wounds still remain fresh to him. A whole decade of his life was dedicated to movies. It's such a shame that people did not see his passion, that did not help him reach his potential. It's that battle with creativity, a hunger to express himself and others around him did not see him like that. They made their decisions about him before they even knew him. It's a treacherous feeling that seeps into me, and I find myself biting down on my lip - feeling like tears might escape me.

He opens his eyes and chuckles bitterly, "I was a joke."

I find myself leaning forward and taking his hand into mine, "Hey, don't be saying that about yourself. I'm sorry that you didn't get what you deserve because you deserved so much more, Elvis. You had so much more to offer to the table and I wished people saw that. . . saw you."

He is silent for a moment and takes a deep breath, "Thank you, Nova. It matters a whole lot that you see me."

A smile slowly pulls on his lips as I smile at him, hoping to lift up the mood.

"Why don't you ask me?" I say, arching a teasing eyebrow.

"Ask about what?" He looks at me confused.

"Who my favorite actor is?" I muse.

Elvis chuckles suddenly, as if I just dropped an inside joke.

"I don't need to, doll. I have a feeling that I already know." He smirks, confidence oozing from him.

"Fine, go on then." I entertain his confidence.

"Grace Kelly." He replies casually, not a hint of doubt in his voice.

I gasped in shock, "How'd you know that?"

Another one of the many things that he knows about me. I should not be surprised anymore at this point, but I can't help but be every time he so casually slips information about me. Information that is so personal, that only my family and closest friends would know about. But I guess in dreams anything is possible, no matter how cliche it may sound. But then again, if he is visiting from the afterlife, then that means he is real which then furthers the question on how he knows all of this about me?

Elvis casually shrugged with a smirk, "Lucky guess, honey."

"Uh-huh, sure." I say, obviously unconvinced.

Elvis is about to say something more, but he stops himself. He turns around and looks out the wide glass window of the cafe. I follow his gaze and it seems to the that the cold temperatures have now been accompanied by heavy showers. Droplets of water cascade rapidly down the glass, it's sound unmistakable. The clouds above seem to be releasing an increase of the torrent rain, as the violent downpour continues on - until you could quite literally hear it hitting the roof of the cafe.

"Come on, let's go." Elvis says, turning back to me as he stands up.

I find myself standing up, "Go where?" I ask, quite a rhetorical question I believe.

Elvis only shoots me a mischievous grin, confirming my suspicion.

My eyes go wide as I attempt to tug myself out of his hold, "Oh no. Nope. "

"Why not?"

I gestured at the outside, "Are you seriously asking me that? It's horrific."

"It won't last long."

"What if I get sick?" I reason out, panicking now.

But of course my rational nature does not pair up with his way of spontaneity, "Then I guess I'll have to take of ya. You know, Dr. Presley." He winks.

"Elvis, I'm seriou-"

"Remember your list?" He tries again, he takes off his suit jacket from around my shoulders and places it neatly on the table.

And this time, I cannot counter back because I know he's right. I stupidly wrote on my list that I wanted to experience what it was like to just go crazy and have fun in the pouring rain. Like the ones you see in the movies, those cliche scenes.

I sigh and finally nod, he grins in triumph and tugs me along with him as we rapidly run out of the cafe. The moment we step foot outside, the strong rainfall hits my bare arms and I see Elvis turn around to face me and lets go of my hand. He closes his eyes shut and spreads his arms wide, the rapid precipitation hitting his entire being and he looks perfectly blissful. His yellow button-up gets stuck to his tanned skin in a matter of seconds, and I look down to find my dress heavily sticking to my skin too.

Elvis laughs out loud, his laugh encompassing the entire empty street.

"Ain't it incredible? Come here, darlin." He walks forward and grabs hold of my hand.

"This is crazy!" I exclaim, but find my lips spreading into a huge smile.

He suddenly grabs hold of my waist and spins me around, with him standing right behind me. I feel my chest thumping rapidly, and he levels his head close to mine - his lips almost touching my ear. I can feel his breath tickling my skin, as he whisper, "Don't think, Nova. Let yourself go."

In dreams, anything can change in a split second. Who knows, this torrential rain might stop all of the sudden within the next few seconds. Nova, you promise to let yourself live. To just be. Stay true to that. And so with a deep breath and close my eyes, I find myself turning around out of his grasped and my legs run rapidly. I only run within the small space, and the water hits my face as I find myself spinning all of a sudden. Like a poorly, non-choreographed ballet recital. But I know that this is not a stage, this is just a dream. In this dream - no one else is here but me and him. No one else is watching. It's only me, him and the pouring rain. I find myself laughing and about nothing really, nothing in particular. But it's such an. . . elevated feeling. To laugh just because. With no particular reason to.

It feels oddly. . . liberating.

I try to open my eyes and see him right in front of me with the familiar grin on his lips, and he takes my hand this time - twilling me around before his right hand plants itself on my waist, and his left holds up mine. I naturally place my other hand on his shoulder. He takes another step forward, our noses almost touching, "Dance with me," He says, almost breathlessly.

I am amused at his question, "Oh, really? I thought you didn't dance unless you were on stage."

"I didn't. But I know that I am me right now. I'm me when I'm with you." He says softly.

And my mind flickers back to our conversation earlier about how he hesitates to dance when he is not 'The Elvis Presley' because of embarrassment, but he is willing to dance with me. He's letting go. Just like me. For the brief moment of not thinking.

"Okay." I respond, gladly accepting his request.

And so, we began to dance together. There was certainly no music, but that did not stop us to fall within each other's movements. I picture it like a normal dance of the waltz, expect this is anything but the appropriate setting and it's full of imperfect steps. But I pay no mind to that. Our feet shuffled in sync as we danced in a slow pace, as he spun in me in circles. But the downpour grew stronger, and with that, our dance quickened in its paced. His grip was firm on my hand, as well as on my waist. We both laughed at our imperfect version of the waltz.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, after a while of dancing.

I nod.

He then lifts me up slowly and I laugh, he sets me back down again. I find myself naturally looping my arms around his neck. Both of his hand are now on my waist, and I feel a little warm all of a sudden despite the cold temperatures. He pulls me closer to his body, and his height towers me a little. I take my time to study him in this happenstance. His dark hair sticks to his forehead now, droplets falling from strands. His eyes, piercing as ever and the grin on his lips releasing a melodic laugh. He is beautiful and it's suddenly hard to catch my breath.

"I guess the rain is not stopping, I look like a mess." I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed on what I may look like. I know my hair is soaked and no doubt, there is no more makeup on my face.

Elvis raises his hand, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"I doubt it."

"I don't think so. A drowned rat might be a bette-" I attempt to joke.

He cuts me off, "You are the most beautiful person I know."

I narrow my eyes at him, "Really? I bet you tell all girls that."

"This is the only time I mean what I say." He explains, and I try to wait for him to break out into a chuckle to say he is joking. But nothing like that. Elvis presses his forehead against mine, and I breathe deeply. Never in my life have I felt my heart thump so rapidly against my chest. I have felt all emotions most of my life: excitement and nervousness and anxiety. All of which result in my heart beating in an insane speed, as if it's about to leap out from my body. But this type of racing I feel cannot be categorised like those. The type of beating feels like it's running down to other parts of my being. It's an overwhelming feeling, a type of energy that feels like it's slipping through my hands and holding my face, and weakening my knees. It's fast and almost a slight pain. A feeling that drives me speechless and makes me welcome the rope of curiosity.

Is this the feeling of just doing and not doing? The feeling of letting things flow? Of being. . . free from my mind?

"I-I feel my heart beating wildly," I admit to him, almost breathless.

"That means it's working." Elvis smiles.

"What is?"

"To be unexpected. To run into the unknown. That is how I want you to feel all the time." He emphasises, and he is so close to me. So incredibly close.

"Thank you."

Silence hits us again, the only sound is the rain around us. Rainfall that seems to have slowed down, but evidence of puddles created.

I see his eyes flicker to my lips, as we both just look at each other. And you know how people say that if two people truly know each other, words won't be necessary at all. That sometimes, a single look is enough to convey a message. The eyes can often reflect the words unspoken. Or so I've been told by my grandmother.

Elvis begins to lean in and I am not clueless, but to my surprise he leaves a brief kiss on the side on the very corner of my lips. Close, but not directly. It lingers there for a while, leading to blush creep into my cheeks.

"You've been asking me questions, let's reverse the roles." He begins, in which I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"You've seen both sides of me. Who do you see right now?" He asks, voice so soft and gentle.

I know what he is asking. Earlier in our conversation, he revealed that the Elvis Presley on stage differs greatly from the actual person offstage. I cannot even imagine feeling almost like you are switching between two identities, two personas, two parts of you. But the other part seeming to encompass and overshadow the human being. I know that Elvis loves performing, and you can hear and see it in numerous videos. There is something so hypnotising and magnetic about seeing him in his element. But I have a feeling that it felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders at one point, as they said before, the brighter the light the darker the shadow.

The one that is before me right now, I see him simply as. . . Elvis.

"You. I see you." I say, and I know that he understands my words.

Elvis smiles in relief and he begins to say something.

"I-"

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

A buzzing sound screeches through my ears, rapidly leaving me no choice but to open my eyes. I scan my surroundings, and sigh in disappointment that I am in fact in my bedroom. Beams of sunlight pass through my bedroom window, signifying that morning is here. The buzzing sound continues, and I slam the alarm clock situated on my bedside table in annoyance. I hold my hand to my heart, frantically calming my heart.

No. I can't be here right now.

No. Not when I didn't hear what he had to say.

But this is the reality. The reality of the vehicles outside on the streets and people chattering - not an empty and quiet street. The reality of favourable, warm weather seeping into my bedroom - not the gloomy, wet weather that I found myself enjoying and dancing in. The reality that here I am, alone, and there is no smiling raven-haired man beside me.

There is a knock on my door.

"Come in."

"Good morning, my bestie!" Luke cheerfully greets me, all in what seems to be workout clothes.

"Morning," I say, in contrast to his bright mood.

"Listen, I know I'm no Beyonce, but at least be happy to see your best friend." He jokes, taking a drink out of the water bottle in his hand.

"Sorry, I just don't feel like leaving my bed today."

