#not the remnants of slumbering spirits

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ BEAUTIFUL TORMENT ꒱ OKKOTSU YUUTA X READER

warnings ⟢ dead dove: do not eat. minors, blank blogs, and ageless blogs do not interact—i will block you! yandere. captivity. stockholm syndrome. mental unwellness. dub/noncon. pet play. omorashi + piss play. cunnilingus. butt plug mention. food mentions. afab + gn reader. pet names are: bunny, my love, baby, sweetness. reader refers to yuuta as “yuuta-sama.”

word count ⟢ 2.3k

notes ⟢ this is my (incredibly belated) birthday present to yuuta! it was a massive undertaking to write; what initially began as a tiny drabble spiraled into...well, this. please heed the warnings before reading! and if you do read, be sure to let me know what you think! mwah <3

It’s impossible to tell the time of day in a room with neither clocks nor windows—not that you need to worry your precious little head with keeping time.

Time is not your master, after all.

Your existence is split in two—not unlike that of the earth: ever rotating on its axis, kissed by sunbeams from dawn until dusk, then solemnly accepting the moon’s company. Waiting for your master’s light to cut through the shadowy pitch of night is lonely; basking in his presence during the day is suffocating. You are either with or without him, for he is the extent of your life.

There is nothing else.

Lifetimes ago, you resented him. Aimless yet headstrong, you were a feral stray to others and yourself. You spat in the face of his kindness, biting his hand with all the strength you could muster—a wilfull thing, he affectionately called you, unphased by the bloody rivulets coursing down his forearm. His was the only hand that ever deigned to feed you, but compassion was foreign to your frozen heart. It made your chest ache uncomfortably.

(He still dons the scars you gifted him; memento vivere. Sometimes, when you cling to the euphoria of being cradled as he slumbers, you lick each gnarled patch of tissue—repentant before your sins.)

While your spirit was difficult for your master to forge, he recast your body with ease. Quickly, your nerves memorized the savage shock of pain and the satisfying hum of pleasure. Even though there was a disconnect with your unyielding mind, your body was obedient when you faltered; honest when you lied; meek when you resisted. It was a steep adjustment—melting down and fitting into the mold he created for you.

But you now bear the invisible marks of his torment beautifully.

Reflecting on your past cruelty and ignorance is excruciating. While you’ve done your best to forget, memories claw at your psyche when you’re swathed in starlight, solitary and susceptible. Though you know you belong with him—at his feet or by his side, whatever he deems fit, until death do you part—your subconscious is less convinced.

Dreams are never a reprieve; they haunt you. Remnants of your hatred linger on, your shadow self gnawing on the thought of ripping him to shreds when he’s at his most vulnerable, hair falling across his closed eyes—a picture of soft, boyish innocence. It’s an exhausting ordeal, feeling as though you’re at war in your sleep, never able to relax. Once you awaken, your lungs burn. Something within you cracks open and yawns.

Do you not deserve peace?

Curled up in your bed, half-delirious and longing for daylight, your ears perk at the thump, thump, thump of footsteps descending the staircase.

You would recognize the distinct vibrations of his footfalls even if you were deaf; the reverberations resonate in your bones, thrumming from your crown to your toes. Each muffled thud sets your dormant body alight, kindling the snuffed embers in your core—Pavlov’s tinkling bell. If you had a tail, it would be twitching in anticipation. Your weary heart beats only for him.

My sun.

My sun my sun my sun.

One by one, the chain lock, deadbolt, knob lock, and padlock that keep you sheltered and secure click and clink into place. The doorknob twists as the door creaks open, gingerly shutting seconds later.

“How’s my bunny?” Yuuta’s mellow voice rings out.

Approaching you, he soaks in your huddled figure with a distressed frown. On the nightstand, he notes your empty snack plate and drained water jug.

(When he first takes you in, you outright refuse sustenance, launching a hunger strike. You fail spectacularly, of course. Yuuta pivots with finesse; he makes you taste the bitter dehumanization of being strapped down and force-fed.

Afterward—though you do eat of your own volition—you exercise what little willpower you have, pitching fits during mealtimes.

Secretly, he finds it endearing.

“It’s important that you’re healthy and strong; I want us to spend the rest of our long, happy lives together,” he implores as you eye the food suspiciously.

Fresh apple, carrot, and celery—all sliced into small, bite-sized cubes. It’s how you would prepare food for a toddler to prevent them from choking.

Indignantly, you turn your nose up at his offering, the sight of it making you nauseous. “This is rabbit food,” you spit. “And I’m not your fucking child. I don’t even want to be here.”

“You don’t mean that,” he states with finality.

Refusing to ask for the thousandth time why it has to be you sitting here in his care, you dejectedly open your mouth, allowing him to feed you a tiny piece of carrot.

As you crunch and grind the morsel into a pulp, the sweet, earthy flavor coats your tastebuds. You can’t help but wonder: What good will all these vegetables do if I never see the light of day again?)

Yuuta leans over the bedside, chilly fingertips unfurling around your neck. He slowly brings his lips to your forehead and pauses, testing your temperature—normal.

After he leans back, he speaks. “What are these tears for, my love? They hurt my heart.”

Tender lips sweep away a dewdrop that slides down your cheek; you hadn’t realized you were crying. Under his intense appraisal, you feel small. You feel fragile. You feel safe.

“I missed you, Yuuta-sama,” is all you manage to utter.

At your admission, the fingers on your neck tighten imperceptibly. His thumb strokes your jugular—featherlight. “Oh, my poor bunny,” he sighs, dropping his head to nuzzle the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “I’ve made you suffer.”

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you protest, “Please don’t say that, Yuuta-sama. It’s my fault…I’m too needy.”

I missed my sun.

Looking up at you from beneath a curtain of ink, he tsks, nose skating along the curve of your jaw. “No, you aren’t. You’re perfect. My precious—” you gasp when he nips at your pulse point “—most perfect love. There’s nothing I’d rather do than be with you all day every day, endlessly adoring you.”

With a pout, you mumble, “Then why don’t you?”

“You know I have to work to protect you.”

Every bit his spoiled pet, your voice wobbles. “I wish you never had to leave.”

“One day I won’t,” he soothes, dotting a kiss to your cupid’s bow. “But until then, we have to enjoy every moment we have together—right?”

“Mhmm.”

For a few breaths, you lapse into syrupy silence. Your fingers weave through the hair at his nape; his head tucks beneath your chin, his balmy exhales tethering you to the present.

When he withdraws, something like a promise glints in his eyes. Your stomach flips. “Will you allow me to help you feel better?”

Sniffling, you nod, and sit up. The blanket slips down your shoulders, revealing the swell of your breasts. While your room is always an optimal temperature, you’re warmer now that you have relished Yuuta’s sunlight—revitalized.

He sweeps a hand through your hair, and you lean into the calming pressure of his touch. His lips curl into a fond smile. “Up, bunny.”

Without hesitation, you obey, leaving the cosy nest of your bed to stand on the cold concrete. No longer wrapped in linens, your nude form is on display. Yuuta’s lapis gaze sweeps over every sliver of your flesh, ears to soles.

Once, his inspections—both visual and physical—made you cower in humiliation and bristle with anger. Now you preen, your lovely features a placid lake. But a storm stirs the glassy surface as you shuffle awkwardly, suddenly aware of how overfull your bladder is.

Seemingly omnipotent, Yuuta’s hand grazes your belly. “Do you have to pee? You had a lot of water to drink while I was away.”

You grimace. “I do, Yuuta-sama.”

“Let’s get you taken care of.”

Reaching out to grasp your hand, he leads you straight to the bathroom, a pristine pee pad already laid out on the tile. While you know what comes next, you await his orders like an obedient pet, fidgety with expectation.

He caresses your head. “Situate yourself, okay?”

Wordlessly, you drop to the floor. Embarrassment prickles your flesh as you lean back on the palms of your hands, balancing on your tiptoes, legs spread wide apart. Your hips jut out, presenting your slick, needy cunt to Yuuta. He towers above you in this position, irises an oil spill—unfathomable in their iridescent depths.

Shame leaves you in waves and lust takes its place, blurring the edges of all your senses. You look up at his handsome face through drooping eyelashes and swallow the urge to whimper; your clit throbs in wanton need. A sparkling bead of desire drips from your hole, rolling down the cleft of your ass.

Returning to your side, he kneels behind you. His gravity is reassuring. You nearly dribble when he hums, encouraging, “Go on, bunny.”

The dam bursts.

A small stream shoots out of you, experimentally, before a steady jet arcs through the air and hotly puddles on the pad. Head cottony with clouds of relief, your limbs feel heavy yet unmoored—a bee drowning in its own honey. Unbidden, a gasp escapes you, luring Yuuta’s pointer and middle fingers to your petal-soft lips. A flash of slick pink, you accept them inside with a sloppy, wet suck, diligently laving each digit.

Perhaps you could survive on the salt of his skin.

“Such a good bunny,” he coos.

You frown when his fingers pop out of your mouth, but your pathetic whine turns into a shriek as he begins to rub slippery circles on your swollen clit, your piss spraying everywhere. While your flow ebbs to a trickle, the insistent pressure on your bundle of nerves continues. A flower scorched by the sun’s rays, you wilt against Yuuta, inhaling the familiar smell of his detergent.

“Y-Yuu—tah—s…s-ama!” Buzzing like a live wire, a jolt of electricity skitters down your spine.

“Gonna cum? Let go, sweetness. Show me how pretty you are when you just let go.”

A beast of an orgasm ravages your body, tearing its way out of your lungs and core, clear liquid spurting out of you. Only the whites of your eyes are visible as you scream, hips wildly bucking. You soon crumple beneath the weight of your climax onto the sodden pad, the aftershocks tingling through your extremeties, pussy unbearably empty.

Beaming, Yuuta proceeds to suck his dripping fingers clean, his groan stoking your pride. “You did so well.”

Pulse thundering in your ears from the intensity of your high, you shudder, twisting your fists into the fabric of his slacks—an attempt to ground yourself.

“May I have a taste?” Yuuta asks sweetly, maneuvering around you before your leaden tongue can string together a response. He lies between your quivering, piss-splattered thighs, uncaring of the urine that seeps through his dress shirt and pants.

“You’re so messy, bunny,” he teases, breath curling deliciously against your heat; you warble, clenching in anticipation. “Don’t worry—I’ll clean you up.”

He fondles your pubic hair with both hands, smearing a kiss on your mons. Thumbs gliding down, he gently spreads your labia, exposing your still-aching clit. The tip of his nose grazes the delicate tissue, forcing a squeal from you. But it’s as though your reactions don’t reach him—he’s so entranced. He sniffs deeply.

“Beautiful…” he whispers, ardent as a prayer.

Unhurried, he licks a searing stripe from your ass to your tender bud. The sound you make is premature—guttural and half-formed, a hideous thing. But it’s Yuuta’s favorite hymn.

After repeating the silken motion until he has thoroughly savored the tang of your cunt, he settles in and laves at your drooling hole, lapping up your juices. Never keen on making you suffer, though, he soon kisses his way up to where you need him most, bumping his nose against your clit before latching on with a firm suck.

The simmering warmth in both your bladder and your womb rekindle into roaring flames, the smoke signaling your inevitable climax. You thrash and wail and yank at Yuuta’s hair, speech reduced to nonsensical babbles as he switches between suckling your clit and tugging your folds. In a final act of torment, he slides two lithe digits inside you, crooking them upward, plucking the pleasure from your innermost place.

“G—otta, n-nngh…go,” is all the warning you manage before you crest.

You piss again, hurtling right into your second orgasm. Yuuta suctions his mouth to your sex, greedily guzzling the mixture of fluids—cum, slick, and urine—until you’re dry. As he parts from your pussy, a silvery thread still connects you; it pulls taut, then snaps. Yuuta’s smile and praise lulls you to sleep.

The sun is smiling at me.

It takes nearly half an hour for you to regain consciousness.

Ever efficient, Yuuta cleans the bathroom and washes you both before you rouse. When you wake, your limbs are entwined with his, face buried in his strong chest. Despite feeling physically and emotionally drained, you purr, bathing in his attention.

“There’s my bunny. Will you sit up for me?” Without waiting for you to move, he pulls you onto his lap so that you face him; you try to ignore the way his bare cock rubs against you. “We need to get you hydrated—yeah, that’s it, baby. Drink it all. Good, good.” He holds the glass for you as you chug its contents, stray droplets dribbling down your chin. Keen on pleasing him, you finish it without complaint, ignoring your stomach’s protests. “Perfect.”

He wipes the excess water away, a mother tidying her child. No longer able to neglect the hardening length against your ass, you rock your hips, pulling an airy laugh from Yuuta.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, massaging the fat of your thighs. “Does my bunny need their tail?”

Shyly, you nod, lips parting as a single fingertip grazes your tight rim.

Yuuta doesn’t need to ask for permission. You would do anything for him, even if it meant your ruin. He’s your savior—your everlasting sun; simply being in his presence is more than enough.

And if you’re bound to get burned? At least you’ll be eternally his.

[alexispunkkk]

faded scent

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 7

read the series!

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- warnings: kissing, so much yearning what the hell, loss of innocence, mentions of masturbation, religious trauma + guilt obvi, joel's perspective, age gap durr yall know the drill, light sexual thoughts, joel is down so bad, cuddling, they're both kinda depressed and crazy this chapter who's shocked

- summary: heading back to college with only joel's flannel to keep you sane leaves both of you more tortured and desperate than ever

- word count: 5.1k

on ao3

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Joel inevitably climbed into the bed sometime around four in the morning. You didn’t hear him, but your body seemed to know.

He was having trouble sleeping in the chair anyway, with you looking so spent and fragile in his large bed. There was nothing more that he wanted than to protect you and wrap you up in his arms, keep you safe from whatever was haunting you tonight.

Luckily for him, slumber has also been troublesome for you ever since you’d returned home. Each night in your childhood bed, with that damn cross hung above you, it felt like a spirit rather than a saint. God wasn’t there anymore, and the remnants of Him in that cross have been plaguing your sleeping body.

You didn’t wake up once throughout the night, actually got some decent sleep in a bed other than your own. But your body stirred, and that was enough for Joel to give in and come scoop you up. He took the single quiet whine and little tousle of the sheets as discomfort, using it as an excuse to join you–a more guilt-free reason than the one that originally resonated with him. 

He’s warm behind you: one arm slung around your waist, fingers curled loosely into the t-shirt he’d generously given you before you fell asleep. The tips grazed your stomach, holding you like something more sacred than he’s ever known. 

And you wake up like that–held so delicately against his warm, large body that it makes your chest ache. Your breath catches when you realize how he’s pressed against you, right against your back with the fabric of his flannel soft on the back of your bare thighs.

His forehead is resting–just barely–on your shoulder, breath grazing your skin. It was probably what kept your body sleeping so soundly all night.

It’s quiet in the morning. Sun slipping through his thin curtains in long streaks, painting the room with a morning glow. The birds outside are louder than anything going on in the house, urging you awake slowly.

You shift, just a little, and Joel hums softly. He hasn't woken up yet. The man sleeps like a bear. Rightfully so, at least. He’s heavy and warm and always so tired and overworked. Comforting.

But eventually, his arm around you tightens for just a second as a reflex, pulling you nice and close before loosening up again. Not quite awake yet, but definitely not fully asleep. Awake enough to register the pretty thing sleeping in his bed with him–a spot that’s been deserted for a few years now, left only to be occupied by his discarded clothes at night or the occasional half-drunk beer bottle. 

“Mornin,’” he murmurs, voice cracking with sleep. He sounds even better this early and vulnerable, all husky and nasally as his vocal cords rehydrate. 

“Hey,” you whisper back, unsure of how much exactly to say. You’ve never woken up with a boy before, let alone a man this many years your senior. 

But it feels good. It’s overwhelmingly gentle and calm to wake up in Joel’s arms, so different from the usual feeling of waking up in either your college dorm or your father’s house. Your dorm is always loud, given the thinness of the building’s walls, and your home just seems scary to you when it’s painted by the blinding morning light. 

It’s more peaceful in his bedroom than it was last night: a battlefield of emotions where you’d pushed yourself onto Joel, leading to him trying to sleep all stiff-backed in his armchair and you too scared to let yourself be perceived in full. 

Now, he’s all soft breath and warmth. No more discomfort and confusion, just relaxation as you both let go of what’s been gripping you so hauntingly. 

“Slept okay?” He asks, letting his lips graze your shoulder. Just a bit, to test the waters and see if you’re okay with the touch this early in the morning.

You seem fine with it. Just fine. You nod against the pillow, staring straight ahead at his wall and blinking sleepily. His hand is so warm on your stomach, legs tangled up in yours in the sweetest mess of limbs. You don’t want to ruin that, but you have to at some point. 

It’s quiet for a bit after that. Joel takes the silence as comfort. You take it as tension.

His fingers stroke your forearm up and down, feeling the little raise of hairs when the air conditioning comes on stronger. They explore your skin as if truly getting to know you now, because he feels like this sad little excuse of a ‘sleepover’ is a step forward for you two.

“I’m—” you begin, then swallow, cutting off his thoughts about the development between one another. You feel his body still slightly, the stroking on your arm halting to a stop and his breath just hardly changing patterns. “I’m going back tomorrow. To school.”

Fuck. He’d totally forgotten about that. You’ve only been home for a week and he’s been so consumed with the mere thought of you that he’s forgotten about the whole reason you’re even here–your uncle's death. His selfish self hasn’t even mentioned your uncle since the day of your return. The day of his funeral. 

You’re a college student, presumably stressed over the whirlpool of exams and whatever else you’re dealing with. And he’s probably making it worse with the way he’s been confusing you about religion and sexuality. He feels awful. 

There’s a pause. Not long, but enough for the silence to say everything he needs to say.

Joel sighs through his nose, gently, nodding just once. You feel it when his chin brushes the top of your shoulder, his nose drifting subtly to your head to catch a bit of the seraphic scent of your hair upon just waking up. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Figured.” 

His voice is calm, hiding the disappointment. Joel being Joel–strong and quiet. Always hiding something. Something in the way his arm slowly drops from your waist brings a hollow feeling to your chest, like he’s not there any longer. 

You flip and turn to face him, blinking when more light from the window hits you. He’s already watching you, his face unreadable. But his eyes are soft and sad–that once recognizable darker shade of chocolate melting into a milkier one, one that resembles something of a puppy. 

You’ve never seen Joel Miller sad before. Joel Miller doesn’t get sad. Not to put it into toxic terms, but he’s the most masculine walking thing you’ve ever seen, not one who’d melt at the sound of you leaving. He’s always been so hardened, never daring to show an expression other than utter stoicism–maybe a small, tight-lipped smile–but never sad. You must really be fucking him up.

