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pynkgothicka · 1 year ago

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ＢｅａｓｔＭｉｇｕｅｌｏ＇Ｈａｒａ

Synopsis - After you sister leaves you to hang with your boss, both his and your lives becoming a waking nightmare

Pairing - Yandere! Miguel o’Hara x Fem! Reader

Featuring - Jessica Drew but the black version cause I luv black women

Tags and Warnings - Stalking, Kidnapping, Violence towards reader

Authors Note - I LUV HIM SM MY GOD. I HADDD TO WRITE SOMETHING. Also I believe this contains slight spoilers??? I think???

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

“Jess! Are you sure it's okay that I'm here? I'm not really spider-like.” You followed behind your sister, her afro swinging as she walked. You fiddled with the band she gave you in order to keep you from glitching out.

It was all so casual, and almost everyone greeted her. The architecture was other worldy, almost only to benefit the inhabitants. Speaking of, there was many, too many to count. 2D, 3D, Male, Female, Pigs, Horses, Cats, almost anything imaginable.

While you looked at it all in amazement, they all looked at you, and gave you dirty and worried looks. At least thats what it looked like under their masks.

“Oh Miguel won't like this…”

“I didn't know they allowed just anyone up here?”

“I mean Peter B brings his daughter so I guess it's a pass."

“I just know Miguel doesn't like anything new. He might bare his fangs or something. You know that guy and sacre tactics.”

You shuddered at the way they spoke of this Miguel guy. But you kept following behind Jessica until she came to a huge hatch, in which opened up on her walking up.

“Miguel!”

“What do you need Jessica, aren't you supposed to be on a mission?”

“I do, but I need you to do a favor!” Jessica yelled, shoving your shoulder to push you ahead. “My sister is visiting from college in my dimension. I need someone to watch over her and I trust you'll do that without letting her get hurt.”

You finally looked up seeing a sharp jawed man looking down at you. His spider suit glew a dark blue with bright red highlights. His brown hair was pushed back, framing his face perfectly. Not only that, but he was huge, built like a giant.

He came down from his workspace, now closer to you than ever. His chest was too your face and you had to look up too look at him. He seemingly almost over analyzed you, eyes trialing up and down your form. “Fine. Just go handle the situation.”

Jessica raised a brow and crossed her arms. “Fine? Just fine? You usually aren't just okay with this type of stuff. You sur-”

“Your questioning my decisions?” Miguel said his stature becoming stiff, seemingly fed up with her constant questioning.

“No… just wondering. Don't have too much fun you two.” Jessica said giving you a small hug before walking off. As the hatch door closed, Miguel's hand went to your back, ushering you to walk with him.

“I'll give you a chair so you can stay within my sight. I don't want to lose you.” You nodded, watching as he turned away from you, going back to his work. A chair was pushed your direction, and when you finally got to sitting down the cushioned seat almost swallowed you whole. You could take a nap if you wanted too, it was just that comfortable. And you almost did, until you were pulled from your rest with a deep voice.

“Did she tell you, or did you piece it together?”

“Huh?"

“Jessica. Did you just figure out she was Spider-Woman?”

Miguel's hands just kept working, his focus divided between talking to you and his work. “To be honest, I just figured it out. When I asked her if what I thought was true, she just seemed relieved and told me everything.”

Miguel seemed surprised at this making a strange humming noise. “You two must be very close huh?”

“Yeah. I wouldn't trade the world for the bond me and her share. I'm glad she trusted me enough to tell me about that side of her life. From what she told me, Spiderman doesn't usually tell people about what he does. It's refreshing you know… I'm sorry am I rambling too much?”

“No. Your fine, I'm actually enjoying the company. I'm in here by myself most of the time. It's nice to hear another voice.” You gave him a small smile in which he returned, smirking at you. He stopped working and his screens switched off. “What do you do for fun?”

“Me? Fun? Uhh I don't know. I'm a college student with just about 0 connections. I guess reading?” You finally chased for a reply.

“LYLA get someone to bring me a book from the library. Hell bring two.” Miguel said, finally an AI woman popping up. She teased him a bit before finally having someone bring you two books. Miguel then sat down next too you beginning to open one of the books he brought.

“Your willing to read with me?”

“Yeah. I need to get my mind off of things anyway.”

🩸

Once Jessica had picked you up, Miguel felt weird. He knew you were attractive. Like very attractive. But that wasn't normal for him. He usually didn't see attraction in people.

Something else he also knew was that when he was around you he felt comfortable. He had no worries and you took them all away. It was a feeling he could only recall when he was with his “daughter.” He'd let you snuggle up close too him, physical touch being something he hadn't felt in a while.

“LYLA. I need you to pull any information on Jessica Drew's sister. It can be from any dimension, I just need to know everything.” Miguel basically ordered the ai. She popped up in front of him, with that same smug look she always gave when questioning his any of his decisions.

“Why would you need that?! It's not like she's ever going to get bitten by a radioactive spider.” LYLA said bringing up a huge collection of information she'd found on you in a heartbeat. “But hey I'll indulge this. Let's see, she's almost always college student, future looks like a journalist, ooh she's judgemental! And just about always single. Seems like her connection to Jessica Drew is always the sisterly role.”