Which is not exactly a lie, just a half truth.

"How the earth has shifted." He gasps dramatically, "Look at me now going for my second lap around the neighbourhood, and THEE Nova Katerina Sinclair slapping productivity in the face?"

Katerina. Katerina is a very sexy name, I'll say. His voice echoes in my head.

I roll my eyes and playfully throw a pillow at Luke, "Oh, Shut up."

"Well, I'll leave you to role-play sleeping beauty for a day, while I go act like I have my life together." Luke says, exiting my room.

"See you later!"

"Hey Google how do. . . " I hear him ask his phone, as his voice trails off into the distance.

Wait.

Why didn't I think of that before?

I grab my phone from the bedside table and quickly type in my question onto the famous search engine.

IS IT POSSIBLE TO RESUME A DREAM WHERE YOU PREVIOUSLY LEFT OFF?

- Dreams can be so realistic that it can be hard to tell if we're awake or asleep. And sometimes, we wake up in the middle of a dream and wonder if it's possible to go back to sleep and pick up where we left off. It is possible to resume a dream, but it requires a certain focus and concentration.

Hmm. . . not exactly what I'm looking for. Let me try again.

IS IT NORMAL TO REMEMBER A DREAM VERY VIVIDLY?

- It is widely common that 99.9% of us cannot remember our dreams the moment we wake up. However, scientists have concluded that there is a percentage of us that do remember our dreams. The few individuals that do (an estimated 2%) remember a maximum of two dreams a week. However, reportedly, only significant parts of their dreams are memorable and others fade along as dreams normally do.

Shit. I'm way past that maximum of two dreams.

WHY AM I AWARE WHEN I AM DREAMING?

- This phenomenon has been classified as 'Lucid Dreaming.' This is whereby an individual becomes aware that they are in the dream world. The events that happen in their brain are merely figment of imaginations. The individual is aware of this the entire time they are in slumber. It is also important to note that some individuals who lucid dream, are able to control the events that unfold before them in the dream.

Okay. This sounds half right. Every time that Elvis has been in my dream I have been extremely aware that none of it is real. But to control my dreams? That one I can't relate to.

WHY DOES A CELEBRITY KEEP APPEARING IN MY DREAMS?

- Celebrities in dreams are not unusual. In fact, researchers evidenced that the appearance of a famous figure often indicates something the individual longs for. Some believe it's a human's soul craving for something they have not yet realised themselves.

What does that even mean?

WHY DOES ONE PERSON CONSTANTLY APPEAR IN MY DREAMS?

- Dreaming of a specific someone (friend, relative, ex) is your brains way of saying that you need to accept something related to that person. Maybe a misunderstanding or something they did that did not sit right with you.

Ugh. This one is not very helpful, how does that even happen when I don't and have never known Elvis Presley personally?

I continue to scroll down the page and click on an article.

- Dreaming about the same person constantly can mean a multitude of things.

1. Firstly, it may relate to unresolved issue.

2. Your subconscious may be sending you a warning sign.

3. You're trying to manifest something in real life.

4. You feel guilty for a reason you can't explain.

5. There's an energy imbalance between you.

I sigh in defeat and close my phone. None of those listed make any sense. So much for Google having the answer to everything. But let's get some facts straight, from the very few I found relevant in my search: Remembering dreams is uncommon, but if you do, you only remember up to 2 dreams a week. I've dreamed of him six times already. Lucid dreaming is when you become aware that you are dreaming and whatever is happening is not real, okay so that is definitely relatable. When a celebrity keeps appearing in your dreams it means your soul is trying to tell you something. . . but what could that possibly be? And lastly, the article - none of it seems relevant.

Who do I even turn to for answers? Or even someone to just talk to about what's happening to me? There's no way I can tell Charlotte or Luke, they'll be worried. Even more of a no towards my parents.

I shot of realisation hits me then and there. I get up and open my wardrobe, frantically finding the purse gifted to me years ago. A purse I used to use so often when I was a kid, the Disney characters perfectly stitched onto it. I open it and my hand grasped the small piece of paper, I dig it out of the purse and sit back down on my bed.

I grab my phone and dial the number scribbled onto the paper, and patiently wait as the phone rings.

"Hello, who am I speaking to?" Her voice travels through, and a smile pulls on my lips.

"Great-Aunt Odette, hi. It's me, Nova." I reply, nervously fiddling with my fingers.

"Oh, hello Nova! Is everything alright? What made you call?" Her tone quickly concerned.

"I'm fine, there's nothing wrong. I, just um. . . well it's better if I see you. Is it ok if I visit?"

She chuckles, "You don't even have to ask, dear. When?"

I took a deep breath, "Today."

chapter 12

#elvis x oc #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x original female character #original female character #fantasy #slow burn #angst #fluff #mystery #elvis fic #yours truly

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ahoradameunnombre · 2 years

Text

Behind those blue and red eyes 3

The third encounter: A bouquet of wildflowers

Previous / Next

He woke up with a beam of light directly in his face; last night he was so tired that he forgot to close the curtains. He stood up leaving with sorrow the comfiness of his bed, then, he stooped one moment to see Nature Tale from his window. The number of shades of green hit his eyes with an amazing shock; no matter how many times he confronted the scene it was never enough to prepare him for that view.

Leaves reined from all above making the scene look invaded by a storm of little green points dancing in the air. Strong old trees grew up with their branches open in all sorts of shapes and figures, so thick and strong that seemed like they were the ones holding together the cave ceiling, that even now, in the middle of the day was shining with the star looking stones engraved in its belly.

A group of birds flew by his window, maybe a group of pigeons searching for something to eat. The collision of white, black, gray, and brown feathers made a bouquet of colors interrupting all the green. Bellow the grass-covered all the ground that could be seen, sometimes intercepted by a little daisy or a dandelion. Moss was everywhere too, making soft beds of dark green in all the trees and rocks. Butterflies flew from flower to flower along round and small bees.

Lavender followed for a long moment the flying insects trying to foresee where they’ll land next. He laughed to himself after failing, and turn away from the window. He searched for a little while for his sleepers and found each one in opposite corners of the room; maybe he was as disorganized as his brother said. He searched too for a clean pair of socks in his pile of socks and found one pretty clean. His green sweater was still clean and he dint want to ruin the knitting by washing it too often, the same goes for the coat.

The dark brown wooden floor cracked under his steps while he searched for the bathroom. A quick shower will be enough to wake him up. He carefully pulled the clothes onto a little bench beside the tub. With clean water running through his body he recalled the memories of the past night, one by one they passed like a carrousel in front of him. He still wasn’t sure if his decision of forgiving the stranger was right, he didn’t know if he even was ready, but the beautifulness of the little white flowers that he put in the crown last night make him want to try again.

Once ended the shower he went to the first floor “BROTHER, WHAT WAS TAKING YOU SO LONG?” Asked a barely mad Poppy “Sorry bro, I was growing roots” he answered with a wide smile “JUST TAKE BREAKFAST ALREADY”. A bowl of oatmeal and fruits appeared in front of him and he received it happily. A few moments pass till he was also given a Matcha tea beside his plate.

Everything seemed quiet and easy, just like it should be, and another day felt like a beautiful blessing. He let the texture of the oatmeal spread in his mouth, the granulated feel of every oat tickled a little, and the soft cream that accompanied it flowed freely on his tongue. The blueberries were acidic and rich, and the chopped strawberries were sweet. Everything was perfect.

He stood up and left his dishes in the sink and reached the little bench placed against the wall and washed the dishes with some sort of dedication. The water was cold, the homemade soap was shiny. Little bubbles found themselves in between his bones and the smell was soft and clean. He dried his hands with a kitchen towel and descended from the bench.

“Tanks Pops, it was delicious. I’m going to rest on my laurels in the woods so don’t search me or I can leave you planted” he said with a proud wink. “BROTHER THAT WAS AWFUL!” Cried Poppy, while Lavender walked to the door. “TRY TO NOT WANDER TO FAR FROM YOUR POST, SOME HUMAN COULD NEED OUR HELP” He raised his thumb in answer.

“What should I do today?” He asked himself. He turned to the little garden in front of the house where the vegetables grew slowly, they needed a little attention, so he got his hand close to them and let a little magic reach them, just enough to make the stems stronger and the leaves greener. Maybe he should make soup for the stranger, it should be cold to stand all night in the open.

He went to the back of the house expecting to find the flower crown from the last night to dissolve it into seeds but found with surprise that it wasn’t in the vine swing, nor near either, “Maybe some animal have founded it interesting” he tried to think, but his heart rose in front of the idea of the stranger taking it with him, that his gift wasn’t left behind.

With a smile he walked to his post, thinking of other gifts he could give the stranger, in ways to get through to him. The wooden structure received him with a smell of moss, and the wind passed by bringing with him the rich smell of the forest. He looked at the dozens of succulents resting everywhere, and slowly give them water and a little push of magic. Some of them have beautiful flowers, others cute colors like purple or red. “How is the day going?” he asked them “Is the weather nice?” he continued without an answer.

Those were his babies, his sweet babies. Some of them were big and extended their leaves way far from the pot, some of them hung in long beards from the pot, but others were barely a little leave in a little pot with the rots like small white hairs.

The silence of the forest kept him company while he cut and organized his little friend plants, but his heart was still uneasy. “What Am I getting into?” He asked his green companions, “This sure has to be for the better or Thistle is killing me”. Not much have happened, he remembered himself, it was just two encounters that he had had with the stranger, and there was no way of knowing when or if the stranger would come back to Nature Tale. It felt sad in some way, just how easily one can disappear from others’ lives.

But, he thought, if the stranger was willing to give him an opportunity by coming back, he will give everything to make that work. The choice was in the stranger’s hands. He suddenly felt a little tired so he closed his eyes to take a nap. He could hear the movement of the leaves on the trees as the wind passed through them, and the constant breath of the world around them. A squirrel jumped from one tree to another, making a funny noise on the landing, and a butterfly flew curiously towards the daisies on the side of the road. He could even hear some frog singing (maybe it was some monster).

He fell asleep slowly and rejoiced in the peace it got him. Sleep can free someone from any worries. The time slipped through him like a deep river leaving behind a feeling of easiness in his joints. Somehow, he felt like he was floating, swimming in the middle of the air, suspended above the clouds. The smell of his own lavender flowers filled him with tranquility, he knew they were growing stronger with his happiness.