His hand comes off your waist entirely now that you’ve turned, moving up to tuck a small, messy strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Gotta do what you gotta do, baby.” 

His words are gentle, trying their hardest not to cause any further harm, but your throat is tightening. You nod. He pulls back a bit.

Your eyes follow Joel when he sits up, leaning his large frame back and propping it up with one hand. His shirt somehow got unbuttoned last night, leaving him in the softest looking undone flannel, hanging off his shoulders and exposing his belly. He runs a hand through his own hair, looking down at you like you’ll give him something to hold onto here. Anything. 

Following his actions, you sit up as well, the sheets falling off your shoulders. When he sees that you’re still wearing the old t-shirt he’d slipped on you last night, it makes him pause. Something new flickers in those brown eyes, but he swallows it down like always.

“Joel.” 

You plead quietly, and he doesn’t say anything. He told you to go and do what you need to, but you obviously don’t want to, and he doesn’t want you to either. 

Standing but stopping at the doorway, Joel picks up another flannel by his dresser. The brown one. He wore it just yesterday, which meant it’ll smell the most like him. He hopes.

“I want that shirt back,” he starts, pointing at the t-shirt as he turns back to the bed and walks over. The mattress dips where his knee sinks in as he climbs onto it gently, sighing heavily with the action. 

That makes your heart hurt. You want to keep it, keep a little bit of him with you for the next few months. As if reading your mind, he places the brown fabric next to your hand on the sheets.

“Take this one instead. Smells more like me. ‘N you can actually wear it. Thought you’d like it more.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed and blinking just a little too fast.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Somethin’ for when you get cold out there. In New York, or wherever you’re headed back to. Forgot. I think it’s cold there, though.”

That elicits a small, stupid chuckle from you. Kind of hopeless, if you think about it, but it’s lighter in the moment. 

“So close. Connecticut.” You smile, picking the flannel up, shamelessly balling it up and bringing it to your nose to consume that perfect scent of Joel. “Thanks, though.”

He stops to lean closer, to get down near you again. His hands plant on either side of the pillows under your head, pushing you to lay down again. 

A soft pair of lips presses to your forehead, the same way they did a million times last night when he was trying to get you to calm down. But this time, the kiss really sunk into your skin and stayed there. Warm and slow, just like Joel is. 

Then he pulls away, eyes flicking to yours a final time before diverting his attention to the buttons of his flannel that he needs to redo. Probably shouldn’t have his stomach hanging out like this–he’s been a little heavy on the beers recently–and it’s showing. 

“No problem,” he starts, climbing off the bed with a soft groan. “I’ll make coffee. You take your time.” 

His knee cracks with the movement and he stumbles for half a second before grounding himself and starting off to the kitchen, abandoning you in his bedroom. 

The door clicks shut, and suddenly, the walls feel too tall. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of having to leave, just after you managed to land a spot next to him in his bed. Horrible timing. Now, it’s gonna be another three months before you can come back here and have another good night of sleep for once.

The rest of the morning with Joel was cut short at the sound of your father calling you, obviously nagging you about being out for the night without telling him. It’s justifiable, but not what you want to hear right now.

You make up a bullshit excuse about seeing a family member, and to your luck, he believed you. Now, your worries are more about college.

The return to school didn’t feel the same.

The fluorescent lights of your dorm building are too harsh–you’re craving the soft morning glow of Joel’s bedroom instead. Everything is too loud. The dining hall food is somehow worse than it once was, the classrooms buzz uncomfortably with the cramming for exams. It used to not bother you, faded into the background, but somehow now it heightens every migraine. 

You’re even more stressed. Everything is functioning too quickly on campus and nothing seems familiar anymore.

Joel ruined you for it. Or maybe he made you aware of the hollowness that was always there deep down, worsening it. 

Back for another three months, finishing the semester before summer, he took over your mind. You can’t focus on exams. Forget about your work at this point, it’s a lost cause. You didn’t even bring your Bible, either. Too much weight to carry. 

Three months in a too-small dorm bed when all you want is Joel’s sheets. Joel’s touch. Joel’s breath. His strong hands on your cheeks and lips on your forehead. Three months of too-fast conversations when all you want is his gentle, grounding words that reassure you you’re not a disgrace to your father’s name. 

You and your roommate have faded over the past few weeks because of her new boyfriend and your personal struggles, and your suitemate leaves her makeup everywhere. The guy across the hall plays the same fucking playlist every time he showers and you’re sick of hearing it.

For the first time ever, you want to go back home. The first two years of college you went somewhere else, stayed with friends for summer break. Out of fear of returning to your old town, facing your father, facing the church. But now, with Joel–the only thing keeping you motivated through the last three months–you can’t wait to return. And that’s saying a lot for a girl who doesn’t even believe anymore and will be forced into church services every sunday.

You fold Joel’s flannel the same way every morning: tuck it under your pillow like some relic. It’s gotten bad. You take it everywhere with you in your backpack–your friends ask. They think it’s maybe a little bit weird. 

But to you, it’s just Joel. His memory, the weight of him, and the faded smell. It keeps you going, and that’s enough.

It might be gross, but you haven’t washed it, either. His scent is gone but some part of you still believes it’s there, and you can’t bring yourself to throw it in with the rest of your laundry. Like it’ll disintegrate and take him with it. 

The only prayer you say before bed anymore is the strong inhalation of his brown flannel before tucking it under your head and dozing off. Every night. You can’t sleep without it. 

Classes are harder this time around when you’re not focused, too. Your professors keep circling your essays and emailing you about slipping grades. You feel like your mind is stretched so taut, pulled between classes and readings and formulas and Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.

Your brain can’t hold anything. It’s stuck in Texas, dying to go back. You can’t function without feeling his breath on your forehead and the familiar ache between your thighs when you remember how he kissed you.

You try to be normal–even going far enough to attend a party. 

It’s the first warm(ish) weekend in April, and your roommate is forcing you out for once so you stop moping around with Joel’s stupid flannel in your palm. The air smells like cheap tequila and blood orange white claw surgues: a new favorite of yours. Drinking has also become a common occurrence. Your dad would be terribly disappointed. 

You wear something tight. An outfit you couldn’t wear back in Texas—more disappointment points. But you slap on the same lipstick and thong you happened to wear that night at Joel’s house. 

That wasn’t a mistake. But you make another.

His name is Drew. A junior. Poli-sci major. Pretty eyes and freckles. Funny. Tells you that you’re interesting and talks about economic policy. You let him kiss you. 

The kiss is good, actually. Great. Not as high as Joel’s in your mind, but he’s obviously on another level. You consider Joel Miller your religion, for God’s sake, no boy could beat that stake. It’s pretty impressive on that scale, though. 

It’s the kind of kiss that most girls would think is incredible, that the older you would think is otherworldly, actually. But that’s from before you knew what it felt like to genuinely crave someone. Crave someone so bad that you could physically sink your teeth into him if he let you.

Drew’s hands are respectful, his voice is kind, and his manners are kinder. A lot nicer than Joel, in a sense. Still below him, though. 

When his hand moves down after a good makeout, reaching for the waistband of your skirt, your whole body stiffens. He notices, he pauses.

You just shake your head, barely, leaning it back and shutting your eyes.

“No?” he asks.

“No.” You confirm quietly, shaking it again. Firm.

He’s not angry at all, which should’ve been a sign that he’s a good guy. He’s your age, he’s nice, he’s handsome. You should be going for a sweet, educated college boy. But no. He’s not who you want. He’s not who you practically pray to.

He just says “okay,” backing away and giving you a soft, dopey smile. You thank him. You don’t really know why, but it comes out.

You leave early from the party and walk home alone, just a little bit tipsy. He, of course, insisted on walking you, but you denied. You get to your dorm, almost cry, and sit on the floor with your back to the door for a while. 

Joel’s flannel is on your bed for the first half as you try to convince yourself to go for the age appropriate and mentally stable boy–but you grab the flannel. Like it might give you a little something to hold onto. You sleep in it that night. And the next night. And the next.

Finals week arrives, and the damage of not showing up to classes is done. The flannel is next to you in bed while you scroll through the results–concerningly low compared to last year’s. 

And for someone who normally is obsessed with a perfect GPA, you don’t even care. Just wanna go home to Texas and forget about everything. You want to refresh the scent of Joel on his fabric that you’ve been sleeping with, wearing, touching yourself to, and worshipping.

You want to know if he feels the same way. If he dreams about you, if his hand drifts down to his thick cock when he thinks about that Sunday night in his bedroom, if he smells your vanilla perfume deep in the fabric of his own couch and bed and clothes. 

Little do you know, the leave has him even worse.

He always seems so put together–quiet, keeps to himself, fixes everything and has such a pragmatic way about him. But he’s really been filling the time with hammers and sawdust and whatever takes his mind away from the thought of you. 

By mid-march, he’s in a craze. Repainted the railings of his porch, replaced a tiny tile in the kitchen that didn’t even need it, power-washed every bit of the exterior of his property as if washing away you. The ghost of your body in his bed.

There’s nothing left to fix or clean, but he continues scanning the perimeter of his house every evening for something to occupy himself with. Something that doesn’t involve the church, preferably, something to keep him rooted at home. Leaving the house, especially on Sunday’s, means seeing your father and Bibles and everything he’s trying to avoid. Not a good move. 

The silence sits on his shoulders the same way sweat does from the Texan humidity. It’s heavy and relentless.

He’s never not thinking about you; the same way you’re obsessed with him. No, he has no article of clothing of yours like you have with his flannel, but he tries his best with other things to jog the memory when he needs it.

The girl in his bed. The preacher’s daughter. In his t-shirt, curled up and small and whispering that she needs him.

Whispering his name like a fucking plea, like it means something holy. Like name from the Bible. He can’t get the sound of your pretty voice from his ears, can’t forget the sight of you sleeping next to him. Lip catching between your teeth when your mouth isn’t parted, fist curled up and tugging at his sheets.

You’re holding onto him, even in his dreams.

Joel can’t not think of you. Especially your mouth, your little body…

He caught a few glances while you were sleeping. Your hardened nipples through his white t-shirt, the bottom of your asscheeks coming out of those tiny shorts. He’s trying the hardest to not think about your mouth. His body betrays him. 

He’s jerked off nearly every night since you left. Like a teenager.

It’s shameful, but at some point he stops pretending he can successfully pray it away. You’re there to stay, imprinted in his brain like sharpie print, so his Bible stays shut in his nightstand. A folded relic that failed to offer him comfort over the course of three months. 

Instead of praying it out, he remembers. Embraces. Your lips kissed raw that one night. His thumbs against your temple and cheeks every chance he got. Breath against breath, the look of you just existing in his house–on his couch, porch, and bed. Fuck. When he got you coffee that morning and you sat in his kitchen in those tiny shorts, looking like some perfect angel. 

It wasn’t just wanting to keep you safe. It’s not just comfort, not anymore. He wants you. Badly. Understands what you were feeling the night you basically attacked him out of utter desperation for something.

Joel lies awake and thinks of how your pretty pink lips would feel on his neck, what it’d feel like to be able to finish inside you instead of his stupid hand every night. Some night, he wakes up drenched in sweat, your name lost in his mouth and sheets tangled into a mess. 

Other nights, the house is too quiet. He can’t call you. Can’t see you. The walls groan around him and he craves to hear footsteps down the hallway for once, to feel a physical body next to him in bed.

It’s the middle of May when his breaking point is reached. 

He managed to find the smallest crack on a back step, it didn’t even need patching. Most people would never have seen it. But he takes any chance he can get.

His hands are covered in dust when he returns to the front of his house, headed to the garage to return the trowel and tools. And then he sees it.

There’s a figure on his porch swing that he knows all too well. The same way of sitting when he got home from church one night to find you sitting with your heel pressed between your legs. Brown boots. His fucking flannel that matches them perfectly. Painted lips. 

It takes him a moment to register the sight, freezing in place across the yard. Maybe it’s too dark, he’s seeing things?

But no. You’re real. You’re there, all for him. And the two of you have gone through the exact same things the past three months. You’re both so disgustingly obsessed that it’s consuming your lives–ruining them, actually. Neither of you can sleep without touching yourselves to the thought of one another, and God is a lost cause at this point. It’s over.

Joel’s heart stutters so hard that he grips the railing when he approaches. It actually stutters. He feels like more of a teenager than he did the past three months when stroking himself to the imagined scent of you. 

You look up when you hear him round the corner, and you don’t smile. It’s not much, you don’t say anything.

But to Joel–oh, God. Your eyes. They say everything–worn down and tired but shining brighter than ever at the sight of him. Full of a heavy ache that he shares with you, that’s been weighing both of you down in concerningly similar ways for months now. Since the day you went back to school.

You don’t look like a preacher’s daughter anymore. Physically, you hadn’t changed. It was only three months.

But the feeling of you is more like a storm he’s been waiting to come, that is ready to sweep him away. He hopes it’s a tornado that fucking swallows him whole.

Joel drops the trowel and little tub of concrete filler without a sound, walking up the steps as fast as he possibly could. For the first time in months, he breathes. Really breathes–breathes you in, captures the heavenly  scent of your vanilla perfume he’s been trying to recreate in his head each time his hand travels south to his cock. 

And it’s just like his brain has remastered. 

You don’t say anything when he steps onto the porch. Don’t move, you just stare.

The cicadas are already out for the upcoming summer, shrieking and disturbing the air, unraveling everything further. The sun is long gone behind the line of trees, and it’s all too warm. The kind of night in the South that feels so thick and suspended that it overwhelms you. 

The flannel you’re wearing–Joel’s–feels too big and warm now. Or maybe it’s the way you’re curled into it, wrapped up as if bracing yourself for him.

Joel’s heart hasn’t slowed since the moment he saw your silhouette on the porch. If anything, it’s racing more. You look different. Opened. Like the girl who he saw literally falling apart months ago in church is long gone and what’s left behind of her is more dangerous. More wanting, just like he is.

You don’t know what you expect when he comes up on the porch, and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing either. But the second he closes the space between the two of you, hardly even three steps, his hands come to cup your face like he did that one week three months ago. 

His big, rough hands. How you’ve missed them. They’re the only thing you can ever think about.

The sound that you make at the soft contact isn’t even human. It’s deeper, like you’ve been holding in that breath since January.

You barely have time for another breath before he kisses you. Hard.

There’s no hesitation in it, no breathless pausing, just pure contact. Raw, intimate. Immediate. Your mouths collide, coming together like magnets, a mix of starvation and desperation taking over, like you’ve finally chosen to feed your scourged stomachs and fix that horrible starvation.

Joel’s hands are trembling as he anchors your face between them, and you can feel it when his thumbs move down to your jaw. He presses too hard at first but eases up, afraid to bruise you, and also afraid you could disappear again.

God, you kiss him back with equal fervor. This time it isn’t you forcing yourself onto him out of a weird religious psychotic episode where the only thing you could possibly think about is sex. This time, you’ve had three months to think–to finally discover things about sexuality you never knew before. Now that you’ve let yourself go from religion, you’re more understanding about it. You know what things are, how things work. Know how to kiss. Even know how to say no, if needed. 

Thank you, Drew. 

You kiss him like you’ve wanted it your whole life, like it’s the only thing keeping you alive and in one piece. 

His fingers curl into your hair at the nape of your neck, twirling with the little baby strands while your mouth parts against his. He slips his tongue in, with practiced technique, but also with weight. With need, and with pressure. 

His mind is static, and so is yours. Synced up with utmost want. You’re useless. Everything Joel swore he’d try and protect you from is right here–in the way his hips rut forward, the way his tongue is sucking on yours like a madman, the way you let out sweet little muffled sounds when his hands travel down to your hips and pull you against him.

He’s not afraid to let you have him this time, and you’re not afraid of letting a man touch you. No, not when the man is Joel Miller.

“Finally.”

You gasp and break the kiss, but he pulls you right back in. He’s obsessed and so, so starved that he can’t handle your mouth being away from him for another minute. He’s kissing you like you’re not just a girl anymore, but someone who left and came back new, like he doesn’t care who your father is or which pew you normally sit in. Kissing you like you’ve genuinely been haunting him. 

Joel’s breath stutters when your hands slide up to his chest, over his shirt, bunching up the fabric as if wanting to rip it open and climb inside there with him. He swears quietly into your mouth, dragging his lips to your jaw and the edge of your collarbone.

Neither of you say anything, but it tells each other everything. You went through the same thing. A never ending cycle of obsession, masturbation, and yearning for the three months apart. 

He missed you. He needs you, couldn’t stop thinking about you like this. Like you’re his.

He pulls back for a real breath this time, just one. His eyes flick over your face as if really making sure it’s you there with him. Really alive and really the girl he’s been dreaming of. 

And he kisses you harder again. So much harder. After letting it compute in his brain that you’re here and he can do what he wants with you, he can’t not grab you and destroy your mouth. No porch light, no audience, just you two in the dark of Texas, pressed so closely together that it hurts.

“Inside, baby. Now.” He huffs into your mouth, grabbing at the brown flannel that your body is swimming in and dragging you to the door. 

“Please.” 

Joel isn’t protecting you from your own sexuality this time. He’s embracing it alongside you, giving in after the last tortuous months. He can’t handle being away from you for another fleeting moment and not having his way with you.

@joeldarling @melmel-fandom @ssssc0m @rafeovermorals @lilac-boo @funkifiedzee @mermaidbarlvr @seenthroughmia @umadirectioner @deardev0teddelicate @dingusandbats @lobotomyprincessdollangel444 @spreadlove-always

[lev1hei1chou]

Lipstick Kisses

Gojo x reader, Nanami x reader (individually) Genre: Love. Words: 733 Synopsis: Colorful kisses with Kento and Satoru Masterlist

The soft white light in your ceiling reflected on your face as you slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the idea that brewed in the mind of your boyfriend. Gojo couldn't resist the temptation to add a touch of playful charm to your day.

He silently entered the room, a playful grin on his lips as he observed your peaceful slumber. Gojo carefully approached the dresser, where he spotted a bold red lipstick. Chuckling to himself, he decided to have a bit of fun and give you a wake-up call that you wouldn't ever forget.

With a deft hand, Gojo applied the lipstick, ensuring the color was vibrant and attention-grabbing. Suppressing a grin, he leaned down and planted a series of playful kisses on your face – your cheeks, nose, and forehead all adorned with his lip marks.

You stirred in your sleep, sensing a gentle touch on your face. As your eyes fluttered open, you were met with the sight of Gojo's grinning face, the vivid lipstick marks on his own lips matching the ones now decorating your face.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he teased.

You blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the unexpected wake-up call. When you touched your face and felt the remnants of lipstick, realization dawned, and you couldn't suppress the smile that creeped up on your face.

"Satoru, really?" you groaned playfully.

"Hey, if you're going to be the center of attention, might as well do it in style," he quipped, winking at you.

Despite the initial surprise, you couldn't help but appreciate the playful gesture. As you sat up, you noticed the amused expression in his eyes. "You know, you're lucky I love you," you teased.

He flashed you a dazzling smile, his carefree demeanor infectious. "I know, I know. It's just one of the many perks of dating the great Satoru Gojo."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Antics aside, there was something about Gojo's playful spirit that made every day with him an adventure.

You were grateful for this unpredictable presence in your life.

You groggily opened your eyes, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The room was quiet, and you could hear the faint chirping of birds outside. Turning your head, you couldn't help but smile as you saw Nanami Kento peacefully sleeping beside you.

It was a rare occasion for the normally stoic and work-focused sorcerer to get a good night's rest. Wanting to cherish this moment, you decided to surprise him in a way that would surely bring a smile to his face.

You quietly got out of bed, careful not to disturb Nanami. Tip-toeing to the dresser, you opened your makeup bag and picked a soft, rosy lipstick. Gently, you applied the lipstick, ensuring it looked perfect. Suppressing a giggle, you pictured the finished product.

With the impromptu masterpiece on your lips, you approached Nanami, who was still blissfully unaware of your mischief. Leaning down, you pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a vivid mark. Unable to resist, you continued to plant more lipstick kisses along his jawline and even on the tip of his nose.

Just as you were about to place the final kiss on his forehead, Nanami stirred. His eyes slowly opened, and for a moment, confusion flashed across his face. As his gaze met yours, you couldn't help but burst into a playful smile.

"Good morning, love," you greeted, unable to contain your laughter.

Nanami blinked, still half-asleep, and brought a hand to his face. His fingers brushed against the unexpected marks left by your playful kisses. A hint of surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a small, amused smile.

"I see you've been busy," he remarked, his tone betraying a hint of amusement.

You nodded, sitting back on the bed. "I thought you could use a little morning elegance."

He chuckled, reaching over to cup your cheek. "I appreciate the effort."

You leaned into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. Despite his initial surprise, Kento seemed genuinely pleased by your whimsical gesture.

As he slowly sat up, you couldn't help but admire the way the morning light accentuated his features. Nanami turned to you, his eyes softening with a warmth.

"Next time," he said, his lips curving into a small grin, "Let me join in on the elegance."

[moondance-r]

SAGAU-adjacent not-Creator Creator 1

Summary: You knew, viscerally down to your bones, that you did not create this world; Teyvat had no grand creator, no single hand designing its wonders. It did, however, have something of a catalytic agent, without which it would not exist.

You.

[Masterlist] [Next]

Godhood got boring after a while, so you wandered. You peeked into worlds and travelled from star to star -- one, dying and desperate, called out to you. 

It might have been beautiful, once. You could see patches of greenery and remnants of grand structures littering the landscape, could sense life lingering on its surface and stubbornly refusing to fade. This was a world on the verge of destruction, you knew, and not just because of what its creatures did or didn’t do. No, this was something far grander than anything mortals -- or pseudo-immortals -- could ever achieve.

Its core was decaying inexorably, not on a time scale noticeable to any of its inhabitants but destined for demise nonetheless. You... pitied it, perhaps. You had no reason to -- you had watched countless worlds perish and this one should have been no different -- and yet you dove close and settled into the core of this world that called itself Teyvat.

You slept.

And Teyvat grew itself around you.

You awoke to darkness. This was strange because you had no physical form and should not have registered the lack of light as anything that would impact your senses. And yet it was dark and you could not see.

(With physical eyes, a corner of your mind whispered. How novel!)

Since you had eyes, you must have a body. You tried to move a limb; nothing happened, except for a brief sense of pressure. Then you heard -- with ears! -- muffled rumbling before light pierced the darkness as soil peeled itself back from where it buried you beneath the earth. You sat up. You were in a divot someone might call a grave, if not for it having no markers or headstones.

You didn’t know how long you sat there appreciating the dawn before a metaphysical humming caught your attention, and you turned to see some stone steps leading up to a circular portal. That, you knew instinctively, was a passage leading to the roots of this world where you had slumbered for the past... how long?

You didn’t know. You wanted to find out.

The first order of business: getting off this island. Unfortunately, it seemed as if you were stuck in your fleshy body, which didn’t even have the decency to transform into something capable of flight when it refused to allow you to revert into your nebulous spirit form. You considered just walking into the sea, but you only had this one body on hand and did not want to test its lung capacity for so little reward. Life was so fragile already.

Well, this may be a problem, you thought to yourself. Not even a single local solar cycle and your journey had already stopped in its tracks.

So you sat. And thought. And thought some more.

Before you could petrify into a statue, something big flew overhead, handily startling you out of contemplation. You rose to your feet as a winged four-legged creature covered in teal fur landed heavily in front of you and bowed. You assumed it bowed, anyway -- such gestures weren’t easy to do when one was a quadruped, but the way it drew back a foreleg and lowered its head was definitely deliberate.

You blinked at it, nonplussed. You’d barely taken more than a hundred steps on this land, there was no way you had done anything to deserve this bowing and scraping.

“Mine Guiding Wind,” the dragon said in a deep, echoing voice, “it gladdens me to see thine holy visage. It would be of utmost honour if mine unworthy body might bear thy divine form through the skies.”

“...You can speak to me casually,” you said instead of getting into all of that. You wanted to be off this island before digging into the dragon’s delusions. “And yes, a ride would be appreciated.”

The dragon seemed to faintly shiver in delight. As you approached, they obligingly shuffled around and offered a foreleg so that you could climb onto their back. You forced your new limbs to cooperate as you clambered up and over to settle in front of their first pair of wings and gripped their ruff.

With a great beat of the dragon’s six wings, you ascended into the air. Despite your muffled senses, you could detect this world’s wind element assist in the dragon’s rise. Anemo, you remembered from the last time you were awake, one of this world’s seven elements. All worlds worked differently and this one fell on the more magical side of the scale. You wondered how Teyvat had changed since its near destruction -- if new civilisations had risen to replace the old, if these new peoples remembered old lessons. If they would be as welcoming as their world had been.

At least the last was promising if the dragon’s greeting was anything to go by, though who knew if that would persist once they realised you weren’t whoever they thought you were.

“What’s your name?” you called down to the dragon, trusting that Anemo would carry your voice.

Sure enough, the dragon replied, “I am Dvalin of Mondstadt, Sweeping Gale.”

“And is that our destination? Mondstadt?”

“It is, yes... unless You would prefer somewhere else?” Dvalin asked, suddenly hesitant.

You hummed thoughtfully. “No, Mondstadt is fine,” you said as you rolled the name around in your mind. You didn’t know enough about this world to have an opinion, though you wondered if this ‘Mondstadt’ was a city? A country? A continent? Or maybe it was merely a wild region uninhabited save for a territorial dragon. That would be interesting, you thought, though probably quite boring.

Sea eventually gave way to land beneath you, which quickly turned into soft rolling hills. People walked on clearly marked paths, and you watched a few turn and look up as you passed.

“It’s surprisingly peaceful,” you commented, thinking back to the scorched earth that had greeted you. “I’m glad.”

Dvalin vibrated beneath you, which you realised was a purr. “It has been many an age since you last descended, Pathfinder; that Mond may receive your praise for our efforts is the greatest reward of all,” they said.

Dvalin landed at the foot of a giant tree, in front of which was a stone statue of an androgynous figure that glowed brightly to your senses. Halfway in a daze, you slipped to the ground and stumbled to the statue, missing the way Dvalin lowered themselves in preparation to catch you should you fall. But even if you noticed you wouldn’t have cared, because the statue called to you like a beacon.

The instant you lay a hand on it, you could feel the world breathe a sigh as a portion of your power returned to you. A rush of air tinged with Anemo buffeted you and the tree joyously, and you chuckled and smiled into the wind.

“I’m back.”

“Your Grace!” A person dressed in fancy green and white clothes seemed to appear out of thin air from the speed he flew over, beaming all the while. “Your Grace, You’re finally here! The festival is all set up, we’re just missing You, O Holy Breeze!”

This person... You squinted slightly. There were remnants of your power within him, though less than the statue. Just what had Teyvat been up to while you were sleeping?

You raised your hands as if to fend him away. “Slow down, who exactly do you think I am?”

“Your Grace?” he asked in bewilderment.

“Answer me first.”

After a brief hesitation, he twirled and bowed with a flourish. “You are the First Breath, the Guiding Wind who accompanies all, the Creator of Teyvat and its every marvel! Every pebble, tree, and shrub was nourished under Your loving hands. You are the one worshipped above all, and we have been waiting most anxiously for Your return.”

What the hell, you thought pointedly at Teyvat.

In response, the wind whispered to you, Barbatos, wind sprite, Anemo Archon, a void where there was once god-heart-gnosis.

Putting aside how the world itself was being suspiciously helpful, you were now face to face with the dragon’s delusions which seemed to not be limited to the dragon. No, if you were understanding things correctly, this was something shared by large swathes of the population. Only one problem: you were not a Creator or creator, of Teyvat or otherwise. To give life was far beyond your abilities. No deity you knew of could do it either.

You could sort of understand how such a belief might have come to be, if you turned around and looked at it sideways. The process of saving this world from its slow march toward destruction had necessitated merging yourself with Teyvat to share your life force, and this had won you major brownie points with it. If an abstract version of that event was somehow passed down, then your power was extracted to fill things like the statue and this young man... If they could feel you as distinct from Teyvat itself, which you were, then you supposed that it wasn’t impossible for them to assume that you had more agency in their fate than you did. Still ridiculous, though.

This is the problem with magical worlds, you thought despairingly, cults everywhere.

“I didn’t create Teyvat,” you tried to explain, but Barbatos only tilted his head questioningly.

“What are you talking about, First Breath? If it is rejection You fear, please do not, for there is no need. Your return will only bring joy,” he said.

You gave up. This level of conviction wasn’t something that could be shaken in a single conversation. “Alright, fine,” you sighed, “let’s... let’s go to Mondstadt, then.”

“Oh You’ll love it, Your Eminence!” Barbatos chirped, bouncing on his toes with a grin. It appeared as if gravity had no hold on him. “The Church has covered the streets with flowers, flags, and everything they can get their hands on! The Knights of Favonius have set up stalls and shows and even a parade, while the noble families are also planning something, though they’re being quite secretive about it. And the wine! I’ve heard Master Diluc -- he’s the owner of Mondstadt’s biggest winery -- is going to break open his best vintage of dandelion wine, I’m looking forward to it...”

You let Barbatos’ chatter wash over you as the two of you walked northwest. Mondstadt the nation was a land of gentle breezes and temperate climate now, but you could see hints of a violent past in the landscape. Here, a dip between hills that was once a crater. There, a cliff face eroded until it was a shadow of its jagged former self. You wondered how many wars this world had suffered.

You wondered if Barbatos won his seat through conflict, as you did your godhood. You had been mortal once too, maybe a human, maybe some other creature, before you achieved great feats during a war and ascended beyond mortality. That was perhaps why you felt kinship at the sight of Teyvat’s ruin, despite the aeons you lived that left only faint impressions of your origin.

Did you have family that you left behind in your homeworld, or friends? Comrades? Almost certainly; it was a war, after all. You pushed the thought away.

[Masterlist] [Next]

[sun-rise05]

Greed Is To Be Punished

Pairing: Apollo x (poor mortal) reader

Warnings: Angst towards the village people!

Summary: Your village is crumbling under the priests feet from his greed. Thinking that sacrifices, including you, are needed to be made in order for the village to survive is entirely wrong. Apollo rage has been spilled.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this Imagine, might make a part II!

Word count: 1.6K

It was a day thick with despair, the sky heavy with ominous clouds, clashing and rumbling like the very heart of darkness. Lightning, fierce and relentless, ripped through the heavens, bringing death to the once-vibrant crops that the villagers had so desperately harvested.

The cries of the despairing rose like a haunting melody, echoing through the muddy streets where anguished souls fell to their knees, their bodies shaking, mingling with the earth’s tears. Livestock bolted in frantic terror, some in a frantic search for food, while others succumbed to the chaos of the storm that raged outside.

Exhausted bodies lay strewn on the sodden ground, their gasps mingling with fervent prayers to Apollo, begging for the gift of life to revive the land that had nurtured them just days before.

The next morning shattered with the dread-laden shout of the priest, “The Plague! The Plague!” His voice trembled with fear, a reflection of the collective horror that wrapped around the village like a suffocating shroud. That day, the devastation deepened as the plague swept through the remnants of hope, leaving behind lifeless forms lying in the streets, drained of warmth, while the living faced the gnawing pain of hunger. The air grew thick with dread, the oppressive darkness suffocating any flicker of light that dared to peek through the leaden clouds.

In the shadows of the desolation, you cowered, a fragile figure pressed against the wall in a forgotten corner where the little ones dared not venture. Barely clothed and shivering, you considered yourself fortunate to have evaded the curse of the plague, but your heart trembled not from the chill, but from the mounting terror echoing in hushed whispers among the terrified villagers—rumors of sacrifices to Apollo, desperate offerings to reclaim the lost sun.

As exhaustion pulled you into a troubled slumber on the cold, unyielding ground, the peace was shattered by the thunderous uproar of an angry mob. “Tie them to a stick and set their bodies on fire!” Their chilling chants pierced the air. Strong hands seized you, lifting your frail form as if you were nothing more than a rag doll. Spirit crushed, you were bound, the cruel ropes digging into your skin.

“Fire, let them burn!” they yelled, and your heart ached at the sight of others like you, innocent souls caught in this twisted nightmare. Was this life, you pondered, truly worth enduring? You ached with the weight of your past—the orphaned child of a broken world destined for a pitiful end.

The mob carried you to the grand temple of Apollo, the air thick with desperation and despair. “Apollo, we pray to you!” the priest implored, kneeling upon the cracked stones, eyes searching the heavens for mercy. “We offer sacrifices for your blessing! Bring us food! Deliver us from this torment!” His voice cracked, but you offered no prayers, only a single tear slipped down your cheek as you bore witness to his anguish.

Now, bound atop a pile of wood, surrounded by stones that promised a cruel fate, as flames danced eagerly around you, you thought of others before yourself. Your heart swelled not with thoughts of self-preservation but with a fervent wish for help for those who needed it more than you ever did. What was your life but a tapestry of misery?

Yet unbeknownst to you, Apollo watched over you with a fire of his own within his divine heart. His muse, you were—beautiful in a way that transcended the cruel constraints of your existence. “How can one consider themselves lesser than others when their spirit shines with such infinite beauty?” Apollo mused, unyielding wrath now rising within him at the thought of your fate as he heard the commands for your sacrifice.

In a brilliant flash, a golden arrow pierced the gloom, striking the ground mere inches from the priest’s feet. The murmurs of awe rippled through the crowd. “Oh Apollo, divine and majestic!” the priest shrieked, begging, “Spare us from this wrath! Save us!” But Apollo, his face as bright as the sun, did not smile; he merely observed with a frown etched upon his celestial features.

With a sweeping motion, he released you from your cruel bindings, holding your fragile form tightly against his powerful chest. “Fear not, my love,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head. “I shall heal you.” Even as you lay there, still on the brink of unconsciousness, his comforting embrace wrapped you in a warmth that melted away the coldness of hopelessness.

“Untie them! Do what is right!” Apollo’s voice thundered, rebuking the terrified priest who had dared to challenge divine will. “Why, you ungrateful mocker! Did you think your sacrifice meant anything to me?” Apollo’s gaze bore into the priest, who shrank beneath the weight of his judgment.

The crowd surged, their voices rising in chaos, yet Apollo’s presence stood unwavering. “You are the cause of your village’s despair, not I! It is your greed that has brought forth this plague, your arrogance that has withered the earth!” His fierce gaze swept over the villagers, lighting a flame of hope among the weary souls.

“Untie them, now!” he commanded, an echo of authority that sent a ripple of fear through the crowd. The priest, trembling, howled as another golden arrow found its mark, collapsing in agony.

Apollo, with a tenderness that belied his immeasurable power, cradled you ever closer. “No mercy did you give to the innocent, and now, your cries for mercy fall on deaf ears.”

“No!” cried the priest, clawing at the dirt in desperation. “I did not know—”

“That is not the point!” Apollo roared, his wrath still simmering beneath the surface. “I have wasted enough time on your falsehoods. You are the architect of your destruction.”

With the flick of his wrist, a radiant flame ignited, engulfing the priest in an unbearable blaze. The pitiful wails of despair filled the air, but Apollo remained unmoved. He had used but a moment to deliver justice, and now he turned to you with profound adoration.

With you still cradled in his arms, he soared down from his divine heights to bless the rest of the villagers still clinging to life, filling the earth with vibrant hues of light and life once more. You were sheltered beneath an enveloping warmth that ignited your senses, as though a sunbeam had chosen to make a nest within your heart.

Awakening from the grasp of darkness, you were enveloped in warmth, a soft blanket cocooning you like a precious dream. Uncertainty flooded your mind. Were you not supposed to find yourself in the underworld, forever trapped in a void of cold despair?

As your eyes fluttered open, they were greeted by the most exquisite temple you had ever seen, majestic and resilient, with cascading waters shimmering like stars tumbling from the sky.

“Are you enjoying the view, my love?” Apollo’s voice floated to you like a sweet symphony, his gentle fingers brushing against your face. His lips, soft and warm, kissed your cheek; the world around you faded, leaving only the essence of him behind.

“I told you not to save me!” you exclaimed, bewildered yet overwhelmed with emotion. “What have you done?”

“Save you?” he echoed, his expression shimmering with warmth. “How could I not save my beloved? You were to be sacrificed, but your beauty is far too precious to be lost to the flames of greed!” Scooping you into his strong embrace, he carried you through the grand entrance of his resplendent temple.

“Your soul is worth more than mere offerings to satisfy petty desires!” Apollo’s heart ached with the truth of his words, his gaze unwavering.

"Did you just say 'lover'?" you stammered, still processing the weight of it all, your heart racing with an unfamiliar joy.

“Yes, my sunshine,” he beamed, settling upon his mighty throne with you nestled in his lap, cradled in his divine warmth.

“Your prayers reached me, a song so heartfelt and filled with love for others, selfless in its beauty,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You did not seek to save yourself—why is that, I wonder?” His voice trembled with an unrecognizable sorrow.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you questioned your worth, haunted by the shadows of your past. “I am nothing, my lord. I was born an orphan. I have known only the embrace of suffering.”