Miguel fell more and more in love the more LYLA talked. “Send all that too my computer.”

“Gotcha! Hopefully this will help you.” LYLA said dissipating away. Miguel stared at the picture of you on one of the screens.

He had to have you. At any means necessary.

🩸

You'd finally saved up for a apartment to where you could stay without the need for dorm mates.

Being a journalism major meant you needed all the focus you could get. And you couldn't find that when around all those people. So you left.

Usually you wrote uplifting pieces for your sister as her and the press don't usually get along well. Even though your pretty sure she knows you wrote majority of her good stories, you also know she'd smile seeing that people appreciated her work.

As you were turned around and began slicing open a box to unpack in your room, a voice boomed from your window. “Hi sweetheart.” From across your room stood a towering Miguel o’Hara. He crawled his way into your room, shutting the window behind him.

“Umm hi Miguel. Are you looking for Jess? She's not here i-” Miguel cut you off.

“I'm not looking for her. I was actually looking for you. I came to talk to you about something.” Miguel started moving closer, slowly stepping towards you. He ducked past your light fixture, finally truly Intimidating you. Something about the way he was coming towards you frightened you. His size almost made it worse.

“Oh. Well of course. You can talk to me about anything.” You trailed off putting your knife to the side, giving Miguel your undivided attention

“I want you to come live with me. At the headquarters. No one has to know. Not even your sister.” He said causally. He was right on you, making you trip and buckle to fall on your bed. You looked up at him, pushing yourself further into the bed.

“That's, crazy Miguel. I can't that, I'm a college student! I don't even know you enough for that!”

"But I know you. I've studied you. Every possibility of you. I know more about you than you know yourself!" You let out a small gasp. This man had been essentially stalking you.

"Miguel. That makes it even worse, the last answer is no. And.... And I need you to go."

“You just don't get it do you?” Miguel's hand hit the wall, claws digging and dragging in the drywall. “I don't think you understand I'm not asking you to do anything. This is me telling you.”

And with that you kicked against him, trying to immobile him at any means possible. You had to find Jessica.

But he grabbed your wrist, trying to drag you to your window. He hoisted you up to his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Let go! Let go of me, Jess! Jess please!!” You began to scream out for your sister seeing if maybe, just maybe she was around to help you.

But she wasn't.

No one was.

You started to beat on Miguel's back. He was now out of your window and climbing up the side of your apartment, heading to the roof. “You better stop fighting, this is destiny. Our destiny.” When he finally made it to the roof he put you down and a hexagonal portal appeared as he messed around with his arm band. You began to heave on impact with the hot concrete. Miguel then turned back towards you, watching in amusement as you dragged yourself slowly to get away from him.

“What are you doing?!” Miguel's head snapped as he stared at LYLA who now stood in front of him at full height. “Your pulling the exact same thing you tried before this, before you made the society! Made me!”

"You don't understand. You will never understand."

"I understand more than you will ever know. You need to stop. And you need to stop now!"

You took this as a opening to crawl your way to the nearest side of the building. You could hear Miguel snarl and yell at Layla. But you tried to pay no mind to that as you looked down over the right edge of the building. You saw a metal of the top apartments stairway.

Fuck this would hurt.

Your body hit the metal with a loud bang, the adrenaline wore off as you finally felt all the bruises and gashes you gotten. “Fuck, my god. Jess… Spider-Woman! Plea-” You felt a hand on the back of your neck. Claws dug in to the front, slightly nicking at your neck.

“Where are you going?”

Miguel picked up your body like you weighed nothing. He then carried and slammed you against the nearby wall. When trying to move your hand to tap on the glass pane, Miguel's other hand grabbed at your wrist, immobilizing you. “Miguel please don't do this! Jessica, she's going to look for me I know it jus-”

“Shh My Love… this won't hurt a bit.” Miguel barred his fangs at you opening wide and moving to your neck. And before you could protest he bit deep into it, venom seeping into your veins. You felt woozy, and realized you couldn't move an inch. Just how he wanted you.

“It's all going to be okay Mi Vida. I know exactly what you need... A family. And not just any family. A family with me."

#dark writing #tw dark content #tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blog #miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere Spiderverse #spiderman atsv #Spotify

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iznsfw · 10 months ago

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Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away.

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit.

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly.

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink.

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid.

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook.

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to.

Take your drink and thank Yuri.

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything.

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that.

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way.

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb.

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down”

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real.

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human.

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you.

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute.

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.”

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?”

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human.

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in.

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Only if you go first.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile.

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?”

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive. “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds.

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever.

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes.

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her.

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head.

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them.

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure.

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real.

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…”

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair.

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly.

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her.

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases.

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles.

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up.

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks.

See the blood running down her arm.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding.

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality?

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this.

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met.

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap.

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her.

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had.

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion.

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her. You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness.

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty.

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity.

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before.

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use.

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust.

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her.