A firm and slow sound of steeps opened his way into the forest, some twigs broke because of them, and Lavender was finally awoken. He didn’t open his eyes; he chooses to leave them closed waiting for the unknown owner of these steps to come closer. Suddenly his body felt conscious, on high alert waiting to know the intentions of that person. I could be a human; everyone knows how devastating can humans be.

With the sound getting closer and closer, Lavender felt the tension leave him in a sigh, this could only be someone really big, but those steps seem calm and calculated, as only one that already knows the forest could have, and the sound of a cane preceded those footsteps. This only could be another monster and he thinks he knows who. Just a meter from his post he heard a throat sound, and a deep raspy voice talked “Hey little friend, hope I’m not waking you up” I was the old and trustful Elderberry.

“Nop, I’m just waking up” He answered. “Maybe you have some time to walk with this old friend and talk a little,” asked the older with an arched eyebrow “That would be nice”. And so, the walk started. It was easy to walk next to Elderberry, even if he was so big, because he waited for a little in every step, probably because of age and the sore left knee that make necessary the use of a cane.

“It’s a nice day,” said Lavender.

“Shure it is. It’s hard to tell that it used to be different.”

“…”

“Seems like you have something in your mind, little friend”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Ha-ha”

“Well, maybe I’m doing something I’m not supposed to”

“Does it feel right?”

“It does.”

“Then it’s not a bad thing”

“I hope so”

The bear stopped a moment as if in deep thought, then he looked up reminiscing something, and looked Lavender with the eyes ready to tell a long story.

“You see, Lavender, when I walk like this, I can’t believe the way we use to live on the surface” Started the bear “It was such sorrow to wake up every day and see the state in what it was the world, the forest was burning, the air was dense, and there was almost not clean water. I can remember the pain we felt back then, not only the emotional one, no, the physical, our own bodies, our own magic crying out for help.” He stopped for a second.

“I can understand why we put that barrier up, there was no other way, but…” He stopped. “We tried so hard to reason with the humans, to make they stop. For a long time, the only thing we could make was to work all they using our magic to stop the damage from spreading. But it was never enough. The more we spoke to the humans about the problem, the most aggressive they turn, till ours were dying by their hands. It was bad times.”

“Everything turn for the better when we put the barrier on; the air was clean, there was water, and we didn’t have to mourn our deaths anymore.” He looked up at the ceiling of the cave, and let out a deep sigh. “But it doesn’t feel right, it has never felt right. Sometimes I wish we have fought more, that we haven’t left our world to perish. The humans were awful adversaries, but not all of them were bad, some of them tried to fight by our side, but they also died at the hands of other humans. There were also kids, like Buttercup, human kids that will never have the opportunity of growing up in a world full of nature and green. It kills me inside.”

“So maybe what I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t give up on what feels right, that maybe there is still hope, that it matters to keep trying…In a way I’m still trying for those people…Maybe I’m just rambling again, I’m just too old”

Lavender looked at Elderberry with a mix of sadness and understanding and nodded slowly. It did make sense, to want to try to save all those people, that desire was deep in the heart of all Nature Tale people, but somehow no one was capable of doing it. In some way the story resonated with him, hearing another voice telling him to try to save the stranger, or at least try to understand him, that feeling comfort him. “Thanks,” he said.

The talk continued, this time without any sad history. They talked mostly of mundane things; how beautiful the trees were, any rumor in the town, the new flavors of tea at Brook’s. The time flowed as if outside were as calm as this forest full of life, even if it wasn’t. At some point, the bear said goodbye in an intersection and walked calmly till his poncho was not visible in the distance.

Lavender turn in his heels and walked back to his post. While walking, he recollected all sorts of wildflowers, putting them in his pockets. There were daisies and dandelions, bluebells, and chamomiles. He picked as many as possible, but with the greatest of cares, as he didn’t want to harm them. The rest of the day passed in a breeze as he tried to form the bouquet of wildflowers and look for the post he was assigned to; soon the beautiful and dark night took over the sky that could be seen from the cracks in the stone sealing of the cave.

The walk home was even quieter than the one in the morning, but even then, Lavender’s steps couldn’t be heard as he walked like the lightest of cats. The crickets let their sound out and clear, flying through the air as knives, filling the air as bells. The fireflies roamed freely all the flowers with their beautiful incandescent bodies. The air smelled like the one of a fairytale, he thought that maybe it was one.

He teleported towards his room and searched everywhere for a string, till he found one under some pillows; it was from an old present from Rose. He pulled the flowers from his pockets and carefully started to form a little bouquet arranging the flower by color and shape. Then he took the rope thread that looked like a little braid and tied together the bouquet. The result was not bigger than both of his hands but seemed like a lovely enough present.

He walked down the first floor and saw Poppy in the kitchen “I’ll come in a moment Pops” He said loudly, and heard an “OK BROTHER!” as an answer when he was closing the front door. He went directly towards the vines’ swing hoping not to be late. He held his breath for a moment and waited, then the air filled with static and he smiled.

“Hey!” there was no response “How’s everything going?” Again silence. “I can’t stay today, It's gaming night, you know?” He asked himself if the stranger would feel disappointed or if it would mean anything at all. “Pops wouldn’t let me miss one of those.”

“Sorry, we could meet tomorrow tough, same hour, same channel Ha-ha” He took the flowers out of his pocket and waved them proudly in the air. “I made those for leaving you planted. I found them walking this morning and thought you’ll like them” He tried to look behind the tree and maybe see the stranger behind it, but he didn’t see anything. “Well… I’ll say goodbye, can’t leave Pops waiting!” He waved his hand and walked into the house.

From the dark, a glitching silhouette appeared. With a couple of steps, it got to the vines’ swing and extended an even more glitching hand. I reached for the little bouquet and hold it tightly while a pair of blue and red eyes looked at it with curiosity.

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#fatal x lavender #fatalxlavender #fatalvender #lavender sans #a fatal error #fanfic #fanfiction

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hellobakarsir · 2 months

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Misunderstanding

The river flowed gently through the countryside, its waters glistening under the golden rays of the sun. It was a quiet scene, which seemed to whisper secrets to those who paused to listen. At the river's edge, a woman named Evelyn stood, her eyes tracing the scarred path through the watery land.

Evelyn was a lonely woman, finding solace in the quiet beauty of nature. He had come to this place many times before, seeking refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Today, however, the river looked somehow different, as if it held a secret she wanted to share.

As Evelyn watched, she noticed something strange happening. The river, usually very calm and serene, began to swell and churn, its waters rising higher and higher until they burst over the banks in a rush of force and power. It was a sight to behold, the raw power of nature unleashed in all its glory.

But amid the awe-inspiring display, Evelyn felt uneasy. Something about the river's behavior seemed like it was trying to communicate something important. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was a message hidden in the turbulent waters, waiting to be deciphered.

Lost in her thoughts, Evelyn failed to notice the figure from behind until it was too late. A man appeared beside him, his presence startling him from his genius. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He said, his voice smooth and melodious.

Evelyn turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest. He didn't expect to encounter anyone here, least of all a stranger. He shook his head, unsure of what to say.

The man smiled, eyes twinkling mischievously. "You seem upset, my dear. Is something bothering you?"

Evelyn hesitates, unsure if she should trust this stranger. But there was something about him that made him feel at ease, a warmth in his demeanor that drew him in despite his reservations.

"It's the river," he finally admitted. "It's acting weird today, almost like it's trying to tell me something." The man's smile widened. "Ah, River. It has a way of speaking to those who are willing to listen. Perhaps it has a message for you."

Evelyn frowned, taken aback by his cryptic words. "What do you mean?" But before the man could answer, a loud noise echoed through the air and startled them both. They turned around to find that the river had completely breached its banks, flooding the surrounding area with torrents of water. Evelyn gasped, her heart racing in fear. He had never seen anything like this before, and he didn't know what to do.

The man held her hand, his fist firm and reassuring. "We have to get to higher ground," he said urgently. "Hurry, before it's too late." In no time, Evelyn followed him as he led her away from the raging river. They scrambled to the nearest cliff, their breaths ragged as they fought against the current that threatened to drag them down.

Finally, they reached safety on higher ground, the floodwaters spreading like beasts beneath them. Evelyn collapsed onto the grass, her body shaking with exhaustion and relief. The man knelt beside her, a look of concern on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft. Evelyn nodded weakly, still trying to process what had just happened. "I… I think so. Thanks for saving me."

The man smiled, his eyes shining with joy. "It was nothing really. I couldn't just stand by and watch you drown, could I?" Despite herself, Evelyn couldn't help but smile back. There was something about this man that made her feel safe, as if she had known him all her life.

As they sat together on the hillside, watching the flood waters recede, Evelyn found herself opening up to him in a way she never had before. He told her about his life, his hopes and dreams and the struggles he faces on a daily basis. To his surprise, the man listened intently, his eyes never leaving his face. He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, as if his words held a deeper meaning for him.

When she finished speaking, the man reached out and took her hand in his own, his touch sending tingles down her spine. "You are a wonderful woman, Evelyn," he said softly. "Never forget." Evelyn felt her cheeks flush with warmth at his words. She never believed in luck or fate, but sitting here with this man she couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting was more than a mere coincidence. As the sun sank below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, Evelyn knew her life would never be the same. In the chaos and uncertainty, she finds something unexpected - a connection that transcends time and space, binding her to this mysterious stranger in a way she still doesn't understand, and as they sit together, watching the stars twinkle overhead, Evelyn knows that the future No matter what, she would face him.

#beauty #cute #beautiful eyes #foryou #beautiful

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libidomechanica · 6 months

Text

And she, and griping Paradise

A Meredith sonnet sequence

’Re we to plunge me thee,—that heart. And shuddered: I knew many mornings of the graveyard. In our stray, that blossoms around he did before that eve, a strange beil’, where. For fears desire love music I can crabbed to make it. I played, the awful think I’ve broken you milk curdled in your voided cried, betwixt Nature helm, now her sake, and over earest o’ Ballochmyle. Like in you leave the other but I an earthly pale little girls flies. The time came, and fall, Let not one, but a girl? Were tasted, and vtter suspect, for eternal smile, they liege, ’ said he if yours abed and soft and queen the player. For Juliana came: for I a God’s Life may, turn’d. Mighty way.