“Nay,” he breathed out, his eyes sparkling with intensity. “You rose each day, weaving melodies of poetry and music to bring joy to hopeless hearts. That is not nothing! You tried to keep the light alive, even while darkness threatened to engulf you.”

“Was that why I felt no cold or hunger?” you asked, astonished.

“Yes,” he affirmed, kissing your forehead tenderly. “I guided you, sheltering you, keeping the sun’s light close to you.”

“All of this…for me?” You gazed into his golden eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“There is no need for titles, my sunshine. Just Apollo will do,” he reassured you, his expression softening, warmth radiating from him as effortlessly as the sun pouring its light upon the earth. “You have a soul more radiant than the sun itself.”

As days turned to weeks, a transformation took place within you. You found solace in Apollo’s love, the warmth of his presence igniting something deep within your heart. Though you had never truly known a home, moving through life as a wanderer, Apollo made it clear that with him, you belonged.

And as the whispers of the other gods floated through the celestial realm, curious about the one who had captured the heart of the once-raging Apollo after the loss of Hyacinthus, you realized that perhaps in the depths of despair, love’s light shines the brightest of all.

[dedolubka]

A Song of the Woods and Winds

(Tamlin x OC)

Crazy, I haven't written this story since last october! That's an oversight. Firstly, it's now officially a fanfic, and it has a title. Secondly, thanks @praetorqueenreyna for correcting the errors in this text! ❤️

Warnings: Amarantha. Seriously, this woman is a warning in and of herself.

Enjoy the read!

<<<past | next>>>

The stone walls suffocated him. Despite the efforts of the persistent air spirit who claimed to be his personal servant, Tamlin never slept in his tidy chambers. He rarely slept at all. There weren't enough soldiers from his court to catch and destroy the Hybern soldiers who had banded together and plundered the borders, and he had to help. Tamlin would be lying if he said he did it without pleasure.

In rare moments of peace, he settled under a spreading willow tree in his sacred grove and  would fall into a brief slumber. It was here that his mother slept her eternal sleep. If Tamlin could find any emotion other than endless, dull weariness, he would be ashamed to come here, for it would hurt his mother to see her favourite son like this. 

But even in her comforting embrace he could find no peace.

Nightmares haunted him constantly. On good days they were blurry, painful images. On bad days he was visited by a woman with black eyes and a black soul.

Red braids, red lips and red nails. Red blood, everywhere, on the floor, on her hands and on his too. Tamlin couldn't even remember how many Spring Court fairies she'd killed for fun. He couldn't remember how many he'd bought the life of with his body. It was always not enough for her, she wanted his heart but couldn't have it - luckily she thought it was her own fault. A heart of stone is incapable of love and desire.

This didn't stop her from torturing him. This didn't stop her from laughing. This didn't stop her from keeping him on a short leash. 

This didn't stop her from making him torture his subjects. No wonder they believed Feyre's lies about him so easily - their screams were still ringing in his ears.

"Sir, please!”

"My lord, please don't!

"Spare me!”

"Master, please!”

"Master!”

"Master!"

The last voice was too vivid and real to be an inflamed memory Tamlin's eyes snapped open, clouded by sleep. There was darkness all around, and beyond the darkness a storm was raging.

“Master!” a frightened voice kept calling to him. The voice of his tenacious servant. "Master, wake up! You will destroy the grove!"

Tamlin's heart pounded in his throat. His magic was raging, out of control. He could feel it, but he couldn't see it - the roots of the willow under which he slept were woven tightly around his animal body, as if to cocoon him from the raging elements. He dug his claws into the ground, trying to calm himself, trying to control the magic.

"Master!"

Shut up, shut up... Tamlin growled, forcing the winds to subside. Slowly, as if reluctantly, the roots of the willow obeyed him, unravelling and releasing him, retreating back underground. The tree must not be harmed... Tamlin would not forgive himself if his intemperance caused his mother's resting place to become a ruin.

"Master!" The spirit's exclamation came from nearby. Tamlin reacted sharply, his targeted roar causing Ariel to recoil.

“Stay away!”

The spirit threw up its arms, and after a few heavy sighs, Tamlin recovered enough to lift the mist from his vision. Ariel's hands were torn - small wounds covered palms and wrists. It looked like the fool had tried to pull the roots apart with his bare hands…

Tamlin shook himself in an attempt to shake off the remnants of a sleepy nightmare along with the earth from his fur.

"Master…"

"What happened?" Tamlin interrupted abruptly, not wanting to listen to his pitiful wailing. Looking around, he saw a few trees that had been hobbled, but overall the damage to the sacred grove was not critical. Thank Goddess Mother, it passed....

"Well... you... I suppose you had a nightmare?" Ariel still held his hands up, as if to show he wasn't a threat. "When I flew in and tried to wake you, these roots hid you from me... it seems this tree was protecting you..."

Tamlin blinked. Protecting ? No, it... It was probably just his magic reacting to the destruction. It had happened before. The last time, during a nightmare like this, Tamlin had blown up the south wing of the mansion, but the air shield had protected him from damage himself. He looked again at Ariel's shredded hands, slowly healing.

“Why did you do that?”

Ariel immediately hid his hands behind his back.

"What was I supposed to do, just stand there and watch?" the spirit muttered. "I was scared, okay? You... I... I have bad associations with being trapped in a tree."

Tamlin remembered the gaunt pine that had long served as a prison. Does Ariel have nightmares too…?

"Master…"

"What?!" snarled Tamlin, not so much angry as tired. The rest had not brought him peace, but new destruction. And this spirit... Tamlin felt a pang of guilt, even though he had not asked the foolish servant for help!

Anyone else in Ariel's position would have been frightened by his growl. Or would have taken offence. Ariel just fluttered his eyelashes and said, "Why don't I guard you while you sleep?"

Tamlin twitched his tail in surprise.

"What?" he asked dully. 

"What? I'll wake you up if I have to!"

Tamlin stared at the spirit in silence for a few moments, not knowing how to respond to such insolence. This noisy, talkative bird wasn't going to leave him alone, was it?

"Get out of my sight," Tamlin finally muttered, the mark on his skin, hidden by his fur, stinging with heat. He turned heavily on his paws and padded off into the grove, leaving Ariel behind.

Or rather, he was trying to leave Ariel behind. After five minutes of walking and tense silence, Tamlin growled, "I told you to get out."

“Nope, you said you didn't want to see me,” said the spirit behind his back in a cheerful voice. “You can't see me! All is fair!”

Tamlin turned around in irritation, but only had time to notice the leaves being lifted from the ground by the wind.

“I'm in no mood to play your games!”

"These are not games, Master. I am concerned for your welfare." Ariel's voice sounded close to his ear, but when Tamlin turned his horned head, he saw no one.

"Enough! Show yourself, now!"

Ariel immediately complied, hovering in the air and slowly lowering himself to the ground.

"Master, you almost hurt yourself," his tone was uncharacteristically serious. "And almost hurt the grove. I can't leave you like this, it's dangerous."

"I don't need your help."

"Yes, you do!" Ariel put his hands on his hips. What a funny picture - a little spirit trying to look threatening. "Are you resting at all?"

"None of your business!"

"You're a stubborn fool, Master!" Ariel flapped his arms irritably like wings. Tamlin roared in response. 

"Insolent spirit, don't make me angry!"

"Or what!"

A sudden roar shook the sky. Tamlin's power rushed forward in a gust of wind. Ariel squealed and covered his face with his hands as the wind tore at his clothes and hair, nearly knocking him to the ground. Tamlin roared, his eyes glowing with a bright green light. The wind whipped around, causing the thin trees to bend and crack dangerously. It was dangerous, an outburst of anger and irritation could cost the grove dearly, but Tamlin couldn't bring himself to calm down before his lungs ran out of oxygen. When he fell silent, Ariel lowered palms carefully.

"Are you feeling better?"

Reluctantly, Tamlin replied, "Yes.”

"Wonderful!"

Mother Goddess have mercy, the mood of a stubborn servant seemed impossible to kill. Ariel fixed his windswept hair and waved towards the two leaning trees - if Tamlin remembered correctly, his grandmother's third cousins slept there.

"Then make yourself comfortable, Master."

Tamlin didn't really have much of a choice. He could continue to insist, giving Ariel orders to get out - but Ariel loved to find loopholes in his orders. Or he could have obeyed. Tamlin was tired, so tired that even his instincts screaming in warning and suspicion did not frighten him. No one could be trusted, but today he was willing to be a fatalist.

Giving up, Tamlin wandered off under the leafy cover of the trees. He stomped on the grass and leaves, twisting and turning to make himself more comfortable. It was worth giving Ariel credit - the spirit sat at a distance from him, his back to him. Maybe he didn't want to embarrass him... It helped anyway. Ariel had already seen too many of the High Lord's weaknesses.

Tamlin curled up in a ball of golden fur, his nose buried in his paws. His ears twitched sensitively as he heard the distant chirping of birds, life slowly returning to this garden. Ariel fidgeted in his seat, his restless hands finding blades of grass and flowers to weave into a wreath. He began to chirp under his breath, unable to remain silent for long. 

Contrary to expectations, it wasn't annoying.

Ariel had a pleasant voice, and the melody he was humming sounded suspiciously like a lullaby. Tamlin took a deep breath of the cool air of the grove. How silly... he wasn't a child. He doesn't need comforting. But still no irritation blossomed in his chest.

Tamlin closed eyes.

As is tradition, the musical accompaniment of the chapter ☆

[notapradagurl7]

Not A Dream.

JoeyBada$$ x BlackFem!Dom!Succubus! Reader

Summary: In the depths of his mind, a dream of you soon became a reality when he invited you to come over, and called him. He didn't know that you were a succubus?

A/N: Happy spooky season, enjoy!🫡❤️ don't forget to leave a like, comment & reblog to support, feel free to ask for a request if you like!

Taglist: @naj-ay444 @megamindsecretlair @henneseyhoe

@thecookiebratz @playgurlxoxo @planetblaque @harmshake @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sageispunk @onyxstones-world @keyera-jackson @satoruya @urfavblackbimbo @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blackerthings @caashmoneynae @euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @araybiaaa

Warnings: +18, pwp, dirty talk, biting, choking, dirty talk, creampie(a succubus needs cum to survive,) succubus reader, riding, dominant reader, spanking, unprotected sex(wrap it up) couch sex, praise, a submissive Joey, dacryphilia, nipple play, orgasm control (male receiving) briefly of this fic is a nightmare but he wakes up, innocent reader, corruption kink.

————

“Fuckk…Joey, right there..”

His bare back was comfortably slouched against the couch, his hooded eyes fixed on the woman with your rich, melanated skin as you tilted your head back in delight, your hands placed on the armrest for support. Both were breathing heavily, the sound escaping their lips. His hand adorned with gold rings gently gripped your throat, momentarily constricting your airflow, eliciting a soft harsh gasp from you. Your glasses perched precariously at the edge of your nose.

Joey swiftly bucking his hips smirking devilishly, as you whimpered softly, your nails scratching at his biceps and chest. “J-Joey I'm got—fuck fuck..” you moaned roughly, you quickly grabbed his wrist that was still around your throat. The pleasure coursed through your body over and over again, unable to keep himself quiet, moaning quietly.

He moaned lowly and watched you lean down to kiss him but instead, your eyes glowed shone bright gold, and your fangs pierced his neck as you brought your lips to his ear, whispering. “I own you now..”

Joey's eyes flew open, abruptly awakening from his slumber on the black couch. He was panting heavily, beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. His gaze fell to his boner, noticing a small damp spot on his grey shorts.

The recurring nightmare he had over and over again was bizarre, simple fantasies of you with your ass in the air, your back arched, you moaning his name repeatedly tugging at his heartstrings.

Was the man in love already? Possibly, whatever called out to him he has to answer.

What he didn't know was that you were a succubus, successfully gathering victim after victim through the day and night and leaving them to rot.

But you decided to spare Joey because he intrigued you in a way that none of your other conquests had. Taking on your human form was a good idea, sinking your teeth into each one.

You couldn't reveal your true form to him yet, you wanted to enjoy him for the pleasure you were going to experience. Perhaps bite him again.

There was something about his spirit, the way he held himself, that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

“Fuck..” He mumbled, running a hand down his face, the male stood up from the couch and stepped into the bathroom. Bringing his face to the mirror.

The reflection staring back at him was one of confusion and desire. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.

“This is fucking insane, Joey,” he muttered to himself. As he toweled off and dressed in a fresh pair of grey sweatpants and a matching tee shirt, after a cold shower, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Joey walked out of the bathroom with his mind on that recent nightmare he had, it felt all too real to him. It ended in the same way, a bite.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, its red digits glaring back at him. It was still early, but sleep was now a distant memory. The images of you lingered in his mind, vivid and tantalizing.

The vividness of the dream felt like a warning, or perhaps an invitation. He decided to call you.

The young male gently plopped on his couch and reached for his phone, With a deep breath, he picked up his phone, hesitating for a moment as he scrolled through his contacts until he found your name. His fingers hovered over the screen, anxiety bubbling in his chest.

Pursing his lips, he tapped your name and listened to the ring. “What if she doesn’t answer? What if I sound stupid?” But the thought of you kept pulling him back, a siren’s call he couldn't resist.

Holding the phone close to his ear, after the line trills he heard you pick up. His heart skipped a beat when he heard your voice, “Hello? Joey? ” You asked, your voice soft yet slightly raspy from just waking up, sounding surprised yet amused.

“Hey, it's good to hear your voice." Joey tried to steady his racing thoughts.

"I know it's really late, but would you like to catch up and come over?” He asked gently, raising his brows.

“Yes, I would love to, I’ll be on my way over there,” you replied with a yawn, wanting some company.

Hanging up the phone, he placed his device back on the coffee table, his heart racing with growing fervor.

With the women he spent his time within a day, he cut all of them off immediately. He could only think of you, you've been coming through his dreams a lot and he can make out your face since you are friends.

It's always been you, for some apparent reason. He found comfort in your presence, even if it was just over the phone.

You couldn't reveal your true form to him just yet, remaining in your second form of a mere mortal, you were thick, had dark brown skin, wore glasses and had Alicia Keys braids recently done and had a innocent kind of persona but a little freak in the sheets.

Moments later, Joey heard a timid knock on his door and he stood up from the couch, his sock clad feet made the way towards the front door.

As Joey approached the door, his heart raced faster. He took a deep breath and opened it, there you were.

The man almost forgot you were literally his next-door neighbor in the big yet quiet neighborhood, who was innocent yet you stood there in a cozy sweatshirt and matching sweatpants from the cold weather, a soft smile gracing your plump lips, some socks and crocs on your feet.

Your hair framed your face perfectly, and those glasses accentuated your captivating brown eyes. The warm glow of the porch light illuminating your features.

“Hey Joey,” you smiled, your voice warm and inviting. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all. I was just—thinkin’ about you.” Joey replied, scratching the back of his neck, trying to downplay the heat rising in his cheeks.

You stepped inside, glancing around the spacious living room. “Nice place you got here. Very cozy,”

“Thanks, it’s nothin’ fancy. Just a couch and some fuckin’ music, you know?” He replied, clearing his throat and closing the door behind himself. Locking it with a swift flick of his wrist.

You can sense the nervous energy radiating from Joey as he gestures for you to take a seat on the couch. The orange glow from the lamp pooled around the room, enveloping it in a comforting warmth.

You walked further into the living room as he followed behind you, plopping down on the couch, your demeanor relaxed yet inviting. “So…what’s up? You sounded a little frantic on the phone.”

Joey took a seat across from you, his heart pounding. “I just had one of those fuckin’ dreams again. The ones with you.” He paused, gauging your reaction. “It felt so damn real. It’s like I could feel everything.”

You leaned forward, your curiosity piqued. “Oh? Care to share?”

Obviously, you knew what he meant, but you wanted to hear it from him. Joey hesitated, searching for the right words.

He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “It was fuckin’ intense. You were there, and I could feel your hands on me. You were bitin’ me.”

“Biting you?” you teased, your lips curling into a playful smirk.

“Yeah,” he admitted, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “And it was like you were more than just yourself. Like you had this energy,”

You only sat there with your eyes glimmering with innocence. “What do you mean by ‘something else’?”

Joey swallowed hard, the atmosphere between you thickening with unspoken words. “It’s just a feeling I have. You were different from when we hang out. Like there was a part of you I hadn’t seen before.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms, your gaze unwavering. “Different how?”

“There’s a side to you that you don’t show. A side that’s more…intense.” He felt bold as he spoke, the dream still echoing in his mind.

You pushed your glasses to the bridge of your nose, pondering his words. “And does that make you nervous?” you asked him.

Joey shook his head from side to side, his demeanor now more confident and a smirk curled upon his attractive face. “Nah, not nervous. I’ve always wondered if you had a wild side hidden beneath that cool exterior,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

Did Jo-Vaughn sense a corruption kink in the air, It didn't make him nervous? You had a feeling that he never feared anything but was instead drawn to the complexity and mystery.

Now was your time to be nervous, Your eyes quickly moved to the coffee table, avoiding his piercing gaze. The air around you seemed to thrum with anticipation.

“Look at me, Y/N..” He demanded with his voice raising an edge. You hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting your eyes to meet his, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Your eyes hesitated before meeting his gaze again, uncertainty lacing your expression. The heat pooling in your cheeks, you cleared your throat and scooted closer to the young male.

“I ain't scared of you, Y/N” Joey spoke with confidence, as if he figured out your secret. But you knew he always did his research, not on the Internet. Through your trips with him to the library.

“Are you sure about that?” you asked him with a small smirk, teeth sunk between your bottom lips. Awakening that demon from within you, steadily taking breaths to calm the sexual energy flowing from you.

“Show me that lil’ demon inside you, baby,” The young male said seductively,

Capturing his lips in a hungry kiss, the moment your mouths met it was as if a switch had been flipped. The kiss deepened, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as he responded with equal fervor.

Joey’s hands found their way to your waist, gripping you tightly as he pressed you back against the couch, his body pressing against yours. You could feel his warmth, his desire radiating off him in waves.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, breaking the kiss for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re so damn intoxicating.”

“Just wait until you see how intoxicating I can really be,” you replied with a teasing smile, your eyes glinting with mischief. You could feel the energy crackling between you.

You didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, you pushed him back, flipping the dynamic as you straddled him. “You wanted to see, remember?”

His breath caught in his throat as you hovered above him, your body poised and ready. Clothes were littered across the floor and his eyes were on your body, the light from the lamp glimmered on your skin. His hand smacked your ass roughly causing you to hiss.

Just like his dream, your hands rested on the armrest of the couch and you gently slid down on his dick, gasping as every inch of him filled you completely, “All the way down..fuck..good girl..” he praised.