The value on purpose by more. For so heart—and mony and gain-say, give found Wit: od’s universe of the dog because of your adventurer’s. No longer and flower; do what afternoons, who was it’s loved again. Will happy may say again, and flit, to incense; might of science to my would not, can make loved in earth, or evening thin what is as wood, but none, a spurn as his lesson is far, far to me, thered it you art it was weapons lay, and then, which erst from tyranny this, nor happier time. Fed within be cut him with the nightly troth and crowns dull surely and Beauty shall moved in love, to tie up with my verse or two prevail, in the cried; no fights.

III

The grace me, turned and many and love made it was been: she spake with a hush, some said off begetting husband’s apace, and every turne will no faces the human had though my bosom of Kingly: For young, week: much of prompt to a name. To feet, when two, we are gone day rose peepers are not bless wi’ drink that my breath’s unite, and you none. She dangers, a breath. And with it; afternoon that Stellation, most creature feet is not of recognize his horse it see my mother’s and love, but thy current paths on, with that look like though me mysterious house a Maying not you now, and were, Her voice even form, unless now you shall the altar’s reade their with us in her going!

And of ice, as may move to salute heaves we’ll ne’er you sworn await up, to none hard, and yet on the blossoms in a girls, neglected? What vex true thy heart design’d to sleepe for a distress in the marvelous in my earthy Lust; nor slain, I clings of Woman the road Hell. Who knee: but a dear, her sues for him to reward—an Isis hidden of this bright at chick mass o’ Coil, I knew not there in love thing just make reclined, would not lost in full strok’d above thee, the vanished in the secret head, and summer of Gaule into attent the pine had heart. And ran in one that I speak of flaming and I’m come; answer wise. And I sward; when will. The tempt third degrade of man!

I knew not, and sagged dusty as I glided and unstain’d with her. Come, fail in cloud water. But fountain arms limp as woo’d of pearl and yet but approve thy Mistress—in thyself the laid the was it inter closeted for this arrowed with might me singing so choose. Went yesterday; but the Norther hurt to not that point myself up of whom I knew the Princesses we’ll ne’er fool; but he pieces. About the Canterbury belly, her sink all haunt me in all in vain still learn the race. Win you knows the cry, a day rose time, no fence, my Katie,— canst thyself too for a moment, and vain; nor sugar-cakes to obliged to me, my disprouting’s eyes slipt from hate yowes.

And all their she now your breath’d never hid by thy Saviours for the apply, a blind, wandering it grieve, thou upon the palm she rapidity of the was never vice this mind. That I sport, and by Worth,? Are you said she said she door; inquires to my should obsequious good, and their to offended to the knew she is gone. Back to light, and flint! If one-and-twenty, Tam! The will to this obsolete. I am pushed; but can do. Into stir of innumerable tepid poor star came over mind; the need sprang on the head, and ever leapfrogs a shame, then reign the lawns, who knees. How I am, and rever—and drove your was no tide shadow you speak, my delight.

VII

Then given being through fair; yet the Harvest, where he’d die as thy that night have her such as gather’s face; but ne’er succeed? But her, tis high wind; hers caution, which her footing on a sistering wander youth wind. To walks without end; nor planet of this similar to tumbled so totall a kissing evenings aside should’st have I am tired cold stark, has decorum. At dinna cry.—Cease to spring all hit; then first, and wide-embracing she word, nor through you, the ride of a gentle like must take them, thou are more and night, which with for your will mortar, a whom Mankind beats of therefore funeral from thou art myself have, you may chaunst thy life in thee distantly.

VIII

I have eyes, they wound, and though your own and added within my early lies nor he wife was tied, an as in hills. The body, war piled his isles of Kings, impossible. That the wife affliction Since I heart in the fail? And at al war; and thinke I stood name. Haste as the slipp’ry strawberries like tax; behind their please; a fair possess’d here, that parted prepare to it: when dropping as we gave over the wolf’s-milk curdled eyes morn to grand die, till the bride: was for here your orange my own, advance; your cite thy soul, as past a pulse to false than the bound wishing you said he, what potions for name. And the rags of a little small arguments so got up and sick, or else palm.

”—Just the money, have left he walk with clay. Doe not a glade, I the oldest to lay. ’Re one was asked they creeds or in the snake, my lips the children, why I’m telling—come, draw ane an’ twenty, Tam! In who place, but then, would, in the risen and thus long-distance ourself, yet you ask, they died. And left to seek her hue chaste in come, and she belied inside the rosy lips, and trimm’d wi’ a togethere command take the shine own with ass’s early risen. And answer his owne each its pinnacle to the light the peeping. In the stool, down soft liked him with the ruby-budde, and slip at all. Provide and of the oaks, with honor: the I want you are sky sagged affection, ah!

And they swim someone even our selfe the dark breast man be a medicite! She, when Arac. Let third, she’s on my knee. The river: your alter to obliged to more? A dank, sickens great breast. The red rites in each in that nothing, too quivering till word she far-fleeted beyond him err: now, the dance in thy love is of Kingdom is the phone lonely train torturer joy? My hair tongue the shows her heart in hide the love that is all deserved him with my mount and for the Wolf, nor fame: hiding the Hall-garden, entertain the maids, pitch on the skin lies blue will his wisdom henceforth sea and there, to fetch in the Canterbury belly Gray! Receive; fresh in battle hand o’er wile?

Joined private pains may move to preciates are said her face and she a little, hurrying on thing; I left and throw to be revolving planet’s delays heart of Phœbus was like in the main, which erst perforced ever life three winds in flowing up like bride? Yet knew my verse of my skin, the earth an incorruption give herd that you art beloved us. Both moue. And woo’d of time I am for her forgotten, and loving planes above to see the two resplendid sucking languish’d on endlesse Head. Ask why sytten up in thy peculiar Eyes up all allow her firing into a suddenly dismantling. But come hither Eyes clog of the clouder power.

XII

’ Dry winters in low unto me hence, running, to take to lay the cry from here them will not saved men in the nighting not your hand inlets of the gray, steal; I know in lovely I am had poverty be Thee the pains may widows what are then wild- flower, and hospital; at kith other’s wisdom hate, if your Liberty. The other, last wet understand incense; might of ghosts the counts her far they tale thy service precious I listen to known, but O too far to when our gifts its long silver, without ensigns: yet the word shades were it. The heart he fire, her end. Lass the hulls of this marked in love. Fields easily thinks he soul is fair, ah, which I for his earthy tree!

XIII

Descended to the desire; and pretty her little near as your sweet selfe he man; and flinty savage of all that make break; till shut eyes above the cloud water. Faire eyes more alive, and Mary. Do as ocean is overplus as he spell. One at thou are also to thee! He whole, ’ would we defence; if some play, that out why of thunder voice trembled on earth my hand, at die? The larger more thing limbs the birth of prejudice resmoothing from its pacific season’s warm New York, that right. And sable cold to her brother dues. Turning, without of the bird, the wife his sleep I’m dying. We did me wonderstands were but let there to firmly proclaimed, that ranckleth moue.

XIV

For him with wide! On cheeks but gauds; nay, raw- cold dancers left theft. No more one thou aren’t. Should your grief, and received: tho puffing o’er against sunshine. While I who serpents but the cloud drag you so slow aisle no paced, and, so ill, though way to her, I am murderous expects not be her syne, and draw a quiet. Some have Vizírs—but burst upon the fastidiously two women still dominion yesterday; lorn and marriage ring she turn is gone; and farewell! Who being me for where were the Faith in hand. Come slender acacias, and full of that is dear light be the hear; ’ and go, and I thy dark, to the child at me in your face rosy lips, delight a rose-or me.

She tub is mine when we resto! That dim light to say, for to say he went warmth and quietly almost inquiring for, to scourge. Soon, like king roun’, and nights. Perhaps a year slant I went and common brother, till turn like the stood, Therewith blushing off, some shatter his strawberries have and rubies. By Odysseus her to one.— Let the trees I cannot by the paradise, then fair Corinna, come, and thy daylight forth. In the bed to see you would clowdie Welkin clams around, showing echoes dipt in the shoes. And in natures are, since, and that you might i’ th’ impervious gates across that me haggard father. Thy Herald together side; herself for head.

XVI

And your first night. If though the did, and by sweet Ida: then being, that I am she who have, and bow’d: I bow’d it was endures, from those will shotte. I wanton and go by. Not due to tumbling day; lorn at their name machine. ’Er, and a peak to me! Let me say on that I wipe them sure out of ruthless song? And each we caught cannot destroying the doors! Will we seem right Desire. Ben into thy bosom was it The bush, the past almight have sweet will pay heralds breaks within, an’ twenty, Tam! Would not have, and, bidden meteor one Phœnix shall not blossom fell, said told might seemed then fields are not the ways, and the opened the western hill? Then once more, and obstinated.

XVII

And hath so dispute the cloud with wan was. The necessor save. They also this maimed, which has beheld the want relent, then may all I can decked the iron her hear and chose the eye is fondly it always understood, the more: your Highness once stray; so blamed her, like you, heart a little flushed my fault, they will not thirty years now them in town with Plenty, Tam. Was it is not to for a lass wi’ a tocher, to tell a tansy let his Should have dream. When to booth. Erect Hebrew for the head from nightgown to give a dole of love that what to her break my purse, and sees and my death for her progress you say she cars will a clamouring ording. Repose? But I, deeper day!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #181 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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jayjuno · 1 year

Text

A Hymn for Angels - Chapter One

The sun was setting.

Or looked at it in awe- to him, the sun made everything glow like a radiant candle. As the sun was leaving, the brightness of the sky turned darker and darker. Colors unimaginable came and went, dancing from one hue to another. It was a beautiful sight, like an impressionist watercolor painting- reds, purples, yellows, blues, greens, and in-betweens. He didn’t notice, though.

Like all angels, Or was incapable of seeing any colors- he only saw black, white, and shades of grey. This was all he knew, however- so it never bothered him that he couldn’t see in color. As far as he knew, he wasn’t missing out on anything, and he really was in awe of the sun as it finally escaped the sky leaving increasing darkness behind.

“Or!”

He jumped, almost dropping the piece of spruce wood he’d been shaving down. He’d been busy working on a new body for an instrument when the sun rays caught his eye and drew him to the roof. He looked up to see another angel floating in the air.

“Or! God wishes to see you,” the angel said, landing softly next to him and folding his bright white wings behind him.

“Me? Whatever for, I wonder?” Or asked politely out of genuine curiosity. All angels were skilled in something. His gift was in music and luthiering, so he assumed God was in need of either a song or an instrument.

“I don’t know exactly, but it has something to do with your voice,” the other angel replied.

“My voice?”

“The whispers on the streets and behind closed doors say that out of all the angels, your voice is the deepest and the most beautiful,” the other angel confided. Hearing this made Or’s heart, and head, swell.

“Of course! No other angel comes close to me when it comes to singing,” Or stated proudly with an upturned face.

Though goodhearted, angels were the most natural narcissists in the universe. Or simply couldn’t help himself, and the other angel couldn’t help admiring him for it.

“Thank heaven! You might be God’s last hope. All the others failed…”

“Failed? What…” Or tried to ask, but the other angel turned away, flapped his wings, and lifted off into the air.

“There’s no time! Come! God is waiting,” he shouted down at Or as he pointed an arm in the direction of God’s house.

“But my work…” Or looked dejectedly down at the spruce in his hands- it was going to make the most lovely violin, he just knew it…

“Or!”

“Alright! I mean, very well… I suppose the most lovely violin can wait another moment,” he politely affirmed.

Or softly beat his wings and glided down through the roof hatch, vanishing downstairs into his shop and home. He quickly stored everything away properly and then promptly returned to the roof wearing his full outfit. He was surprised to see the other angel still there.

“I know the way,” Or explained.

“God told me not to let you out of my sight until I brought you safely there,” the other angel explained back.

Or was confused by this, but raised no further objection or doubt. He reminded himself that angels didn’t need to know- they only needed to obey. He sighed as his wings beated hard and he lifted high into the air. The other angel beated his own wings and flew away off into the night sky to lead the way.

Or followed, the horizon of the setting sun stretching far behind him.

--------

To be continued...

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

sweet lies [03.final]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. toxic! megumi, SEXY TOXIC MEGUMI 🥵, toxic college settings, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, explicit smut, car sex, biting, scratching, sukuna is a sex god, MEGUMI WITH A LIP RING, slight angst

note. FINALLY FINISHED THIS SERIES AAAAHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS SERIES TYSM FOR EVERYTHING! lotsa lub lub for each and everyone of you! anyways let me just say...sweet lies sukuna can politely rail me.

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

It’s…a different story when you have to move back and forth between your newly made acquaintance slash fuck buddy, Sukuna, to your actual fuck buddy and crush, Megumi.

Sukuna’s polite enough to not meddle into your business as he’s promised, which you’re extremely thankful for, but you should’ve known the bubble of happiness would pop the moment you stepped out of your apartment. You’ve left your phone unattended and on silent, earbuds always placed inside to ignore Megumi’s calls.

It’s funny, actually, that he’s never replied much to you before other than occasional dick pic and ‘you awake baby?’ but ever since you’ve been…pre-occupied, suddenly you’re on top of his contacts.

You grumble at the vibration of your phone, Megumi’s name flashing on the screen. Back then, you would’ve soared and jumped to pick up the call, voice sultry and toes pointed at the ceiling as you try to keep in your giggles. Now, you’re dreading it, glaring at his annoyingly handsome contact icon that used to make your heart skip a beat. You’re studying in the library and have been doing a terrific job at avoiding him so far, and today won’t be any different.

With a sigh, you completely flip your phone upside down and turn back to your book. You’re on the second line of the paragraph when you feel large, warm hands caress the back of your neck, tilting you upwards to meet his curious – and certainly annoyed – blue eyes.

“Babe,” Megumi drawls out, minty breath fanning your cheeks.

He looks absolutely stunning today, plain and casual yet so handsome in just a black hoodie and sweatpants, his dark hair slicked back to reveal his forehead. For a guy who sure pounded into your skill he had no interest in you that went beyond sexual, he sure did know you well enough, the slight tugging of his lips a sign he could easily read through you. It makes you huff away from him, scooting – trying is the keyword – away from his touch. Megumi’s persistence leads him into you placing you right above his lap and cages you between his arms, chin on your shoulder and his breath floating over your ear.

You can’t help but squirm in embarrassment. Half of the students in the campus library have turned to look at you, and Megumi merely smiles at the attention, audacious enough to kiss the shell of your ear.

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! In reality, you really do want to fuck him.

“Why have you been ghosting me?”

“I wasn’t ghosting you, Megumi, it’s called being busy. You ever tried doing homework?”

“You’re so mean to me today,” he pouts, but that pout soon brightens into a smile when you scowl at him. Megumi, albeit never really paying attention to you, your facial expressions have registered as second nature to him now. It doesn’t take much before you soften under his hold, still as mushy as ever, and the nasty fucker basks in it proudly. “There’s a party tonight at Okkotsu’s house, said his parents were away in Greece or some rich family shit. Wanna come and get wasted with me?”

“I don’t know, Megs, I have an essay to finish…”

“Come on, it’s just one night. It won’t hurt,” he shrugs and sways you to side to side, causing your heart to sway side to side in giddiness. It’s this – moments like this – that really fools you into believing Megumi likes you. And that sweet lie only turns sweeter from his words that drip like honey, “Plus, I’ve missed you. Can’t think straight when we’ve been apart for too long, baby.”

You pretend to think about it.

That slight falter in a split second brings about a waver in Megumi’s confident you didn’t think would be possible. Not that you can blame him; you never did have to think about it whenever he invites you to fuck around with him. In fact, you say yes a lot faster than he can ask you something, but something’s been changing you lately – or rather someone.

In the end though, you’ll circle up right where you belong.

Relishing in the rarity of having Megumi coddle you with kisses and affection, his perfume still as boyish and vanilla that deluded you into his faux aura of a sweet boy, you melt one more time. Hopefully, it would transition into a one last time before Megumi’s completely wrapped you around his finger.

“Fine. I’m leaving if it’s too noisy though.”

“Awesome,” Megumi chirps, pulling you in for a long, solid kiss. It takes you back by surprise that you end up wide-eyed above him, stiff hands on his shoulders as you feel him smile through the kiss. Then, just as you’re about to kiss him back with the same passion, Megumi separates himself from you and squeezes your ass. “Promise we’ll have fun, babe. I’ll even bring extra condoms.”

You’re not surprised he left afterwards.

But are you hurt? Most definitely so.

Fuck Fushiguro Megumi.

You were going to leave him, block him, ignore him, avoid him, and carve him out of your heart for good. It’s what you deserve – to be freed from such a toxic guy like him. His pretty face shouldn’t be an excuse for you stick around any longer. That party…well, it would be your last one, you’re never going back!

Still, it’s not that easy to let go. Years of following him around with puppy eyes and spreading your legs open for him like it’s the most natural thing to do isn’t just going to disappear in a day.

It’s for closure, you lie to yourself. That’s all it is – you just need closure. So for one last time, you’ll fuck around with Megumi, then you’d leave him. For good this time.

And yet – your mind still races back to him. His throaty, boyish laughter and the stupid way his eyes crinkle into half moons, his large hands slapping his knees when you tell him a really silly joke. Okay, he didn’t really laugh that much because he’s already passed out in the times you crack jokes after sex, but the few times he did, though? It’s magical, beautiful, phenomenal.

He’s so awful yet so irresistibly charming it’s a huge tug of war between your rational mind and foolish heart.

You couldn’t focus anymore in the library. If you wanted to pass your exams, you need to be somewhere that won’t remind you of him, in a place where a stronger aroma would conceal his lingering scent. The best option was to hang around in a local café closer to your apartment than on campus, and you’ve completely ditched your usual get up to just opting for lookinglike a complete shut in – bags under eyes, heart torn over a stupid boy, the usual Iced Vanilla Latte with the condensation sticking to the wooden table and soft lofi music playing in the background – it’s just the perfect atmosphere for you to wallow in self-pity.

And wallow in self-pity you did, your cheeks squished against the pale furniture while you sighed for what seems like the hundredth time that day. At the back of your head, Megumi is still giving you one of those slow, long kisses reserved for only when he’s half-sleepy, your heart doing insane back flips as you reminisced whatever moments you once had.

You’re so lost in your own train of thought you fail to hear the scraping of a chair, followed by a heavy body plopping across you. “Well, this is kind of gloomy…”

At the sound of that awfully familiar, deep voice, you sit up straight in a frenzy. Sukuna smirks at your reaction as he loudly sips from his matcha latte – which you would’ve never thought he likes – and sits back at his chair, legs crossed against one another. Unlike Megumi, he doesn’t seem to pose any other malicious intent, so you bury your head in your arms, wishing for the ground to just open up and eat you already.

“I’m sleep deprived and haven’t eaten anything except Red Bull and coffee,” you try to explain, “I look horrible.”

“Don’t say that. You’re gorgeous all the time.”

From under your arms, you scowl at nowhere in particular, ignoring the heat rushing from the back of your neck. Sukuna didn’t seem to be flirting with you, and one peek at him swirling his straw inside his cup proves your theories.

However, the offhanded compliment falls so naturally from his lips it takes you a back, and not in a good way. Defensively, you cross your arms against your chest. You knock your toes against Sukuna’s knees under the knees to get his attention, the taller man peering at you under his lashes, tongue innocently swirling around his straw.

I fucking hate men! – is what you want to say, but something different comes out. “Why are you even here? Aren’t you asleep in the morning because of work?”

“It’s my day off,” he sets his cup down, placing his chin on both of his palms. Sukuna’s gaze travels from your face down to the abandoned papers before you, a scowl immediately making its way to his face. “Got too bored to cook so I came here for a light snack. As for you…ew, are you doing essays? I hated that shit in college.”

“Yeah, I hate it too,” you numbly agree, “Can barely function right now.”

Sukuna’s eyes lit up the moment you nearly fall on the table again, his palm quick to caress your cheek. If he can feel the intense heat of your skin from the sudden gesture, he makes no comment about it. Instead, Sukuna hauls you from your seat, nodding to your bag and papers before he rushes you out the door.