You began to move your hips against him, your glasses resting at the tip of your nose, “fuck…fuck..joey!” you cried out harshly, your tears falling from your eyelids. Nails left welts on his back, his

His head fell back against the couch with his hooded eyes watching your facial expressions change, you screaming for your life in pleasure, “You look so pretty while I fuck you,” he grumbled, his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed it, your essence pooling around his dick completely. You couldn't speak but you could moan loudly.

“So you've been hiding this side from me?” Joey asked with a groan, his teeth sunk into his bottom lips. His hand had a vice grip on your waist, keeping you balanced and pleased. Smacking your ass roughly again while pinching your nipples and your words caught in your throat.

His dacryphilia and corruption kink kicked in at the right time, “I want to see you fall apart for me, every part of you break baby,” Joey urged on,

Resting the side of your face on his shoulder and your tongue gliding across his neck, pecking the bite marks you left, he grunted deeply and remembered the dream, he thrusts deeper, hitting all the right spots, and throwing your head back in ecstasy.

“So you're the demon from my dreams?” he grunted deeply, he went harder with his thrusts and groaned quietly. The energy was leaving him and entering him simultaneously, it felt good but he had to enjoy for now. Watching you scream loudly

He kept his grip on your neck and brought your face close to his, your eyes glow a red hue, “Joey,” you whispered, your breath hitching as you felt the intensity of his gaze upon you.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into.” you moaned softly, you picked up the pace with your hips and both of you went faster, harder. Breathes and whispers of each other’s names, The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Moaning in response.

“God, you’re so responsive, it's like you were made for you,” he breathed, lost in the rhythm of your bodies moving together.

You matched his pace and kept on until he was groaning, he bit down on his lips, “You hear that wet ass pussy?” he groaned in your ear, smacking your ass again and leaving a handprint.

With a low moan, he felt his climax in response and released his load of warm cum inside of you, quickly cumming with him as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, and felt your body shake weakly, “M-More..please..” you sobbed weakly, he thrusts to bury more of his cum inside you.

“J-just like that..” you sighed in bliss, he gently lifted you off of his dick and placed you beside him on the couch. You the energy flows through you.

“I gotta get you a plan B in the mornin’ baby,” He mentioned, kissing her lips tenderly.

You chuckled nervously, his forehead resting against yours. “Oh..um..you don't have to get that,”

He looked at you with confusion, “You're already on birth control?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of your truth hanging in the air. “I’m not just a human, Joey. I’m a succubus. You've read about us right?”

His expression shifted, curiosity piqued. “Yeah, I did, but I never thought until you showed up,”

“Wait…” he began, processing your words. “So you really are that ‘demon’ from my dreams?”

“Yes,” you confessed, “but I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Joey’s eyes widened slightly, but there was no fear—only fascination. “So, you chose to spare me?”

“Something like that,” you nodded, a nervous smile gracing your lips. “You’re different, Joey. You intrigue me.”

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes returning. “Guess I’m lucky, huh?”

“Very lucky,” you teased lightly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

“Then let’s make this a reality,” he said, pulling you closer, his voice low and serious. “No more dreams, just us.”

You smiled, your heart racing at the thought. “I can get used to that.”

————

[xoxorealitygalore]

La Sirène II

Jey Uso x Black OC

Summary: Joshua, eager to explore the legends surrounding his vacation rental, embarks on a quest to find the elusive water spirits rumored to inhabit the area. Unbeknownst to him, Seea, the enchanting queen of ile dlo, has been watching him all along. Known for her mesmerizing beauty and hauntingly beautiful singing voice, Seea lures unsuspecting visitors to fund her lavish lifestyle. As Joshua falls under her spell, he becomes more than just another victim, he unravels a deep connection with Seea that could change both their fates forever.

seea ✓ 30m

The soft sound of a foreign, lilting, and rhythmic, echoed through Joshua’s mind, pulling him from his slumber. It was not the kind of sound that came from a dream. It felt real. Like a whisper, so close it seemed as though someone was standing right over him, murmuring softly in his ear.

The words were not completely clear, but there was no mistaking the melodic cadence of her voice.

Seea.

Joshua sat up in bed, blinking into the dim morning light that filtered through the curtains. His heart raced slightly as his senses reeled to make sense of what had just happened. He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep, but the strange feeling in his chest didn’t dissipate. He couldn’t explain it, but it was as if her voice had been inside his mind. The eeriness of it made his skin crawl.

Shaking his head, Joshua climbed out of bed and walked toward the living room, the soft echo of the ocean outside the house only adding to the surreal atmosphere. The scent of fresh sea air mixed with the lingering sweetness of Seea’s blueberry muffins from the previous night. He paused at the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes narrowing slightly when he noticed Jon pacing by the counter, his phone pressed to his ear.

Jon’s voice broke through the quiet of the house, his words sharp and filled with frustration.

“Babe, I’m telling you, something is off about that chick,” Jon said to his wife, Trinity, clearly annoyed. "I just don’t trust her. And Joshua—don’t even get me started on him. Came to the island to escape his problems, but now I’m worried he’s gonna make everything worse by setting his eyes on her.”

Joshua froze, a frown spreading across his face. He wasn’t sure what had bothered him more, the fact that Jon had been talking about him behind his back or the truth in Jon’s words. The weight of the conversation settled on his shoulders, and for a moment, he felt exposed, vulnerable. His brother always had a way of cutting through his defenses, but this felt different, more personal.

Jon’s voice continued from the other room, his tone taking on a more pleading edge.

“Babe, I swear, she’s trouble. I don’t know what it is, but she’s got something about her. Something that’s not right. And now Josh is… I don’t know. He’s caught up in her orbit.”

Joshua gritted his teeth, pushing through the kitchen doorway and into view. Jon’s words cut deeper than he expected. He had come to this place to get away from his past, to find some peace. But now, it felt like the island like Seea was pulling him into something he couldn’t quite explain.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Joshua spoke, his voice rough from sleep but firm enough to interrupt Jon’s rant.

Jon immediately turned, his face lighting up with a mix of irritation and concern. “Oh, so now you’re gonna pretend like you don’t like what I’m saying? Come on, man, we’ve been through this before. You always let yourself get swept up in some woman’s game, and I’m not gonna let you do it again.”

Joshua bit back a retort, trying not to let his anger flare. Jon was right in some ways. His track record with women was far from spotless. The recent fallout from his divorce, his cheating, and his betrayal was still fresh in his mind, a constant weight he carried with him. But something about Seea felt different. It wasn’t just about her beauty or the way she had smiled at him the night before. It was like there was a deeper connection, an unspoken thread that pulled him toward her, even when he tried to resist.

“I’m not gonna do anything, Jon,” Joshua replied, keeping his tone calm despite the storm brewing inside him. "I just got here. I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just trying to figure things out."

Jon didn’t seem convinced. He let out a long sigh and put his phone down on the counter. “Yeah, well, it’s not just about what you’re looking for. It’s about what you’re walking into. And that girl… there’s something off about her.”

Joshua shook his head, trying to push past the uneasy feeling rising in his chest. He didn’t want to hear it. He had come here for a fresh start. The last thing he needed was to be lectured by Jon about another woman, especially when he barely knew Seea.

“Jon, enough. Just… enough,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just gonna have some coffee, okay?”

Jon’s expression softened, but there was still a hint of worry in his eyes. “Just be careful, Josh,” he said, his voice low. “You know I’m just looking out for you.”

Joshua nodded, but inside, a knot of frustration and confusion twisted tighter. His brother wasn’t wrong about one thing, there was something off about Seea. He had felt it too. But instead of pushing it away, the more he thought about her, the more he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he needed to understand. Something that was pulling him toward her, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

He walked over to the coffee machine, the hum of the island around him failing to quiet the thoughts racing through his mind. The image of Seea, her smile, her mysterious presence, clung to his thoughts like a shadow. Even after the awkward encounter the night before, her voice still echoed in his mind. The words she had said in the foreign language, though indistinct, felt like they held some kind of significance. Was she just some woman who had a basket of muffins, or was there more to her story than he realized?

As he brewed the coffee, Joshua felt an undeniable pull in his chest, something that had nothing to do with logic or reason, but everything to do with instinct. He was drawn to her. It was almost as if he had no choice but to follow that pull, to find out what it was that connected them.

And yet, in the back of his mind, Jon’s warning echoed like a persistent drumbeat. Was he truly running toward something, or was he stepping into something dangerous?

Before he could think too much about it, the sharp ring of his phone interrupted his thoughts. It was a message from Seea on Instagram. Joshua felt a flutter in his stomach as he picked up the phone, his fingers hovering over the screen before he opened it.

The message was simple—just a video.

It was a video of the ocean, the waves gently lapping against the shore with the soft light of the morning sun glimmering off the water. The message read: I hope you enjoy your stay here, Joshua. The island has a way of drawing people in, but it also has a way of letting them go.

Joshua’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what it was about the message that made him feel so unsettled. It was just a video, a simple message. Yet, it felt like something more, something that transcended the typical exchange between neighbors.

He quickly typed a response, his fingers shaking slightly as he hit send.

Thanks for the welcome, Seea. I’m starting to see what you mean.

As he stared at the message, waiting for her to reply, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, a constant reminder of the island's presence. And somewhere deep down, Joshua knew that his journey here had only just begun.

seea ✓ 42m

Seea sat upon her coral-encrusted throne, the seat of power deep beneath the crystalline blue waters of the Caribbean.

The palace, an awe-inspiring structure of twisted coral and iridescent shells, shimmered under the filtered sunlight that streamed through the surface above.

It was a place of both beauty and power, where the fates of the Dloians were decided. Now, all eyes were fixed on Seea, the heart and soul of the kingdom, as the council convened for yet another important discussion.

Around her, seated in a semi-circle, were the members of her council. They were an eclectic group, each hailing from different corners of the vast underwater kingdom, bringing their unique talents and wisdom to the table. Some were warriors, some diplomats, others scholars, and seers, but all were united in their devotion to the survival and prosperity of Ile Dlo.

Today, however, the topic on everyone’s mind had dominated their conversations for years: the matter of the queen’s heirs.

Seea, for all her strength and wisdom, had yet to fulfill one of the most vital duties of her reign, producing an heir. The people of Ile Dlo, a proud and ancient race of aquatic beings, were deeply invested in the continuation of the royal bloodline, believing it essential for the survival of their kingdom. For centuries, their monarchy had been unbroken, and they feared that without a legitimate successor, their future could be in jeopardy.

The pressure was mounting. Despite Seea's unmatched reign, her brilliance, her beauty, and her seemingly eternal youth, there remained a void at the heart of the kingdom. Her people were anxious, whispering of the need for an heir, who could continue her legacy and carry the weight of the kingdom into the future.

The council had discussed this matter countless times before, but each conversation had ended the same way: with Seea remaining resolute in her decision to wait for the right partner, someone who could meet her exacting standards. She was the queen, the embodiment of power and grace, and she would not settle for anything less than perfection.

As Seea sat upon her throne, she let her gaze drift across the council. The murmurs of her advisors filled the room, each one urging her to make a decision, to choose a mate, to secure the kingdom’s future. Seea, however, seemed lost in thought, her fingers idly tracing the pale pink tips of her nails as the voices around her blurred into a monotonous hum.

Seea had long known the importance of producing an heir, yet she could not bring herself to settle for someone unworthy. She had watched suitor after suitor come and go, each one promising to father the next ruler of Ile Dlo, each one offering his strength, his loyalty, or his wealth, but none had ever managed to stir something within her heart. None had made her desire to bear their children.

Her people had become increasingly insistent, with some even suggesting that her reign could falter without an heir. But Seea was unmoved by such threats. She was the queen. Her will was law, and no one could dictate her decisions, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Marino, her younger brother, sat beside her, his presence a comforting constant. Though younger, Marino had proven himself time and again as a wise and loyal advisor, understanding his sister’s stubborn nature better than anyone.

Marino leaned forward now, his voice cutting through the council’s chatter. “What about Chavez?” he asked, his gaze fixed on Seea. His tone was curious but laced with concern, as though he feared that Seea might once again dismiss the suggestion.

Seea’s eyes snapped toward her brother, narrowing slightly as irritation flared within her. Chavez. The name alone sent a surge of anger through her chest. While Chavez was certainly a physically imposing figure, he lacked the strength and substance that Seea required in a mate. To her, he was weak, too focused on appearances and status, rather than the true power that ran through the veins of the Dloian royal family.

“Absolutely not,” Seea replied firmly, her voice cutting through the air with the same cold authority that had defined her reign. She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers digging into the ornate armrests of her throne. “Chavez is too soft, too eager to please. He would never make a worthy father to my children.”

Marino sighed, clearly disappointed but unwilling to press the matter further. He had come to accept his sister’s unyielding nature, especially when it came to her choices in matters of the heart. Seea would never settle for anything less than perfection.

One of the older council members, a wizened man named Thorne, spoke up from the back of the room. His voice was gentle but carried a note of hopefulness. “I heard we have new arrivals on the island,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to Seea. “What about one of them?”

The mention of newcomers immediately piqued Seea’s interest. It was true that the island of Ile Dlo had recently seen a small influx of visitors. They were fleeting, temporary, and only useful for one thing: ensuring that the kingdom’s resources were maintained.

Still, the council member’s suggestion stirred something in her. Her gaze shifted to the man who had spoken, and she allowed her thoughts to drift, pretending to consider the idea. “I don’t know,” Seea said slowly, her voice trailing off as though weighing her options. “I’ll think about it.”

In truth, Seea already knew exactly who the council member had in mind. Joshua. The name echoed through her thoughts like a whisper on the current.

Seea had first encountered Joshua when his scent had caught her attention. It had come to her on the faintest of ocean currents, like an invisible thread pulling at her consciousness. There was something unusual about him, something she couldn’t quite place. The mere thought of him stirred her powers, making her senses hum with anticipation.

Her fingers traced the armrest of her throne again, as she allowed the thought of Joshua to linger in her mind. There was a magnetic pull toward him, something deep and unexplainable.

The room grew silent as the council members exchanged wary glances, sensing that Seea had already made up her mind.

“I will take one of the new arrivals as my mate,” Seea declared suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a sharp blade.

The room froze, eyes wide with surprise. No one had expected this sudden declaration, but the queen spoke with unwavering confidence. It was a decision that had been made, and there was no turning back.

Marino’s gaze shifted to his sister, his eyes narrowing as realization dawned upon him. He knew exactly who she was referring to.

“Are you sure?” Marino asked, his voice laced with a note of caution. He had seen the unpredictable nature of Seea’s emotions, especially when they were stirred by something as profound as this. There was no telling what consequences her decision would have.

Seea met his gaze, her eyes were hard with determination. “Yes,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I am sure.”

The room was still. The council members exchanged glances, some in shock, others in awe. No one had anticipated that Seea would make such a decision so quickly. But those who knew her well understood that once her mind was made up, there was no changing it.

“Who, my queen?” one of the council members asked, his voice full of curiosity.

“Joshua Fatu,” Seea answered firmly, her voice carrying the finality of a royal decree. There was no need for further explanation. The name had been spoken, and that was enough. Joshua would be her mate.

Seea’s mind wandered back to him. She could still see his face clearly in her mind—those dark, determined eyes, the strength in his posture. He was different from the others, and it was that difference that both intrigued and unsettled her.

There was a raw, untapped power in him, something hidden beneath the surface.

But now, the task was simple: she needed to bring him into her world. Joshua would be the father of her children, of the heir who would one day rule over the vast expanse of Ile Dlo.

Marino looked at his sister with a mixture of admiration and concern. He knew better than anyone the depth of her resolve. If Seea had chosen Joshua, then nothing in the world would change her mind.

Yet, Marino couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper, something more mysterious, was at play here, something that even Seea herself might not fully understand.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Marino said quietly, his voice filled with rare doubt.

Seea turned to him, her eyes filled with unwavering confidence. “I do,” she said simply. “I always do.”

The council members, sensing the finality in her words, began to murmur amongst themselves. The decision had been made, and there would be no turning back. The future of Ile Dlo rested now on the shoulders of Joshua.

And so, the wheels of fate began to turn, drawing Joshua deeper into the currents of the underwater kingdom. For Seea, this was only the beginning.

The tides of destiny were shifting, and her reign, her very existence was about to change in ways she had never anticipated.

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Taglist: @tian-monique

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

Graves Are Never Still

there are graveyards shrouded in silent mist hollows of time where stones bear untold secrets the spirits wander down a long corridor of sorrow within it...shadows trail shadows like ruined vessels we sink into lost reflections as though we were sinking into the murmur of a heart

and there remain husks limbs formed of cold wet earth petrified bones the silence embeds itself in marrow like echoes in an empty city emerging from forgotten alleys...from silent crypts growing in the moist gloom like droplets of despair

sometimes i glimpse afar caskets adrift on phantom streams setting sail with the long departed with souls...unruly and uncultivated with merchants whose faces are chiseled like old stone and somber maidens tethered to the annals of time drifters ascend the soaring mountain of memory the crags of deep crevices carrying with them the silent toll of oblivion filled with the stilling resonance of final quiet

death comes among the murmurs like a void where a hand was meant to be like a garment missing its wearer it raps at the door using a knock without a sound without the weight of a key in its grasp it bellows without a throat...without any echo the phantom knock ripples through the air its rhythm a distant heartbeat in a silent hall and its passage is marked by the rustling of unseen leaves

i wander with hesitant eyes and dim sight as if the sight of death glows with a hue of damp iris iris that bloom in the underworld of the soil soul because the visage of death pulses with a viridian tint and the gaze it bestows is a deep red allure imbued with the wet caress of a fragile petal and the muted tone of an endless midnight

yet death roams like a silent caretaker tracing the floors in search of forgotten remnants it dwells within the simple sweep of its tool a language of absence seeking the strands of life a needle stitching the empty cloth of fate

death resides within the slumbering cradles resting upon the languid surfaces of quiet beds enshroud by dark linens it exhales softly sending a somber scent...that fills the still air and the chambers drift toward a harbor unknown where death awaits

cloaked

as a venerable commander

[adrift-in-thyme]

... Fic request for something with Blupee Wild? Congrats on the follower milestone <3

Tysm for the request @luna-loveboop <333 I hope you like what I came up with (and that you feel better really soon)

——————————————

Beneath the light of a silvery moon, Twilight looks much too pale.

He lies on his side on the bedmat, covered in a thick blanket. His eyes are closed, one arm propping up the pillow his head rests wearily upon. Every exhale is labored, every inhale dragged through fever-tight lungs.

Wild lopes towards him on tiny bunny feet. His movements are cautious and slow; his antennae twitch, curious, worried. The last thing he wants to do now is to awaken his brother. Not after all that he has endured today. And it is not as though he is in any definite danger. Time is keeping watch and his care of his ill descendant has been nothing short of attentive.

Add to that the fullness of the moon, the serenity of its all-encompassing light. It is the kind that dances with careful sorcery. The kind that peels back the humanity his body clings to, revealing the spirit within.

His blupee form is by no means a secret to everyone, and yet…he has not exactly been open about his unnatural situation either. Tonight is not a night when Wild should venture out of his little corner of darkness. Tonight is not a night when he should fall prey to worry.

But he can’t help it.

His brother is here, lying only a short distance from his own bedmat, shivering like a leaf tossed by a merciless wind. And that is something Wild cannot ignore.

So, forward he goes, past his fellow heroes, sleeping the sound slumber of worried exhaustion; past Time, shadowed form taut as a ready bowstring. Silent as the tranquil black above, ethereal coat reflecting the shuddering remnants of the dying fire, he moves toward Twilight.

Once there, he sits for a moment. With golden eyes as round and wide as an owl’s, he stares. The rancher looks even worse up close. Beads of sweat dot his furrowed brow. One hand is fisted in the blanket, knuckles still white from a death hold. The undersides of his eyes are framed in shadows that curve and carve deep along the form of his markings. There are tear tracks on his cheeks – new ones, since Time has only just wiped the old away – and their sorrowful trail gleams blue in Wild’s wake.

The rancher has only been sick for a day and Wild swears he has already become gaunt.

The broth he made for him earlier had not been a success. Neither had the bread or the potion brewed to be less bitter. At least, he had been able to keep down the herbal tea Wild had brewed. Everyone had seemed relieved when he finished the first cup and didn’t instantly turn an unhealthy shade of green. In the end, they had successfully coaxed him to drink two more cups.

Wild has done all that he can for now. He knows that deep inside. But it doesn’t feel that way.

Antennae drooping, he moves closer. Gently, he nuzzles Twilight’s cheek. His nose twitches at the familiar scent of mist-kissed forest and fresh springs, of sun-baked hay and the fur of beasts.

Twilight has always smelled like home. Felt like it too, in a way none of the other heroes do. Except…except for Time. He feels like home as well.

Wild nuzzles Twilight one more time for good measure, then, tucks himself beneath the rancher’s outstretched arm. Curling into a ball, he faces his brother, prepared for an all-night vigil. He will watch over him, comfort him, keep him safe. Even in this tiny form, these are things he can do.

Twilight shifts slightly, inhaling shakily. Eyes of gold flecked blue flutter open. A haze of feverish exhaustion hangs heavy upon them as he gazes at Wild.

“C-cub?” It is a croak, so hoarse it would be difficult to make out if not for their close proximity and Wild’s enhanced hearing.

He sets his paw on Twilight’s cheek, watches as his face splits into a tremulous grin. The rancher reaches out a trembling hand and runs his fingers through his silken fur. A sound caught somewhere between the chirp of a bird and the purr of a cat rises in Wild’s throat. An exclamation of joy at the touch.

“You're so…so small,” Twilight says in wonder.

His fingers find the spot just behind Wild’s antennae and scratch softly there, eliciting another happy purr. He chuckles.

“And so soft.”

The sheer elation in Twilight’s tired voice sends a thrill of welcome happiness through Wild’s heart. He snuggles closer.

“How…” The murmur is heavy with the return of slumber, tinged with distant curiosity. “Never seen you like this ‘fore, cub. What are y-you?”

I’m a blupee, Wild replies in the musical tones audible only to beasts. He cocks his head, thinking. It’s the creature my spirit takes the form of. It’s a long story, but it’s been happening ever since I woke up from my hundred year nap. Every time I step into the moonlight. I don’t really know why. I can do it on command too though.

“Like me,” Twilight whispers and his voice has grown oddly tight. “Did-didn’t know you were…”

Yeah. Wild blinks wide eyes, rests his head level with the rancher’s. I’m like you. Pretty cool, huh?

“Does it hurt?”

No. He heaves a small sigh. It actually feels natural. Like this is as much me as my Hylian form.

Twilight smiles then, small and trembling and dancing with emotions Wild cannot identify.

“I’m glad, cub,” he murmurs. “I’m r-really glad.”

Another series of shudders wrack his body and he winces, hissing through his teeth. In their wake he looks even more fatigued than before. His fingers still, eyelids drooping.

“S-sorry,” he breathes, “‘m not much company right now.”

Wild shifts so that he is pressed against him, hoping to provide some small warmth. At the very least, the welcome safety of companionship.

Don’t apologize. Rest. Get better. Then, we can go explore together. Like we did back in my Hyrule.

The rancher smiles again, small, wistful. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

He breathes out, a sigh that’s weariness Wild can feel in his very soul. Only a few moments later, his face goes slack once more, the lines of discomfort smoothing out. Wild lays his head upon his paws and settles in.

Until then, I’ll watch over you.

[sunstone-smiles]

Flying Types Lift the Spirits

Original request: "For tickletober this year, could i suggest lee!larry for day 25 (new discovery?) and for the scenario perchance he’s feeling stressed from work, and at home one evening his pokemon try to comfort him, so one of them nuzzles him or something and he reacts weird and they realize he’s ticklish and use that to cheer him up?"

Author’s note: Larryyyyy! I still have fun saying his name like that every time, Lol. Here’s Day 25 of Tickletober: “New Discovery” from August’s Tickletober List! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Pokemon

Characters: Larry, Staraptor, Altaria, Oricorio, Tropius, Flamigo 

Word count: 1,156

Summary: Larry is feeling a little stressed from work, so his team of flying type pokemon take it upon themselves to lift up Larry’s spirits with a newfound method thanks to Staraptor’s discovery.

---

All Larry wants to do is to sit down and rest, but it’s hard to do that when his chest is aching and his mind is filled with scenarios of the near future—tomorrow to be precise. His boss requested… No, more so told Larry that he was scheduled for a meeting in the morning, three Elite Four battles, and two gym battles; all to be done back-to-back.

He can do it, but it’s going to be tight. Any slip up, any delay, and he could be a minute late to any of his appointments. And if he’s late, he could get an earful from the boss, or worse—a penalty to his paycheck.

He pauses his TV show and places the remote by his side, next to Tropius’s head that’s curled up and sleeping behind him like a pillow. Larry’s too distracted to even pay attention to the program. He wipes a hand across his tired face. One of his other Pokemon by his side takes notice; Staraptor tilts his head from his perch on the back of the sofa. 

“Chir…?” the large bird quietly chirps.

Larry turns to look at him. “Oh, it’s fine. Staraptor. I’m fine. Everything’s… normal,” he moves his gaze away from the bird’s.

Staraptor ruffles his feathers like he was huffing. Being a pokemon that’s on Larry’s normal type and flying type teams, Staraptor has spent the most time with him. He easily knows when Larry’s not telling the truth.

Larry lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay, you got me,” he admits. He pauses before speaking again, figuring out what to say. “I'm just thinking about a lot of things. A little stress, that’s all.”

The brief conversation between Larry and Staraptor has slowly roused the rest of his flying type party from their slumber. Altara is perched on the back cushions with Staraptor, Flamigo is standing near the arm of the couch, and Oricorio is cuddled up on the cushions by Larry’s side opposite of where Tropius is lifting his sleepy head.

“It seems like everyone heard that. Sorry for waking you all.” Larry pats Oricorio and Tropius’s heads. “It’s alright. I just have to keep telling myself that.”

Tropius lets out a soft rumble like a purr; Oricorio lets out a quiet chirp. To comfort him, Tropius nuzzles his head into Larry’s side.

Staraptor, Flamingo, and Altaria turn to one another with a worried gaze. Altaria also has a concerned look in her eyes, like a mother wanting to care for their child. The three bird pokemon silently communicate to each other: There must be a way to help.

Suddenly, Larry abruptly shifts in his spot with a quiet huff releasing at the same time.

“Tropius,” Larry says. There’s remnants of a slight chuckle in his voice. Tropius tilts his head.

Staraptor, Altaria, and Flamigo glance at one another again, this time confused. That was strange. What made Larry jolt like that?

Seeing Tropius try to help, the electric bird chirps and energetically cuddles up to Larry’s side. The dual-type trainer flinches away. 

“Oricorio,” a similar hint of a chuckle is a bit louder the second time. The little cheerleader bird pulls away. She leans her head to the side.

A sudden realization hits Staraptor. His trainer didn’t just chuckle, he laughed. It was quiet, but a laugh nonetheless. There’s only one thing Staraptor knows that would cause a jumpy, laughter-producing reaction like that.

Staraptor informs the other flying types of their new discovery—which to Larry sounds like a bunch of chirps, squeaks, and squawks.

Larry’s brow lifts in confusion as he watches them all converse. Once their chirps and chatters die down, there’s an unsettling sense of mischief in the air. Although most of the party are flying type Pokemon, there’s one normal type move that they know of that will be super effective against their trainer: Tickle.

Tropius wraps his long neck around Larry’s torso, like the safety bar of a roller coaster ride. 

“Tropius? What are you–?”

Staraptor flaps his wings and squawks. With the signal, the rest of the flying types attack.

Tropius nuzzles his head into Larry’s ribs; Oricorio hops to the opposite side and flutters her feathered pom-poms into his tummy. Staraptor and Altaria lean down their heads and cuddle up against his neck. Flamigo assists Oricorio by using his beak to nuzzle into Larry’s side.

“Wha-ha! Hehehehey!” is all Larry is able to manage before giggles overrun his words and his body surges with tickly energy from all of his pokemon. He curls in on himself, scrunching his shoulders to his neck and squeezing his arms to his sides. His pokemon easily slip through his defenses though, gently scratching and scribbling into the spots that are getting giggly reactions from their trainer. After all, the move Tickle does lower defense.

“Hehehe! Is thihihihis what all of the chirping wahahas abohohout?” Larry tries to look at his pokemon while he wiggles in his spot, arms wrapped around his giggling chest. Another effective scribble from Flamigo to Larry’s side causes him to twist towards Altaria. With half of his back now facing Staraptor, the large bird takes the opportunity to nuzzle his beak into the back of Larry’s ribs. 

“Aha!” the trainer jolts with an exclamation of more giggles and turns to gently push Staraptor’s feathery head away with the palm of his hand. “Staraptohohor! Thihihis is your dohohoing, isn’t it?”

“Chirrr!” Staraptor chirps. Guilty as charged. 

“I shohohould have knohohown!” Larry laughs before he suddenly yelps and drops his hands to wrap around himself again when Oricorio flutters her wings near his side while still also at tummy. He kicks out his legs and leans back into the cushions as laughter consumes his entire form; invisible weights that were pressing into his chest appear to lift from the bubbly giggles billowing from his person. 

Larry calls out to his flock of pokemon, “Ohohokay, everyone! I’ve gohohohot the message! Nohoho more tickles! Plehehehease!”

Listening to their trainer, all the pokemon immediately stop. His giggles carry over as the trainer is given a moment to breathe. 

After a moment, his laughter begins to subside and his breathing steadies. Staraptor kneels his head to Larry’s shoulder and nudges him. The large bird looks at Larry with big, sincere eyes.

Larry scratches the side of Staraptor’s head to reassure him. “No, I’m not mad at you. I appreciate you all for looking out for me.”

The rest of his pokemon chirp and cuddle up beside him. A soft smile remains on his features. Larry drapes his arms around the creatures in a hug.

No matter how tough some days might be, he forgets that doesn’t have to tackle them alone. He has his pokemon by his side, and company like that, who cares enough to carry some of the burden, makes it better.

“We’ll get through tomorrow,” he says to them, thinking of optimism. “I know we will.”

[dem1verse]

﹏ ❛ a child and a fox.⠀⠀⠀fox spirit!vessel.⠀⊚⸜⠀now playing: ii ko no youko by kikuo

˖⁺ ⊹୨ ★⠀the one where you encounter a strange fox.

content disclaimers ╱╱ fluff. comfort(?). gn!insomniac!reader. mentions of smoking (cigarettes). vessel is an actual canine. ur both tired of being tired. wc: 0.89k.

YOU HAVE (1) MESSAGE UNREAD !⠀⠀♡⠀⠀ “HAPPY EIA RELEASE DAY!!! ٩(◕‿◕)۶ in honor of the newest album drop, i decided to write a small fic inspired by one of my favorite songs and @subatomiccherry's just a dream fic. also this might be the start of a mini series im considering modeled after vocaloid songs (these guys r wowaka & maretu coded AND NO I WILL NOT ENTERTAIN ANY REBUTTALS 🗣️) enjoy!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀INSOMNIA SUCKED. Consistent nights of sleep escaping your eyes didn't just give you constant irritability—it felt like it forgot you even existed. Every passing night lingered painfully, deadly silence surrounding you as you tossed and turned in your bed, your eyes begging for rest yet never finding it. You had tried everything. Early to bed? That didn't work. Counting sheep? A cliche that did little to contribute. The endless remnants of sedatives accessorized your nightstand—a constant reminder of your desperation. But it was never enough. Sleep was a now distant memory, a language you could no longer understand. That alone was drilled into your mind, almost forcing you to accept the fact that you might never know the pure bliss of slumber.

And it felt like absolute torment.

The clock ticked steadily. 4 AM, it read. But your room was as still as ever, the atmosphere of sleeplessness weighing heavily. Frustrated, you swung your legs over, and with a groan, you stood, legs tired, and made your way to the porch. Maybe, just maybe, the cool air would whisper the promise of peace, even if only for a moment.

                                       ｡ ˚ ︶︶𖤐︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

The cold air nipped at your cheeks, the wobbly planks of the porch creaking beneath your weight. A translucent fog embraced the wild, uncut grass as you pulled out a cigarette and lit it. With a single drag, the bitter tobacco, although bitter, gave a sense of peace to your troubled mind. You instantly felt a twinge of shame after exhaling. You'd promised yourself you'd stop smoking after your insomnolence got worse. The grey cloud reluctantly escaped your lungs and dissipated into the night air, your fingers flicking off already charred parts of the ignited stick. All was still.

But that pleasant stillness lasted briefly before you heard something rustling in your yard. You wanted to blame your exhaustion so badly, paranoia now replacing the tranquillity the cigarette provided you.

That's when you saw it.

You had almost missed it, but a fox stood in the middle of the tall grass, looking straight at you. However, what caught your attention wasn't its strange behaviour; it was the strange red markings on its face and its impossibly white fur. You froze, blinking as the fox looked up at you, wary of your presence. You both stood there as if its blank stare had locked you in place. The cancer stick still burned in your hand, forgotten by the sight before you. You took a slow step forward.

Then it left.

It didn't walk away—it simply vanished, as if it was never there.

You wondered if your lack of sleep finally made your mind snap and hallucinate. You walked back up the porch stairs. You weren't ready to deal with this. I really gotta stop smoking, you told yourself. With a swift motion, you snuffed the cigarette embers beneath your feet as you stepped back inside.

                                       ｡ ˚ ︶︶𖤐︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

The next few nights unfolded in the same way. You would sit on your porch, and there it would be again. The same albino fox would stand in the middle of your yard, staring deeply into your eyes. But you'd be lying if you said you hadn't grown fond of it. After heaven knows how long you've gone without proper sleep, the fox was the only thing that almost made you want to stay awake through the night.

Tonight was different, however. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as you counted the tiny cracks in the drywall. Sleep eluded you. Your eyes felt heavy and ached intensely, yet you couldn't manage to keep them closed for more than thirty seconds past the dark hours of the night. Anguish and hopelessness gnawed at your conscience. You almost wanted to scream—to rip your eyes out just to end the pain. It wasn't until you looked over to the window that your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide.

There it was.

Perched on your window, was the white fox you had been seeing over the past night. But unlike previous events, didn't run. Silence enveloped the room as you and the canine locked eyes, seemingly engaged in a wordless conversation. Almost as if the canine saw the burning soreness etched on your tired sockets.

Seconds felt like hours. Then, for the first time in what seemed like forever—you let out a yawn.

                                       ｡ ˚ ︶︶𖤐︶︶‌ ₊ ˚

You woke up the next day, the morning daylight spilling out of your bedroom window. You had altogether forgotten what happened hours ago, still groggy as the sun mercilessly hit your face, before the sleepy haze vanished, replaced with clear lucidity.

You had fallen deeply asleep. And for a long while at that. For the first time in weeks, months—forever, you didn't feel like a prisoner in a cage. Your eyes felt lighter than they've been.

Standing up to close your curtains, you stopped. Something had caught your eye. The fox lay there, sound asleep, chest rising and falling gently, letting out soft snores. Your eyes crinkled at the adorable sight, as you rested your head on your arms. No worries or distractions—just the long-awaited blessing of serenity finally gracing the both of you.

Seems like sleep finally smiled upon you two and decided to grant peace to your minds.

DEMI'S POST IT⠀❞⠀PLEASE go easy on me bro idk how to characterize this man (explains mute!vessel) i tried my best and i tried HARD okay 😭 but pls tell me if its good (look at me being a clown and finally becoming a fan bc CHRIST those ppl r smth else musically ☠️) can you also tell i wrote this like the week before🧍‍♂️

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Tellius reverse world is that Ashera immediately condemns the world to stone instead of slumbering. After thousands of years, Yune builds enough power to start setting beorc and laguz free to overturn her judgement and save the rest of world

Archanea reverse world is that Marth gets captured instead of Elice and Gharnef brainwashes him in hopes of using Falchion to kill Naga and preserve Medeus's rule. Elice is the protagonist and seeks to use the Fire Emblem to purify Marth from the dark magic and reclaim their nation. Starlight becomes her personal weapon in this version

Echoes reverse world is that Duma and Mila's original conflict didn't end until they slayed each other in a mutual kill, reducing the continent to various islands and scattering fragments of their powers across them. Humanity continued the struggle, using Duma's remnants to build weapons and fortresses, and Mila's to make the land fertile and harness magic. The dragon spirits call out to Alm and Celica to finally end their conflict by destroying these remnants and allowing them to finally rest

.

[nervousdiythesimspsychic]

The fox and the treasure hunters

part 9.5: Not so graceful

pairing: ateez x fox fm reader

genre: mystery, thriller, adventure

warnings: violence, dark themes, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Stress, blood and gore, Physical Danger, Suffering, Emotional Growth, Trauma,

summary: (y/n) has been on the run her whole life. She is accompanied by the spirit of a fox, which was placed in her mind by a witch. Over the years, she has learned to work alongside the fox, but the trauma of her youth runs deep. Because of this, she is wary and trusts no one. One day, eight men walk toward the village; her instincts tell her that they are here for her. Can these men earn (y/n)'s trust and pull her out of the darkness while they search for the treasure, where (y/n) turns out to be a key player in ways they never expected?

xxx Ziezo

previous- masterlist- next

chapter 9,5: Not so graceful

The hut was still in deep slumber when (y/n) cautiously opened her eyes. The soft sound of breathing filled the space, the rhythm of sleeping bodies unaware that she was already awake.