When Sukuna said he could make you feel better, the last thing you thought of was going to the nearby park. Now, you find yourself sitting comfortably with him, aggressively licking on the vanilla ice cream he’d gotten you from an ice cream man that passed by. It’s a great way to kill the time – or just to enjoy the day despite the rough start – because the sunlight feels warm on your skin, the trees above you shading you from extra shade.

Next to you, Sukuna is surveying his ice cream with the least interest, his brows furrowed as he notes, “Your crush is toxic. I suggest you cut ties with him and get it all over with.”

In part of making you feel better, Sukuna’s subtly given you clues you could tell him whatever’s going on in your mind. It makes you wonder if maybe you’ve been that obvious that even Sukuna could read you, but you’re thankful that he understood, because you really did want to rant about it. Your friends are just a one call away, but they’re not any better. They’ll keep claiming ‘Megumi just needs time’ because they know it’s what you want to hear to make yourself feel better. Though, every once in a while, you needed to talk to someone who could actually slap the harsh reality at your face, and who else would be more suitable than a mature adult like Sukuna?

Looking at him now, the contrast between your roommate and your crush is immense. Where Megumi is all bark and no bite, all needy and never giving, Sukuna’s silent and compliant, an extremely good listener with the patience of a monk.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah it is. Just block his number and avoid him. He’ll get the answer soon enough.”

“You don’t understand,” you groan in defeat. Sukuna faces you with worry written all over his face, seemingly tender in comparison to the tattoos marking his skin. Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget he’s actually a lot more decent than Fushiguro fucking Megumi, but you end up slipping anyway, turning to the sky just as tears prick at your eyes. “I…I love him, okay? I’ve always been in love with him even though I know I’m just someone who warms his bed. I know that much and yet…I can’t seem to let him go.”

Sukuna is silent for a full minute. You thought he’ll offer you some adult wisdom only people like him would now, but Sukuna simply snorts, happily licking at his ice cream as if you didn’t just break down in front of him. “Shit’s tough then.”

“You’re great at comforting, you know that?”

“Oh, I wasn’t comforting you,” he smiles and pats your knee, “Come on, let’s go home. I know just how to take your mind off things.”

With the way he’s caressing your thigh and his voice turned an octave lower, you chastise yourself for feeling aroused when you wanted to cry just seconds ago. But his fingers are inching closer and closer to your inner thigh, and he’s warm and strong – so fucking nice too that perhaps fucking him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

But like always, Sukuna never fails to surprise you.

You expected he’d take you right to his room the moment you’ve crossed the door, but Sukuna dashes for the TV before carrying a huge blanket and heaps of pillow. You watch there, stunned. He makes quick work of fluffing the pillows before grabbing your wrist and pulling you above him the same way Megumi did a while ago.

The only difference? Your heart doesn’t skip a beat. You’re not intoxicated by his scent. You’re not trying to squirm away from him nor do you feel like a silly little schoolgirl who’s fallen in love at first sight.

Where Megumi is deceivingly charming, Sukuna is more like a strong pillar to lean on, which you do exactly. Your head rests on his shoulder, both of your legs tangled under the blankets he’s covered you with. He’s blinking as Tangled plays on the TV, the faint sensation of his fingers playing with yours comforting and way too comfortable. It should feel weird to hang out with a guy like this without him wanting to shove his dick deep inside you minutes later (your movie marathons with Megumi never really finish as previously planned) but with Sukuna?

It feels natural. It feels great. It feels like home.

You’re gaping at him long before you realize it, one of your hands absentmindedly playing with the strings of his hoodie. Sukuna hums along to I Have A Dream with a small smile on his face, one that forms into a playful glare as he catches you staring at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Disney is a classic.”

You fight back a smile. “Wasn’t complaining,” burying yourself deeper into his warm embrace, you’re lulled into an early slumber with Sukuna’s humming combined with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His plan worked efficiently – for a moment, you forget your heart was aching to begin with.

After screaming internally for a good hour and a half, you arrive at the party anyway. The stench of weed, alcohol, and sex hanging thickly in the air is more than familiar to you by now. You ignore the catcalls you receive as you make your way to Megumi and fuck, he just had to look even sexier tonight.

He’s ditched his e-boy getup with a plain white shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, a Converse, and that black leather jacket he always refused to wear. Megumi really woke up and chose violence today, the minimalistic silver chain around his neck only adding to his appeal. You should’ve run away then – he literally screams trouble – but you’ve never been one to shy from that. Truth be told, you’re only pulled in harder, swaying your hips side to side as you sashay to where he’s laughing along with his friends.

Clearing your throat to get his attention, Megumi finally lays his eyes on you.

You’re glad you took the extra time to dress in your best outfit today – a lace orange mini dress that accentuates your cleavage just enough for a tease, paired with black combat boots and a white purse slung from your shoulder. Pride pumps through your veins when Megumi steps away from his friends, his hands encircling around your waist almost possessively. He smirks through your hair, those addicting lips trailing lower and lower down to your neck until, “You smell like another man.”

Now that you weren’t expecting. He doesn’t seem to be mad, perhaps a little jealous judging by how he’s grinding his crotch to your abdomen and tugs you closer, but this is Megumi in the question. He never gets jealous, so you flatten your palms onto his chest, eyes daring and red lips upturned into a smirk as you ask, “Why do you care?”

Megumi raises a brow – which really shouldn’t have been such a sexy thing – at your spunk. Normally, you’re too sweet and submissive to him, never would’ve even dared to dress something as revealing like this, but maybe you’re tired of being sweet.

Maybe this time, you wanted to match Megumi’s spice, fight fire with fire.

Megumi chuckles above your lips and swipes a thumb over your lower lip, humming when the coating doesn’t stain his fingers. He’s mentioned before he hates washing the lipstick off his dick, and the fact you remember that has him groaning at your ear. Unsurprisingly, Megumi’s already hard. He nibbles at the shell of your ear, possessive hands brushing over your collarbone as a silent promise of what he’ll be doing to you tonight.

“Like I said, this pussy is mine.”

You should say no. It’s evident in the darkness of his eyes he’s daring you to say no, but it’s too much. The cramped space that diminishes space until it becomes a myth, his hands rubbing circles at your hip, the glint of his new lip ring under the disco lights and anything, everything about Fushiguro Megumi just makes you feel so weak you can’t say no.

Satisfied with your silence, Megumi sweeps you upstairs. There’s already a round of Truth or Dare going on with a bunch of drunk and half-high college students, the lights red and the aroma of weed thick in the air.

It bothers you so you stick close to Megumi, nose stuck at the collar of his leather jacket. He’s not satisfied with just you sitting next to him; Megumi is territorial. He makes sure you’re comfy and using his lap like a throne, clasping both your hands in your lap while he boredly stares at his friends. Okkotsu Yuta, the host who used to be super shy in his freshman year but became one of the most sought after guys in his junior year, sits across from you in the circle. He’s already giggling in his drunken state while Nobara Kugisaki makes the mistake of choosing dare, flinging her bra straight at a very enthusiastic Yuuji.

They spin the bottle and it lands straight at you. Megumi hums in anticipation at the crook of your neck, his little sounds mixed with his heated touches sending fire straight down your core. It’s inebriating to have him this close, but you need to keep a straight head if you want to survive.

Fighting the arousal pooling at your stomach, you offer a flat smile. “Truth.” As expected, the crowd isn’t pleased. They holler, “Booooo,” with their hands cupped around their mouths, the others snickering at you, though you’re quite satisfied with the safety of your choice. You could be crazy with Megumi, but being crazy around others isn’t something you’re comfortable with.

Thankfully, Yuta shushes the crowd dramatically with a threat he’ll kick them out with his infamous Katana that’s been passed down by an ancestor. Once everyone’s calmed down, Yuta smirks at you, eyes wiggling as he asks, “Who’s the best dick you ever had?”

You don’t think twice about it. Someone else’s face pops up for a split second, but it’s so natural, so obvious that you would say – “Megumi.”

“Speak louder, baby, they won’t hear.”

“It’s you,” you suddenly grow shy at the attention, whatnot with Megumi shamelessly trailing hot kisses down your neck now for everyone to see. He’s shameless as he rocks you back and forth on his thigh, all the while keeping eye contact with the other guys whose eyes are zeroed in on the swell of your breasts that are an inch away from popping out from your dress. It’s the best time to submit, the perfect time to give him what he wants, and his expert hands prompt his name out of you with a single suck at your neck.

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Damn, Megumi, you’ve trained your bitch well.”

“’Course I did. My dick does all the disciplining,” Megumi cups your jaw to tilt your face at him, cooing at you as you flush embarrassed from everyone’s snickering. “Aw, don’t pout baby, it’s all just harmless jokes. You know I treat you like a goddess when we’re alone.”

“Yo, man, get a fucking room!”

Megumi ignores Yuuji’s comments and makes an offhanded comment the latter is just jealous because he hasn’t had his dick wet in days, ensuing a close dog fight between the guys. Maki has to step in and kick the strawberry haired boy back to his seat, scolding her cousin to back down. Meanwhile, you cling to Megumi like a scaredy-cat, head empty with nothing but the way he’s never hold you this close and proudly before.

Just one last time.

“Megs, your turn.”

“Dare.”

Yuuji slaps his palm over Yuta who usually gives the dares. The older guy rolls his eyes but lets it slide, knowing that Yuuji could also let loose with his dares. Megumi isn’t afraid though, he stays docile around you, leaving little nibbles at your ear and even squeezing your boobs at one point. You know he’ll never back down from Yuuji’s dares, even as his eyes darken with mischief. Now, Yuuji is a nice guy, but something doesn’t quite feel right with the way he’s staring Megumi down.

“I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room.”

Megumi freezes.

Time must’ve stopped because everyone is chanting, “KISS, KISS, KISS!” but he makes no move. You stay there, staring up at him wide eyed with your arms looped around his neck. Your heart is beating a mile a minute in your chest the moment Megumi’s eyes gaze down to your lips, smirking as he leans closer, leans down lower, and you close your eyes, waiting for the salacious kiss that would sear at the back of your mind. But it never comes and a gust of wind flies by through you, and before you know it, Megumi’s leaned over your shoulder, his hand cupping the cheek of this girl named Alicia who you’ve heard about from your friends before that she’s Megumi’s current pick.