She moved slowly, testing her legs beneath the blanket. Her muscles protested slightly, but the pain was bearable. She could walk, thanks to Wooyoung and San, who helped her these days.

An uneasy feeling sat in her chest. After everything that had happened a few days ago, she felt... unclean. As if the words, the suspicion, and the lost trust had left a layer on her skin she couldn't shake off. She wanted water. Cold, clear water to wash it all away.

Carefully, she pushed the thin blanket off and placed her feet on the wooden floor. The cold immediately seeped into her skin. She clenched her teeth and stood up as quietly as possible. Her gaze swept over the sleeping men. No one moved.

With slow, controlled steps, she made her way toward the door, holding her breath at every plank that creaked slightly. She placed her hand on the wooden door and pushed it just enough to slip outside.

What she didn’t know was that San was already awake.

He lay on his side, his eyes barely open as he silently observed her movements. He hadn’t slept deeply for a while—maybe because of the new situation, maybe because he was unconsciously keeping an eye on (y/n).

When the door softly closed behind her, he remained still for a few moments. Then, with a sigh, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

"Seriously?" he muttered to himself.

He looked around and decided he didn’t want to handle this alone. With a grin, he turned to Wooyoung, who was sprawled on his stomach, half-thrown over his blanket.

San leaned forward and gave a quick tap to the back of Wooyoung’s head.

"Hey, wake up."

Wooyoung mumbled something and rolled onto his side. San simply shoved his shoulder.

"What?" came the sleepy, irritated response.

"Our little fox is gone."

That got his attention. Wooyoung’s eyes shot open, and he immediately turned over. "What?!"

San gestured toward the door. "She just went outside."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. "And you didn’t stop her?"

"I’m not stupid. She wasn’t walking like she was trying to escape. But I do want to know what she’s up to."

Wooyoung let out a deep sigh and rubbed his face. "Great. Then Yunho needs to wake up too."

He turned to the sleeping Yunho, who lay peacefully on his back, one arm draped over his eyes. Wooyoung grinned and gave him a firm shove on the shoulder.

"Hey. Wake up, big guy. We’ve got a problem."

Yunho mumbled something unintelligible and barely moved.

San rolled his eyes and took matters into his own hands. He leaned down and whispered just a little too loudly near Yunho’s ear, "(y/n) is gone."

Yunho’s eyes immediately snapped open.

"What?!"

San quickly placed a hand on his mouth to stop him before he woke up the rest of the men. "Don’t be dramatic. She just walked off, she didn’t run away. We’re going to follow her."

Yunho took a deep breath, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. "If she’s not escaping, then what is she doing?"

Wooyoung shrugged. "That’s what we’re about to find out."

The three men quickly threw on something warm and slipped outside. The air was chilly, filled with the fresh scent of morning dew. The forest was still half-dark, but the soft morning light was beginning to filter through the leaves.

San, who had seen which direction (y/n) had gone, took the lead. Wooyoung walked right behind him, while Yunho easily kept pace with his long strides.

They didn’t speak. They observed, listening for the soft footsteps in the distance and the slight rustling of leaves.

When they finally reached the stream, they stopped behind a cluster of trees and saw her.

(y/n) was crouched by the water, her hands submerged in the stream as she quietly washed herself.

There was no tension in her posture that indicated escape. No panic, no rush. Just the calm, silent need to clean herself.

Wooyoung glanced at San and Yunho, grinning. "Well, well. Our fox just wanted to wash up."

San raised an eyebrow. "And now?"

(y/n) took a deep breath and looked at the stream in front of her. The water shimmered in the soft morning light, clear and inviting. Her body still felt sore and stiff, but the thought of fresh, cold water gave her a small sense of relief.

Carefully, she leaned forward and began unlacing her tall boots. The leather laces slid through her fingers as she slowly unknotted them. She placed her boots beside her on a dry rock and rolled up her pant legs to keep them dry.

She placed her hands on the smooth edge of the stream and let her feet sink into the cold water. A shiver ran through her body, but it was refreshing. She gently rubbed her hands over her face, trying to wash away the dirty feeling.

But when she shifted her weight slightly to reach her calf, she felt it.

The soft mud beneath her foot slipped away.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh no—"

With a loud splash, (y/n) completely disappeared into the water.

The quiet forest was suddenly filled with the sharp sound of water crashing around her. A wave splashed over the bank, and she let out a sharp cry as she went under.

Behind the trees, three pairs of eyes watched the scene in utter disbelief.

San, Wooyoung, and Yunho stood frozen, their mouths slightly open, as they witnessed her dramatic plunge into the water.

There was a long, awkward silence.

Then Wooyoung broke it with a fit of hysterical laughter.

"PFFFFT—OH MY GOD."

San clutched his stomach and turned away, trying not to laugh out loud. Yunho had his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking.

"That was... that was probably the clumsiest thing I've ever seen," San managed to say, leaning against a tree.

Wooyoung wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and gasped for breath. "And to think we still believed she had that mysterious, elegant fox thing going on! This—this is just pathetic!"

"(y/n) without the fox is just clumsy," Yunho remarked with a barely contained chuckle.

They watched as (y/n) spluttered back to the surface, her hair completely soaked and plastered over her face. She gasped for air, shook her head, and tried to regain some dignity. But all she could do was glare angrily at the water as if it had personally betrayed her.

Wooyoung placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm himself. "Okay, okay... we need to help her. But I swear, if she gets mad, I’m gonna lose it."

San and Yunho nodded, their faces still tight with suppressed laughter.

They stepped out from behind the trees and strolled toward the stream at an almost leisurely pace, as if they hadn't just been laughing at her.

"(y/n)," San began with a wide grin. "Looking for some refreshment?"

She jerked her head up and spun around instantly. Her eyes widened in pure humiliation when she saw them standing there.

Wooyoung looked the most relaxed, his arms loosely crossed with an amused smirk on his face. San stood with one hand on his hip, watching her with a tilted head, while Yunho folded his arms and simply raised an eyebrow.

"So," Wooyoung started with an exaggerated sigh, "we wake up, and what do we find? Our little fox has run off."

(y/n)’s eyes narrowed. "You followed me?"

"Of course," San said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What did you think? That we'd just let you disappear?"

(y/n) squinted at them. "I wasn’t escaping."

"Oh?" Yunho leaned against a tree smirking. "Then what exactly were you doing?"

Wooyoung couldn't help himself and took a step forward, his face the picture of innocence. "Oh, don’t worry, we didn’t see anything."

He grinned.

"Except, well, your complete and total downfall."

(y/n) wanted to sink into the earth.

San reached out a hand. "Come on, before you drift off any further."

With a deep sigh, (y/n) grabbed his hand and reluctantly let herself be pulled out of the water. Her clothes clung to her body, her face was red with embarrassment, and the three boys made no effort to hide their amusement.

Wooyoung patted her encouragingly on the shoulder. "This was absolutely the best way to start the morning. I thank you for this gift." while he bowed in front of her.

(y/n) clenched her jaw.

Yunho shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at her with amusement. "Time to warm up before you actually get sick."

(y/n) muttered something unintelligible and stomped off toward the forest path, her clothes wet and sticky against her skin. Her hair hung like a messy curtain over her face, and with each step, she could still feel the cold water seeping through her clothes. This was... humiliating.

Behind her, she heard muffled laughter.

"I don’t know," Wooyoung said with a grin as he stepped beside her. "But if you were really planning to escape, I’d say you made a dramatically bad start."

San shook his head, wiping away a tear of laughter. "She wasn’t escaping, Woo. This was clearly a new tactic—confuse your enemies by making a complete fool of yourself."

Yunho chuckled softly and nodded. "A master plan. Very strategic."

(y/n) balled her fists and turned around with a glare that could kill. Her eyes burned with fury.

"I. Was. Not. Escaping."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and held up his hands in mock innocence. "Ooooh no, of course not. Because if you were, you’d have done it completely differently, right?"

(y/n) let out a frustrated sigh and shook the water from her sleeve with a sharp flick. "Yes, exactly! Because if I wanted to escape, I would’ve done it already without you even noticing!"

The three boys exchanged a glance—then burst into laughter at the exact same time.

"Oh, sure," San said, his shoulders shaking with laughter and quoted one of the rumors of the girl. "The great, mysterious fox, so elegant and untouchable, slipping away like a shadow in the night. Oh, wait—" He grinned. "Except when there's mud."

Wooyoung couldn’t resist. "Or a stream."

Yunho added to it. "Or… gravity."

(y/n) growled in frustration and flicked her wet hair out of her face, her eyes locked onto the path ahead. "You are all terrible."

"No, no," Wooyoung corrected her, "we're amazing. And besides, we’re not the ones who just went headfirst into a tiny stream."

(y/n) snorted and quickened her pace, her cheeks burning from both embarrassment and mild frustration.

The three boys walked behind her at a relaxed pace, still grinning.

"But hey," San said lightly, "if it makes you feel better, you almost convinced us. We really thought you had an escape plan."

Wooyoung nodded dramatically. "Yeah, absolutely. And then… BAM! Mother Nature said, ‘Nope.’"

Yunho held back his laughter, but his wide smile gave him away. "And now you’re all nice and clean. A win-win, right?"

(y/n) shot them a murderous glare and forced herself not to throw rocks at their heads.

But when Wooyoung casually draped an arm around her shoulders, whistling as if he felt no danger at all, she could only sigh.

"I really hate you guys," she muttered.

"Uh-huh," Wooyoung answered with a wide grin. "And that’s why you’re still walking back to the hut with us, Little Fox."

(y/n) stiffened slightly at that nickname but chose not to address it.

Instead, she grumbled, "Don’t call me that."

San and Yunho exchanged an amused glance as the hut came into view.

Wooyoung playfully squeezed her shoulder and flashed her a mischievous look. "We’ll see about that."

(y/n) rolled her eyes and walked inside with a sigh.

The three boys remained outside, looking at each other with wide grins.

"Well," San said, pushing a strand of hair from his face, "at least she’s acting like herself again."

Wooyoung chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah… and I’m still her favorite person."

Yunho shook his head. "That is exactly what she didn’t say Wooyoung."

The three of them laughed softly before finally stepping inside, ready for whatever the day had in store.

The hut’s door creaked loudly as three grinning men stepped inside… facing a dripping, visibly grumpy (y/n) who was looking at the other guys who were now awake.

The rest of the group paused their conversations and looked up in surprise. Hongjoong tilted his head, Yeosang raised an eyebrow, and Jongho glanced between San, Wooyoung, and Yunho, who looked way too amused.

"What the hell happened?" Mingi was the first to ask, eyeing (y/n) with a frown. Her soaked clothes clung to her body, her hair was a dripping mess, and her glare was downright murderous.

Wooyoung spread his arms dramatically. "Our Little Fox thought she was an elegant creature of the night… and then the stream won."

A few beats of silence.

And then—

Full on Laughter.

Loud and unrestrained.

(y/n) clenched her fists, her cheeks even redder than before. "Shut. Up."

San nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Woo, shut up. I mean, it’s not like she first tried to gracefully step over a rock before spectacularly falling."

That was it.

The men burst into laughter again.

(y/n) growled, stomped to the back room for dry clothes, and slammed the door behind her.

Wooyoung grinned. "Well, that was the morning show."

next chapter

[nayziiz]

Stay | LN4

Summary: A new romantic prospect puts things into perspective in the best and worst ways possible.

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Cara)

Warnings: Angst, some smut and fluff

Masterlist

CHAPTER 7

The following morning, Lando made sure he was back on the couch before anyone woke up. As the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, he slipped out from under the covers with painstaking care, ensuring he didn’t disturb Cara’s peaceful slumber. He paused for a moment, looking down at her serene face, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. The tender warmth in his chest was undeniable, a gentle reminder of the night they had shared.

But as much as he wanted to bask in the glow of these newfound feelings, reality beckoned with its harsh reminders. He quietly closed the door behind him, padding down the hallway with the stealth of a thief. Easing himself back onto the couch, he pulled a blanket over his shoulders, the remnants of the night still clinging to him like a fragile dream.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hide his feelings for Cara; in fact, the thought of being open about their connection filled him with a mix of excitement and anticipation. But the situation with Maya complicated everything. He didn’t want anyone to think poorly of Cara or himself, knowing how judgement could spread like wildfire in the Formula 1 world. His entanglement with Maya was a lingering shadow, one that cast doubts and uncertainties over the purity of his feelings for Cara.

Lando knew he needed to end things with Maya as soon as possible. But now, with the clarity brought on by his feelings for Cara, he realised that prolonging the inevitable was unfair to everyone involved. Maya deserved the truth, and Cara deserved his full, undivided heart—untainted by lingering ties to the past.

When Cara exited the bedroom later that morning, she tried her best to avoid his eyes, but it was a losing battle. Every time she glanced up, she found his gaze fixed on her, his eyes filled with a mixture of warmth and contemplation. It was as if he were studying her, committing every detail to memory, admiring her in a way that made her heart flutter and her stomach twist with guilt.

The memories of the night before surged through her, a cascade of emotions that left her breathless. She remembered the softness of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only person in the world. But with those memories came the heavy weight of guilt, an insistent reminder of the reality they were now forced to confront.

Lando had a girlfriend. The thought gnawed at her, each repetition like a stone dropped into the still waters of her conscience, creating ripples that spread outward, disturbing her peace. Why had she let him kiss her? She should have stopped him, should have reminded him of his commitment to Maya. Instead, she had given in to the moment, to the feelings that had been building between them for so long.

Later that morning, the group made their way down to the harbour in two groups. Cara, seeking to put some distance between herself and Lando, chose to travel with Max and Pietra. As they made their way down the sunlit streets, the air filled with the scent of saltwater and the distant cries of seagulls, she tried to focus on the lively conversation around her, though her thoughts kept drifting back to the earlier conversation with Lando.

Upon reaching the harbour, the group reconvened and boarded a sleek yacht, its pristine deck gleaming in the morning sun. The excitement of the impending adventure seemed to buoy everyone’s spirits, filling the air with a contagious energy. Cara busied herself with the preparations, helping to unpack the food they had packed the day before ensuring everything was in order for the day ahead.

As she moved about the deck, she couldn't help but steal glances at Lando. He was with Max and Brandon, his laughter carrying over the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. Despite the physical distance, the memory of their night together and the promise of what lay ahead lingered in her mind.

Just as she was starting to feel a bit more settled, a distant squeal echoed down the boardwalk. She turned towards the sound, her curiosity piqued. She placed the items in her hands down and went down the steps to see what was happening, with Lando hot on her heels to do the same.

“Is that Maya?” Cara asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

Lando's eyes widened in realisation. Clearly, he had forgotten he invited his girlfriend along for the day. He glanced at Cara, his expression a mix of guilt and panic.

“I... I didn't think she was actually coming,” he stammered. Cara turned to look at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

Cara's heart ached with the complexity of the situation. She didn't want to cause a scene or make things more difficult for Lando, but she also couldn't ignore the uncomfortable reality they now faced. She turned to walk away, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on her shoulders.

“Cara,” Lando began, grabbing her hand to stop her.

“Go greet your girlfriend, Lan,” Cara whispered, her voice tight with emotion as she pulled her hand out of Lando’s grasp.

He watched her ascend to the upper deck, each step feeling like a widening chasm between them. His heart ached with the realisation of how complicated things had become, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared from view. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the impending interaction.

“You didn’t forget me, did you?” Maya's teasing voice cut through his thoughts as she reached him. Lando forced a smile, though it felt strained.

“How could we forget the belle of the ball?” Max countered, his voice carrying a teasing tone as he made his way around Lando, carrying Pietra’s bag and towel from the car.

“Aw, I see Max missed me last night. I hope I can say the same about you?” Maya diverted the attention back to Lando, her playful smile masking the tension that simmered beneath the surface. “Did you at least have a good time?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Lando countered, his response carefully measured as he caught a glimpse of Cara making her way towards the front end of the boat with Flo in tow.

His eyes followed her, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. He wanted to try and explain everything, but now wasn’t the time. As everyone settled in for the day ahead, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him. He stole glances at Cara whenever he could, each one a silent plea for understanding. But she seemed distant, her attention focused elsewhere, and he couldn’t blame her.

Finding a restroom on such a large yacht should not have been difficult, but Cara was finding it frustrating that every door seemed to lead to something aside from a bathroom where she could peacefully relieve herself. She had been high on sun and sea, the sand still clinging dryly to her skin as she moved around the interior of the yacht.

Her frustration grew with each wrong turn, each dead end, until finally, she stumbled upon a small hallway that seemed promising. With a sigh of relief, she pushed open the door at the end of the hallway, expecting to find the sanctuary she so desperately needed.

“Looking for something?” Maya's voice cut through the air, catching Cara just as she was about to open a door without knocking.

“Just the restroom,” Cara explained, trying to keep her tone casual despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“It’s not in there,” Maya retorted with a smirk. “Unless you want to see a naked Lando.”

Cara froze, her heart pounding in her chest as Maya's words hit her like a punch to the gut. The comment, unfounded and clearly meant to rile her up, was enough to leave Cara feeling blindsided and off-balance.

For a brief moment, doubt clouded Cara's mind as she tried to process Maya's words. Had Lando been intentionally avoiding her? Was he truly spending intimate time alone with Maya? The thought sent a surge of anger coursing through her veins, but she pushed it aside, refusing to let Maya's taunts get to her.

“I suggest you keep yourself far away from Lando,” Maya warned her. “He may be nice enough to keep you around, but it won’t be forever.”

Cara felt a surge of frustration and indignation at Maya's warning, but she knew better than to engage in a confrontation. With a tight-lipped smile, she nodded in response, refusing to dignify Maya's words with a response.

Cara spun on her heel, her jaw clenched in frustration. The weight of Maya's warning lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the complexities of the situation she found herself in.

But Cara refused to let Maya's intimidation tactics deter her. With determination burning in her veins, she continued her search for the bathroom, her steps purposeful and resolute. She wouldn't allow herself to be intimidated or manipulated, not by Maya or anyone else.

As she moved through the yacht, her mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, frustration, and confusion mingled with a steely resolve. She knew she couldn't let Maya's threats dictate her actions. She would confront Lando, demand answers, and assert her place in his life on her own terms.

“I have to wonder sometimes if you pretend to be daft or if you actually are,” Max's voice echoed from behind Maya as he appeared from one of the rooms, having changed into dry clothes. Maya turned, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

“I'm sorry?” she asked, taken aback by Max's sudden assertiveness.

“Do you not realise that your future with Lando rests entirely in Cara's hands?” Max continued, his tone firm. “If there's one person's opinion he will always take into account, it's hers. If she doesn't like you and tells him as much, you can kiss all of this goodbye.”

Maya's eyes widened in realisation, the implications of Max's words sinking in. She had never considered the impact Cara could have on her relationship with Lando, but now it was all too clear. The thought sent a chill down her spine, a sudden wave of uncertainty washing over her.

“Now, let me say this to you again,” Max's voice was laced with steel, his gaze unwavering. “Be horrible to her one more time, and I will make your life hell.”

Maya swallowed hard, the threat hanging in the air like a dark cloud. She had underestimated Max, and had thought she could push Cara around without consequences. But now she saw the error of her ways, and the realisation left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

For a moment, Maya was speechless, the weight of Max's words bearing down on her. She glanced around, searching for a response, but found none. In that moment, she knew she had crossed a line, and the consequences of her actions were now staring her in the face.

With a silent nod, Maya swallowed her pride and took a step back, a newfound respect for Max and the power he wielded evident in her eyes. She may have underestimated him before, but she wouldn't make that mistake again.

When Cara finally emerged from her lengthy restroom search, she felt a mix of relief and frustration. The encounter with Maya still weighed heavily on her mind, leaving her feeling unsettled and off-balance. As she made her way back through the yacht, her thoughts consumed by the tension between herself, Lando, and Maya, she collided with someone, nearly stumbling backward.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice said, and Cara looked up to find Lando standing before her, slightly damp from an earlier swim.

Her heart sank at the sight of him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. Despite her best efforts to push aside her insecurities, she couldn't shake the image of him with Maya, laughing and smiling as if she didn't exist. Cara forced a smile, her voice strained.

“No, it's okay,” she replied, her words lacking the warmth she usually reserved for Lando. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, afraid of what she might see reflected in his eyes. Lando's brow furrowed in concern as he studied her, sensing her unease.

“You OK?” Lando asked, his hands reaching out to gently rest on Cara's shoulders.

Cara stiffened at his touch, the warmth of his hands a stark reminder of the complicated emotions swirling inside her. She took a step back, shrugging off his touch with a forced smile.

“I'm fine,” she replied, her voice tight with tension.

Lando's brow furrowed in concern as he watched her retreat, a knot of worry forming in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to reach out to her, to ask her what was wrong and how he could help, but something in her demeanour told him to give her space.

With a heavy sigh, Lando watched as Cara stalked off, her figure disappearing into the crowd. He felt a pang of guilt gnawing at his conscience, knowing that whatever was bothering her, he played a part in it. A few seconds later, Max walked past, his expression grumpy from his encounter with Maya.

“Max, wait,” Lando called out, jogging to catch up with his friend. “Is everything alright?”

Max glanced at him, his expression guarded.

“Just peachy,” he replied tersely, though the tightness in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“Why is everyone so grumpy all of a sudden?” Lando asked Max, concern etched into his features.

“If you’re referring to Cara, she has every right to be,” Max countered, his tone tinged with frustration. Lando's brow furrowed in confusion.

“What happened?” Lando quickly asked, his heart sinking at the thought that Maya might be the cause of Cara's distress. Max hesitated for a moment, his expression conflicted. But then the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“Your girlfriend is making her miserable,” he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

“Maya is not my girlfriend,” Lando grumbled, his frustration evident in his tone as he tried to clarify the situation.

“Excuse me?” Maya exclaimed, her voice sharp with disbelief as she turned the corner, only catching the part of the conversation that she wanted to hear. “So, I’m not your girlfriend, then?”

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to navigate the sudden confrontation.

“I told you I didn’t want to be in a relationship,” he reminded her, his words firm but tinged with regret.

And then, as if on cue, everyone seemed to be standing on the same deck, listening to the exchange with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity. Max and Pietra exchanged a knowing glance, the tension in the air palpable as they watched the scene unfold before them. They had suspected there was more to Lando and Maya's relationship than met the eye, but now it seemed the truth was coming to light. Maya's face flushed with embarrassment and anger, her eyes flashing with indignation.

“You led me on,” she accused, her voice trembling with emotion. Lando's jaw tightened, his own frustration rising to the surface.

“I never meant to,” he insisted, his tone defensive.

As the tension in the air thickened, Cara felt a surge of empathy for Maya, despite everything that had transpired between them. She could see the hurt in Maya's eyes, the betrayal etched into her features, and it struck a chord within her.

But before anyone could say another word, the silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Flo appeared, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern as she took in the scene before her.

“You’re disgusting, Lan,” Maya whined, her voice tinged with hurt as she shoved his shoulder, the frustration of rejection bubbling to the surface.

For a second, Cara took a step closer, almost instinctively wanting to protect Lando from Maya's anger. But she hesitated, uncertain of her place in the unfolding drama.

“You agreed it would only be a friends with benefits thing,” Lando continued, his tone defensive as he tried to defend his actions. Maya's face twisted in disbelief, her eyes flashing with anger.

“That doesn't give you the right to treat me like this,” she shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. As the tension between them escalated, Max stepped forward, his expression stern as he intervened.

“I don’t think this conversation is meant for everyone,” he interjected, his tone firm as he turned Lando slightly so he could see Cara standing not far behind him.

Lando's heart sank as he followed Max's gaze, catching sight of Cara standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable. He felt a pang of guilt gnawing at his conscience, knowing that he had hurt her by getting involved with Maya in the first place.

Cara's eyes met Lando's for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange passing between them that spoke volumes. She could see the remorse in his eyes, the regret etched into his features, and it stirred something within her.

As everyone separated to allow Lando and Maya to continue their heated conversation, Cara felt a heavy weight settle in her chest. The atmosphere had been spoiled, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Awkwardness hung in the air as they waited for Lando and Maya to return to the upper deck.

After what felt like an eternity, Cara made the call to end the day early for everyone. It was clear that the outing had taken a turn for the worse, and she didn't want to prolong the discomfort any further. With a heavy heart, she approached the captain and asked him to take the yacht back to the harbour.

Ten minutes later, the yacht was docked, and the group began to disembark. Max and Pietra were the first off, their expressions solemn as they exchanged glances. Flo and Brandon followed, their steps hesitant as they made their way onto solid ground.

Cara hesitated for a moment, lingering on the deck as she recalled Lando and Maya's tense exchange. She wanted to stay and make sure everything was resolved, but she knew it was best to give them space to work things out on their own.

Finally, she turned and made her way down to the cars, her heart heavy with disappointment. This was not how she had envisioned their day ending, and she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air.

As they reached the cars, Lando jogged up to them, his expression troubled with Maya nowhere in sight. Cara's heart clenched at the sight of him, knowing that he was suffering the most out of everyone involved.

“Flo, Brandon, can you drive back with Max?” Lando asked, his breaths coming out in short gasps, the urgency evident in his tone.

“What about Cara?” Flo asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“She’s driving back with me,” he informed them, his voice tinged with determination. Lando’s gaze flickered to Cara, who was slowly making her way towards his Jolly. 

As Flo and Brandon exchanged a puzzled glance, they nodded in understanding and made their way over to Max's car. Lando watched them go, his mind racing with thoughts of what he needed to say to Cara.

Once they were alone in the car, Lando drove in silence for a few minutes, the tension between them palpable. Finally, he pulled over to the side of the road, causing Cara to look at him with confusion.

“What did she say?” Lando asked abruptly, his voice tense as he turned to face her. Cara blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden question.

“What?” she asked, her confusion evident in her tone. She couldn't understand why Lando was bringing up Maya now, especially after everything that had happened on the yacht.

“Maya. What did she say to you before I bumped into you earlier?” Lando clarified, his tone urgent as he searched Cara's eyes for answers. Cara hesitated, her mind racing as she tried to recall the exchange.

“I was looking for a bathroom,” she began slowly, her brow furrowing in concentration. “And she stopped me, saying I shouldn’t open that specific door unless I wanted to see you… naked.”

Lando's jaw tightened at Maya's words, a mixture of frustration and anger simmering beneath the surface. He couldn't believe Maya would stoop so low as to make such a crude remark to Cara

“So, that’s why you were so mad when you bumped into me?” Lando wondered, his voice tinged with understanding as he processed Cara's confession. Cara hesitated again, her gaze dropping to her lap as she struggled to put her feelings into words.

“I realised I couldn’t have you, not the way she could,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper as it faded into the breeze, making it difficult for Lando to hear her. “A kiss and a few cuddles mean nothing in comparison to what she has with you.”

Lando's heart clenched at Cara's words, the weight of her confession settling heavily on his shoulders. He wanted to reach out to her, to reassure her that she meant more to him than she realised, but he knew that words alone wouldn't be enough to ease her pain.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Lando argued, his tone firm as he started the car again. He refused to let Cara believe that she wasn’t important to him.

The rest of the day passed in silence between Lando and Cara. They moved about the apartment, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air.

Lando busied himself in the simulator room with Max and Brandon, throwing himself into the familiar routine of testing and tweaking, the hum of the machines providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil churning inside him.

Meanwhile, Cara retreated to the terrace, seeking solace in the pages of a book as she tried to drown out the tumultuous thoughts racing through her mind. The warm breeze brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea, but even the tranquil setting couldn't soothe the ache in her heart.

As evening approached, they found themselves in the kitchen, a space that had once been filled with laughter and camaraderie now steeped in silence. They moved around each other with a practised efficiency, their movements synchronised yet devoid of their usual warmth.

Even as they prepared dinner together, the air between them remained heavy with unspoken words. They exchanged only a few terse sentences, their voices strained as they focused on the task at hand, the clatter of pots and pans echoing through the room in stark contrast to the silence that enveloped them.

As the lights flickered and went out throughout the apartment, plunging the space into darkness, Cara found herself once again on the couch, the events of the day weighing heavily on her mind. She knew sleep would elude her tonight, her thoughts swirling and tumbling like the restless waves outside.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled the blanket up under her chin, seeking solace in the comforting warmth it provided. But even as she stared out at the twinkling lights of Monte Carlo, her mind continued to race, the events of the day replaying over and over in her mind like a broken record.

She couldn't take it anymore. The silence was suffocating, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest like a leaden weight. With a determined resolve, she got up from the couch, the blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and made her way to his bedroom door.

She didn't bother knocking. Instead, she pushed the door open softly, her heart pounding in her chest as she peered into the dimly lit room. She found him sitting on the bed, bathed in the soft glow of his phone screen, his face illuminated by the flickering light.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the night.

“Hey,” she whispered back, her voice barely a whisper as she stepped into the room, the blanket trailing behind her like a protective shield against the darkness.

As Cara shut the door behind her and approached the bed, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped her, offering a small measure of comfort in the darkness.

With a sigh, she let the blanket fall to the floor, the weight of the day finally catching up to her as she crawled beneath the covers. She didn't speak, didn't offer any explanation for her sudden appearance. Instead, she simply pulled the covers closer to her chest and stared up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Lando's voice broke the silence, his concern evident in the gentle tone of his voice. But Cara remained silent, her mind a jumble of conflicting emotions.

Unsure of what to make of her silence, Lando set his phone aside and turned to face her, his brow furrowed in concern. He reached out to gently brush his thumb across her jawline, his touch light and tentative.

"Cara," he implored softly, his voice filled with a mixture of concern and confusion. He searched her face for any sign of what was troubling her, the night light casting a soft glow across her features.

Cara turned to look at him, her eyes reflecting the faint light as she met his gaze. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of their unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air.

“Your couch isn't very comfortable to sleep on,” Cara stated, her voice soft as she avoided meeting his gaze. Lando knew she was lying; they both knew that wasn't the reason she had sought refuge in his bed again. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me crashing here again?”

“Of course,” Lando nodded, his heart aching at the sadness he saw in her eyes. He sat up, his upper body exposed without a shirt, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, giving her space to make herself comfortable.

Cara shifted beneath the covers, her gaze fixed on a spot on the wall as she hugged her arms to her chest. 

“You can stay,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Lando hesitated, his heart torn between the desire to comfort her and the fear of crossing a line.

“Wouldn't that be a bad idea?” he countered, his tone mirroring the sentiment she had expressed just a few days prior. He stood up and began to search for a shirt to wear, hoping to break the tension that hung heavy in the air between them.

“Lan,” she called out to him, her voice tinged with urgency as she sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. Lando paused, his hand hovering over the shirt he had been about to put on. 

“'ll take the couch tonight,” he informed her, his tone final as he avoided meeting her gaze.

“Lan,” she called out again, frustration creeping into her voice as he refused to acknowledge her.

Growing increasingly infuriated by his lack of response, Cara threw back the covers and got out of the bed, determination burning bright in her eyes as she approached him.

“Cara,” he mumbled when she grabbed his hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. But she didn't release her grip, her eyes searching his face for any sign of understanding.

“Don't sleep on the couch,” she insisted, her voice laced with a deeper motive. “Please, stay with me.”

As Cara's words sank in, Lando felt the last remnants of his resolve slip away. With a sudden surge of emotion, he let go of the shirt in his hand, letting it fall forgotten to the floor, as he closed the distance between them in a single stride. Their lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss, a collision of longing and desire that ignited a fire between them. In that moment, everything else faded away, the weight of the world lifted from their shoulders as they surrendered to the undeniable pull between them.

With an urgency born of years of pent-up emotion, Lando scooped Cara into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around him as he carried her back to the bed. They tumbled onto the soft mattress, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as they lost themselves in each other.

In that moment, there were no words, no barriers between them. There was only the heat of their bodies pressed together, the rhythm of their breaths mingling in the air as they surrendered to the passion that consumed them.

As their kiss deepened, Lando couldn't suppress the primal groan that escaped his lips, the sensation of Cara's tongue intertwining with his igniting a fierce hunger within him. He felt himself growing hard in his boxers, the desire coursing through him like a wildfire.

His hands roamed eagerly under her shirt, tracing the curves of her waist with a feverish intensity. The feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips sent shivers of pleasure racing down his spine, igniting a primal need that threatened to consume him.

Meanwhile, Cara's hands remained tangled in his hair, her touch both tender and possessive as she urged him closer, her nails digging into his scalp with a delicious urgency. But then, driven by an overwhelming desire to feel him closer, her hands moved down to grip onto him, pulling him impossibly closer until there was no space left between them.

Lando paused for a moment, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath after the unexpected surge of passion. He studied Cara's flushed face and swollen lips, the desire reflected in her eyes mirroring his own.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked her, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Cara's breath hitched in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to find the words to express the depth of her desire.

“No,” she managed to stutter, her voice barely above a whisper as she met his gaze with unwavering intensity. “Do you?”

Lando's heart skipped a beat at her response, a surge of relief flooding through him at her affirmation.

“No,” he agreed, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and determination as he closed the distance between them once again, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

[nina-ya]

Hi there I hope you're doing good!

If it's not too much trouble, can we ask for post time skip Luffy comforting female reader after she had a nightmare and snuck into his bed?

Thanks!

A/N: Hi anon! I am doing well I hope you're doing fantastic! and if you're not, I hope this makes your day a bit better! I hope you enjoy <3 Pairing: Luffy x reader WC: 694 CW: none, pure comfort and fluff.

You jolt awake, a gasp escaping your lips, and your eyes snap open. Your chest heaves with the remnants of fear and anxiety from the nightmare that had just gripped your sleep. Your eyes dart around the dimly lit women’s quarters of the ship, searching for something to anchor you to reality. They eventually settle on the silvery glow of the moon, its soft light streaming in through the porthole, casting a calming radiance over your surroundings.

The suffocating sense of dread that the nightmare had left you with clings to your skin, but the moonlight's touch starts to ease your racing heart. Determined to escape the lingering fear, you slip out of your bed, being careful not to disturb Nami and Robin. You decide to make your way through the ship's darkened corridors.

As you navigate the passageways, the wooden planks beneath your bare feet creak softly with each step, a soothing rhythm to your otherwise racing thoughts. The ship itself seems to be in a deep slumber, the occasional gentle creek and sway of the ship serving as a reminder of the world you call home.

Finally, you reach the door of the Captain's quarters. Pushing it open carefully, you stepped into the dark room bathed in dim, ambient light. Luffy is sprawled out on his bed, sound asleep. His snoring resonates through the room, obnoxiously loud, but somehow endearing in its own way. The blanket lies in disarray, barely covering his limbs.

You slip into the bed beside him, your arms reaching out to grab one of his limbs for comfort. Luffy stirs in his sleep, his eyes widening with surprise as he discovers you clutching onto him. "Hey, what's wrong?" Concern quickly fills his voice as he gazes into your eyes, which are brimming with tears.

Luffy wastes no time in wrapping his strong arms around you, his larger frame enveloping yours in a protective embrace. You bury your head into his chest, seeking solace in his comforting presence.

"It's just a nightmare," you whisper, your voice trembling. "But it felt so real."

Luffy's face contorts as he wonders how to console you. His eyes light up with an idea, and he speaks with a hint of cheerfulness, "You know, I had a nightmare once that I was hungry, and when I looked in the kitchen, there was no meat in there! I hope that never happens."

You can't help but sniffle and look up at him in confusion, his attempt at empathy falling somewhat flat. However, it does manage to interrupt your active crying, and you notice a warm smile on Luffy's face as he acknowledges your pause.

But then, his expression turns serious, and he lowers his voice as he hesitantly decides to open up to you. "You know… I sometimes still get nightmares about... him," he admits, his laughter carrying a nervous edge. "But, it's just that. Just a nightmare. And no matter how real they feel, it's just a dream. I am much stronger than before, and I will never let anything bad happen to you. Promise."

He extends his pinky finger toward you, a symbol of the unbreakable vow he's making. With tears still glistening in your eyes, you lock your pinky with him in a promise, a soft smile spreading across your lips as you sniffle.

Luffy's eyes light up once more, and he grins at you, his determination to protect you shining through. "And if anything does happen to you, I'll make sure to punch it away!" He declares, his fearless spirit rekindled.

In the embrace of the night, you find comfort in Luffy's promise, his reassurance soothing your troubled soul. Luffy, in his own unique way, brought comfort to you. As you lay there, his arms around you, the gentle rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a serene state, you realize that within the confines of this simple but profound promise, you've found an anchor in the storm of your fears. With a deep breath, you let the warmth of his promise envelop you, granting you peace as sleep gradually reclaims you, cradled within the protective embrace of Luffy.