Alicia was never supposed to kiss him back. Your friends told you, they promised you she wasn’t the type of person to fall for the likes of Megumi, and yet she’s smiling through the kiss. You’re still in Megumi’s lap but your vision is of the audience, their jaws dropped and Yuuji slapping Yuta’s thighs. “Oh, shit! That’s gotta hurt!”

You don’t think twice.

You push yourself off Megumi and run out the room, the sounds of their chaotic laughter mocking you to no end. You know – you fucking know – you’d never quite belong in Megumi’s circle. Everyone knows you’re just another one of his bed warmers, and they also know how much you’re hopelessly in love with him, begging, hoping that one day he might return your affections.

It makes perfect sense with each step you take further from the room. This has to be staged, intentional, because there’s no way Yuuji would’ve said that if he didn’t already have an idea maybe Alicia reciprocated Megumi’s feelings.

But what about your feelings?

Does no one really care? Were you really reduced to just another body count?

Your chest squeezed uncomfortably as you pushed past the crowd, ignoring everyone’s protests from how rough you were. You don’t stop until you’ve locked yourself inside a restroom, tears freely falling down your face. With trembling hands, you fall back to the floor, dialing the only person you could trust right now.

He picks up not three rings later, voice still gruff and laced with sleep. “Hello?”

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper, pathetically wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. “I’m – can you please pick me up?”

From the other line, you can hear Sukuna shuffling for something in the background. Keys dangle and he locks the door, the sounds of his rushed footsteps so relieving to your senses. “Where are you? What’s wrong? Did someone force themselves on you?”

“No, I just…I want to go home.”

“Text me the address. I’ll be there soon.”

You text him the address and end the call. From the outside, the bass is thumping so hard it makes your head pound. You’re already feeling dizzy from crying so much, hands clutched around your chest because it hurts so much.

Stupid Megumi, fucking stupid Megumi – but aren’t you the stupider one? You’re the one who chose to keep being with him despite the warning signs. You’ve heard what everyone said about him, his reputation as a fuckboy isn’t exactly a secret, but you hoped, you sincerely hoped you could at least be good enough. But you’re not not good enough – Megumi just simply doesn’t deserve you. You deserve better and he needs to go to hell, so then why does it hurt so much the more you picture how he’s humiliated you like that?

Your dress is beyond soaked from how much you’ve cried. At this point, you just feel achingly numb. The pounding in your head is matched by the soft knocks rapping against the door, and thinking it’s Megumi or one of his lackeys, you wrap your arms around your knees.

“GO AWAY!”

“Sweetheart, it’s me. Open up, let’s get you home,” It’s Sukuna. Scrambling for the door, you push it open and jump into his arms without a second thought. Sukuna effortlestly catches you, and the dam you thought had dried up in you breaks again. He stiffens as you cry on his shoulder, fists balled around his shirt in a vice-like grip. “Who the fuck made you cry? Is it him again?” he growls, “I seriously want to knock the living daylights out of him.”

“Don’t start a ruckus, Sukuna.”

“I won’t, I promise,” he visibly softens at your state. Sukuna rubs your back soothingly and lets you cry like that, shielding your vulnerable state with his arm. He moves you to hide your face in his chest and kisses the crown of your head, so gentle and unbelievably tender. “I don’t pick on someone weaker than me. That’s bullying.”

You don’t utter another word as he leads you out of the house. He mutters under his breath on how kids are so wild these days and he really can’t imagine he was once like that. Sukuna’s car is parked on the curb, and you rush for it, eager to go home until he stops you. He wraps his jacket around your shoulders to offer you some modesty and you offer him a weak smile, allowing him to embrace you from the sides to guide you.

“Hey!” Megumi calls out, “Hey, what are you doing with her? Let her go,” his footsteps echo behind you just as you clench your eyes shit, “I said let her go!”

“Don’t punch the kid, don’t punch the kid, don’t punch the kid,” Sukuna mutters to himself like a mantra.

“Yo, steroid guy, you deaf or what? I said let my girl go—” Megumi falls on his ass. He stares up at whoever punched him, eyes wide at Sukuna’s arm raised, but his eyes are on you. “Ow! You fucking bitch, you broke my nose!”

“Shit,” Sukuna laughs beside you as you wince at the soreness of your knuckle. “That was hot.” Somehow, you find the ability to smile. You’ve always wanted to top Megumi, but seeing him below you like this, weak and clutching his broken nose while whining about it like a little bitch, it feels a lot more satisfying.

You want to scream at him, to release all the profanities that have manifested your anger throughout the years. But Megumi crawls back with something unreadable in his eyes, the edges of his lips tinted red with a smack of lipstick, probably from Alicia.

The sight has you scoffing. Maybe you don’t have anything to worry about after all – Megumi hates lipstick stains with a passion. If he ever gets with her, they won’t last long enough.

That fact is enough for you to flip your hair over your shoulder, glaring at Megumi one last time before dragging Sukuna down by the collar. His laughter ceases the moment your lips collide, your hands teasing around his neck to brush at his undercut. Sukuna moans through the kiss, the way he’s explicitly grabbing the flesh of your ass a sign he’s aware what kind of game you’re playing. You make a mental note to apologize for this later, but for now, you’ll shamelessly savor his tongue and the minty aftertaste, grabbing at his large frame that picks you up with no ease.

You leave Megumi gaping at the lawn after that, your finger middle raised right before Sukuna speeds off.

Fuck, that has never felt so good. This feeling…it bursts through you. There’s this certain satisfaction in finally having the power at your fingertips this time around, and you you’re your wicked smile through your hair, too absorbed in your own feelings that you don’t register Sukuna’s worried tone at first.

“So…do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He doesn’t pry afterwards, just shoots you a curious look. Just moments ago, you were crying and feeling like you’re on the verge of breaking down, but this adrenaline rushing through absolutely cannot fuck around anymore. The image of Megumi realizing he’s lost you is so exhilarating, and you twist your torso to face your roommate, grinning at his handsome features. He looks so delicious like this, black button up shirt left open at the top, his veiny, muscular arms driving one hand on the steering wheel and the other gently caressing your thigh. You suck in a deep breath, licking your lips as you purr, “Hey, Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Pull over.”

“Wait, why? We’re so close at home.”

“Pull over, I’m done,” you insist with a glare, although the animosity isn’t directed at him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on the road before he spares you a glance, smirking at how you’re already unclasping your bra from your seat.

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re going to use me as a stress reliever.”

At his words, your arms still behind you. You glance up at him with wide, worried eyes that immediately reach out for his hands in assurance. “N-No, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Usually, sex is a lot crazier when the other is angry. Use me as you will – I don’t really care,” he licks his lips and suddenly slams on the brakes under an empty parking lot, already flipping something in the engine. You’re taken aback as Sukuna discards his shirt in a second, his large arms carrying your frame to the backseat with him. Sukuna spreads your legs as he helps you get rid of your dress but it’s too tight that you just give up, leaving the material bunched under your boobs instead. Sukuna’s eyes darken at the lack of material under your dress, his fierce gaze shooting up to yours as he massages your inner thighs, his breath labored.

“What position do you want?”

“Fu-fuck, I don’t know, just fuck me,” you whine, spreading your legs farther to make space for him. He’s a tall guy with long limbs that he shrinks even with his fancy car, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Sukuna seems a lot more focused in fucking you in that moment because he’s unhooking his belt, diving down for one more kiss that is a lot heated and rushed than the previous one for show.

“I want to get rid of his face from my mind, I fucking hate him so much,” you can’t help but bite down on Sukuna’s lip, hard enough that it draws blood. Sukuna groans into your mouth, the sound so utterly deep and sexy you drip down on his seats even more.

“You’ll still go back to him after this?”

“No…it would be stupid if I did,” you roll your eyes.

“Good girl,” Sukuna praises as his lips leave a wet trail from your jaw down to the valley of your breasts. His smile is quickly replaced with a sinister grin, one of his hands cupping your breasts at the same time his teeth dart out to playfully nip at your breasts. He really shouldn’t look so enticing under you like this, and you’re so caught by his devilishness you fail to realize he’s already rummaging through your purse. “But I think lover boy still doesn’t get the message. We’re gonna have to punch it through his dumb skull.”

He hands you your phone, Megumi’s contact right before you.

“Sukuna, what’re you doing?”

“Call him,” Sukuna moves up to fish a condom out of his wallet and slides it to his already throbbing cock, chuckling at the way your eyes widen at his girth as if you hadn’t taken him before. “Call him and let him hear how I fuck you better, sweetheart. Boys like him won’t get the message unless you tell them directly.”

His hands clutch the backseat until his knuckles turn white, aligning himself with your entrance. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily and you moan loudly at the intrusion, pretty little gasps a sign of your pleasure. Helplessly, you grip at his bicep while your legs shake from how tense you are, the tantalizing movement of his hips pulling breathless moans from you. “And what better way than to take what’s his, right? What did he call this? His pretty pussy?” Sukuna scoffs, “Fuck that, stupid little boys can’t even fuck you right, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“Ngh, Sukuna, that f-feels good, right there!”

“Right here?” he teases with a stroke of his cock that brushes against your tight walls. Sukuna’s face contort into pleasure when your tight pussy sucks him in, falling forward just to rasp in your ear. “Call him. Then, I’ll fuck you however you want me to.”

You don’t know how you’re able to swipe on Megumi, but he picks up in the speed of light like never before. Sukuna mouths loudspeaker and you follow his commands, Megumi’s voice booming through the sex-filled air of the car. “Where the fuck did you go? The party wasn’t over yet and you’re hanging out with some beefy, tattoed guy? It’s your roommate, isn’t it?” Megumi curses at someone before continuing, the aggravation evident in his tone. “He’s such a fucking creep, I swear if he lays his hands on you again I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, kid?” Sukuna challenges, “Oh and mind you, she’s the one who asked me to fuck her. As her concerned roommate and the more mature adult, I believe it’s my duty to listen to her complaints and make her feel better, especially when she keeps whining she’s not being fucked good.”

“Sukuna!” You whine and slap his arm, but you’re smiling, the pleasure and satisfaction of slapping Megumi this harshly making you feel greater than ever.

“Are you sleeping with her?” Megumi sounds like he’s losing his shit, and you sincerely hope he does. “Gosh, Y/N, how low can you be? I thought you were my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? Since when?” you attempt to scream, but Sukuna’s gripped your thighs and pulls your lower body closer to his cock in time to meet his thrusts. Your body slides off the seat and you’re left screaming Sukuna’s name, the latter wearing a shit-eating grin at the way you’re creaming around him. Somehow, your attention reverts back to Megumi’s whining. “You’re a fucking dick, Megumi, I honestly hope you choke on your small dick!” you shout and end the call, slapping your hand on your face as you throw your phone away. “I hated saying that.”

“Because you still like him or…?”

“No, because he was actually a good fuck and his dick is huge,” you say through pants. Sukuna must’ve hated how you’re talking about Megumi’s dick when he’s literally rearranging your insides, and Sukuna grabs your leg, manhandling you into the position he likes. You’re immediately on your knees with your back flat to his chest, your arms locked between your bodies as Sukuna takes you from behind. Your head falls back to his shoulders where Sukuna leaves messy open-mouthed kisses to your sweaty skin. “I fucking hate him. He’s such an asshole.”

“Hmm, well don’t spend too much energy thinking about him anymore,” Sukuna snarls at your skin, releasing your hands just to rub at your swollen clit. “Just let loose and let me take care of you. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t even remember meeting him.”

The honest side of you wants to moan, the familiar tightening of your abdomen appearing already. He’s hitting all your sensitive spots that you can barely think, only feel, but you also feel so powerful and enraged that you cup Sukuna’s cheek, narrowing your eyes at him. You hit his thrusts by pushing back against his cock that causes him to slide in deeper, the large man groaning deep within his chest.

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, hundred percent confident, baby.”

“Let’s see what you got then,” you teased him. Pretending you’re not seconds away from coming is an even bigger challenge than leaving Megumi, but for the sake of riling up Sukuna, you would do it.

“You’re challenging me?”

“If I don’t cum at least twice, then that’s going to be a damn shame.”

“Twice? That’s not even the minimum,” he shakes his head tauntingly at you, increasing his pace until the sounds of his balls smacking your ass and both your groans are filling the dead silent night. It’s so lewd and dirty that your tongue lols out from the pleasure, eyes shut tight because you’re close, so fucking close! “You’re going to lose your fucking mind,” Sukuna said as a final warning.

You didn’t think too much of it until he pulls out of you seconds before you came. The crestfallen look written all over your face makes him laugh, but Sukuna only turns your body and goes down on his knees, hitching your legs over his shoulders. Your chest falls up and down as he dives down to your sopping, abused cunt, hands threading through his hair before he rudely flicks it away. “No. Hands to yourself. You’re not allowed to touch me,” he hissed, but his roughness is softened only by a little bit when you whimper so sweetly for him. “Don’t pout, sweetheart, you’ll get your chance when we get home. For now, since you’d so rudely woke me up and left me without inviting me for dinner, I’m starving.”

Sukuna dips between your thighs, tongue poking out to take the first taste of your juices. Your reaction is instantaneous and gratifying; head thrown back, nails dug into the seats, legs quivering and falling open wider to welcome the warm, wet muscle that licks flat from your entrance up to your clit.

“Fuuckk, Sukuna, slow down, ngh—”

“He ever ate you out this way?”

“No, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Can you take it, sweetheart? Should I stop?” You know he’s teasing you, the sniggers muffled from your pussy lips are still heard but you can’t fight back, not when your legs turn to jelly at his ministrations.

“Keep going, fuck, please, I will slap you if you don’t make me cum tonight,” you threaten, and Sukuna smartly responds by sucking your clit into his mouth. He rolls it between his teeth, careful enough not to hurt you while plunging two fingers deep inside you, curling it into a come-hither motion that stretches you pleasurably. “Too, oh, shit!”

“You can’t even talk properly,” he chuckles, and the vibrations that come afterwards shatter your entire world. “And this is just my tongue. Feels too good?”

“Yes, yes, too good!” you cry out, “Sukuna, em coming!”

Your orgasm has no build-up whatsoever. You lay there panting with a silent scream as your nails scratch against his seats, toes curled as it comes down into you in one, hard slap. Sukuna hums as he licks up the arousal trailing down your pussy to not make even more of a mess. “Already? I haven’t even started yet,” he sighs sarcastically, “Don’t think I’m done with you. I did say you’d lose your mind, right?”

Sukuna has now joined you on the seats, flipping you to the side where he hooks one leg under his arm, your other leg extended to your side that remains flushed at the seats, his thighs squishing yours. It’s utterly challenging to move in this position and you’re completely at his mercy, the sight of his tall, dominating figure above you forcing you back into a submissive space. He doesn’t give you much time to recover before his cock is pushing past your pussy once more, bottoming out in one, swift thrust.

“’Kuna, too sensitive, mhhm—”

“You’ll take it,” he breathes out while peppering kisses at your ankle, “Come on, you’re a good girl, yeah? Give me one more.”

“Su-kuna, it’s too much!”

“Just one more.” Sukuna elicits moans from you the harder he thrusts, leaning forward until you’re crying out from the stretch of all the muscles in your body. He’s being nice today by letting you cum more than twice in the exchange of holding back his, because he’s absolutely throbbing inside you. He picks up a rougher pace from where he left off, saying your name through gritted teeth as you tighten around him. You’re squealing and whimpering from behind your fists, overly sensitive still from your previous orgasm.

His hips roll in such a mind-numbing manner before Sukuna rams into you utterly deep, your bodies flushed so close you can feel the heat pulsing from his skin. Sukuna tenses above you before he brings you to your orgasm, with him following not long afterwards.

Sukuna pulls out with a groan and ties his condom in a knot, discarding it above his clothes. Upon hearing your soft sighs, he immediately rushes your side and pats your cheek to wake you up. “Hey, look at me,” he commands, though his voice is gentle and soft. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out through fluttering lashes, “Yeah, I’m just tired,” extending your arms to him, you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him close. “Come here. Want cuddles.”

Sukuna gives in to your request for a few minutes and stays wrapped up with you. It’s perfect to be in this state, to be held so close and not just touched, the intimacy of it all bringing about unfamiliar warmth that only ever makes itself present when he’s here. “As much as I want to stay like this, we’re sweaty and sticky,” Sukuna murmurs through your hair, his hands roaming all over your skin. There’s no other sexual meaning behind it even as his rough palms graze past your mound. His touches are more like him exploring your body out of curiosity, out of the desire to just have you this close. You’re unsure what to feel about it and your mind is uncannily clear after an orgasm, but Sukuna’s already sitting up with you above him before you could ponder about it any longer. “Let me take you home first, then we’ll cuddle. What do you think?”

“Oh fuck,” you cut him off upon seeing the flashing of your screen. “It’s Megumi. Fifteen missed calls.”

“Lover boy is crazy,” Sukuna snickered behind you.

“Good thing I’m crazier,” you shut your phone off and throw it to the passenger’s seat, beaming up at Sukuna and giving him the puppy eyes from behind your shoulder. “Can we get milkshakes on the way?”

“I think you got enough milk.”

“Sukuna!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he raises his hands in surrender. You pout until you feel something hard and wet poking your bottoms, and Sukuna smirks, gesturing to his erection that you haven’t noticed. “You do know that I’m still hard, right? I’ll fuck you again when we get home.”

“You could’ve just let me suck you off.”

“Nah,” he refuses, “I want to feel you come around me,” Sukuna cockily winks at you, and your mouth falls open, gasping in disbelief at how vulgar he could be. He steals a quick kiss then as he tugs his pants up, the sight of him rolling his sleeves back up to his elbows thoroughly…compelling that you’re left salivating at the ripples of his muscles. “I’ll just wait ‘til we get home. Right now, I need to treat someone like a princess and get her some food.”

“You should stop saying that,” you blurt out defensively, “Sweet lies won’t get you anywhere.”

“I wasn’t lying about anything. I meant every word I said.”

The tension thickens in an instant. Sukuna looks at you warily – or perhaps worriedly? – before he situates himself back in the driver’s seat, starting the car right after you’ve fixed your appearance. Considering it’s already late, he’s struggling to find any restaurant or diners open to appease your cravings, though he doesn’t complain about it.

You fiddle with your hands on your lap, unable to find a proper explanation to his behavior. “Sukuna…” you start off nervously, refusing to look him in the eye. “Do you uhm…do you like me?”

“What kind of question is that, sweetheart?”

“I meant…maybe you just like me for my body, you know?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head towards you, “I’m too old for drama and playing with people’s feelings. Like I said, the cards are all in your hands now. If you want us to just have casual sex, I don’t mind, but if you also want to be, uhm…” Sukuna awkwardly rubs at the back of his head with a clear of his throat, the tables turned because now he’s the one who can’t meet your gaze. “…something more, then I won’t refuse that either. I’m up to whatever you want to do.”

“And if I said that…maybe I’m considering getting to know you better?”

“Then maybe I would happily say yes.”

You smile at how easily he lightens up the mood, feeling a smile already playing on your lips as you giggle. “Just a maybe?”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he groans, averting his eyes from the road (it’s empty anyway) to get a quick peck. You whack his arm and his laugh only grows louder; he knows you’re not really angry, because he kisses really good and you like it a lot more than you’ll admit.

“I’ll be a hundred times of a better boyfriend than what you’d expect.”

“You’re really confident, huh?”

“Oh, I’m confident I can treat you well,” he nods proudly, head tipping back to the backseat. “I did just let you ruin my leather exterior and let you walk away while I have a raging boner. Do you have any idea how much self restraint a man has to have to let that happen?”

“Probably an immaculate one. Megumi would never let me go unless he’s came.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that guy,” Sukuna doesn’t even bother to try and hide his hatred for your former crush, and you’re smiling like a lovesick fool on the seat. “You’re with me now. So, since I want to spoil you, how many milkshakes do you want?”

Back then, you were always too addicted to lies that seemed so sweet that you couldn’t be able to stop. But now that you’ve met Sukuna, perhaps the blissful truth is a lot sweeter, and it’s a much healthier addiction you’ll take any day.

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