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs.

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!”

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears.

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before.

What the fuck?

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive.

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment.

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?”

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing.

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her.

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

615 notes · View notes

pinkieribbons · 2 months ago

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Some of my fav mods that I use in my game ♰౨ৎ

1. Cas backgrounds ౨ৎ: 📜🍀 Medieval CAS Backgrounds 🍀📜, “Black Rose” cas background, grunge - default cas background, Sanrio theme casbackground, Gyaru BB 🦴 ✦ ⁺ ｡ CasBG Recolor 🍓 ♡,[devilsfang] 2.5k+ follow gifts - cas backgrounds DF GK, Crcoco - 糯米团子cas背景, ACGN Casbackground, nuwmie - blue hour cas background, cottage room cas background.

2. Lighting mod ౨ৎ: GENTLE CAS LIGHTING MOD

3. Stand still in cas ౨ৎ: [秋风厌凡]StandStillCAS, Stand Still in CAS,[JJJ] CAS stand still_N1 (N4)

4. Fav presets ౨ৎ: Dogangje Face Shape Preset, Dogangje 2023 New and Original 48 Nose Presets for Boys and Girls, yit Manga FM Body Preset, FY presets, 👉jiumiQAQ Jaw Preset👈, 001-010(10 models)

5. Sliders ౨ৎ: Chin slider (remake), More sliders for the face!, eye size slider + head size slider, The Perfect Doll Sliders, Hip Shape Slider, Leg length or hips height slider, DEFAULT MOUTH SLIDER, DEFAULT BROWS SLIDER, Shoulder Height slider / male + female versions, Height Slider, Perfect neck slider

6. Gshade presets ౨ৎ: moonbloom reshade preset ✧˖*°࿐, umaga reshade preset

7. Skins and skin details ౨ৎ: 【A】Eyebag-4, Kokoro Skin, 🖤【333】Sumi-Skin, ❄️ COLLECTION of GENETICS NOVEMBER 2023 ❄️, [333] - Jelly-Skin, 🌸 SAKURA COLLECTION: 2 NEW SKINS & OVERLAYS + base sims 🌸, ✩ FEMALE NEW YEAR COLLECTION ✩, SKIN N25 OVERLAY, MM 3D EYELASHES, BODY BLUSH, 【A】 Mouth Details-1, 【Kuromitty】Big eyebag, JIUJIANWU - NINA SKIN, 333 Stone Skin BAG, Lolly Skinblend (FaceSkin)

8. Eyes ౨ৎ: YUNSEOL eyecolor 05, EYES N3, Final Fantasy VII Remake Contacts Collection, (maya)star eyes, Crcoco - 眼珠-千禧星星眼, 【cloop】eyes13-24, 【cloop】eyes01-12

Crcoco-- (1), MMSIMS Eyes Jade, FROKNEREEZ X ROTTEN-EYED COLLAB HALLOWEEN 2018 SET, ozii_eyes_03

9. Ui mods ౨ৎ: The Sims 2 inspired UI for The Sims 4, Pastel Pink UI, 小熊Sims - UI Life Mode UI Border - Pink Plaid

10. Font override ౨ৎ: "rainy hearts" font replacement 🌧️

11. cursor override ౨ৎ: BearSims - AngelHeart Cursor Replacer

12. wrench override ౨ৎ: my sweet piano cc wrench ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

13. tidy cas ౨ৎ: CAS Organisers II🩷 (my sweet piano)

Fav creators ౨ৎ (not in order): atiys, san33, zao, atomiclight, newsea, lin dian, dogangje, sushi77, ohmybunny, KkmiSims4, mayasims, Simsonico, seoulsoul, kikiw, darkwaifu, usamarusims, Korkassims, cosplaysimmer, 317wounds, kaguya fox, pox, cheryl, Learxfl, vyxated, gigglecoffin, 1-800-CUUPID, Pox, ozii, ect.

There are wayyyy more mods I'd love to include on this list, sadly I can't fit everything. But these are my main/favorites.

171 notes · View notes

gacha-incels · 10 months ago

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“Arknights/Limbus Company/etc is obviously very political, why are these incels playing it?” Here’s a longer answer if you’re interested.

If you haven’t been watching gacha communities for the past decade this might be confusing to you, but these guys see the games as just apolitical stories with a majority or all-female cast being there to titillate the male viewer. They are for his consumption. It’s why in both eastern and western “gacha game” communities you can see them talking about how these games are better for having “beautiful” anime women versus the hideous hags of western media. I’ve seen so many people asking “how are incels playing a game with so many strong female characters?” They see them not as “strong female” characters but rather “eyecandy made for me”. tbh when it comes down to it I wouldn’t call any of the designs in these games absolutely groundbreaking for the anime genre they’re aiming for. Arknights even follows the standard “fully animal faced-guy” and the female equivalent “small featured anime animal girl with some fur”. This doesn’t mean the designs are bad or you’re foolish for enjoying them of course, there are a lot of fun ones. Anyway, you can see the same sentiment in the majority of anime communities as well. Like do you think that stereotype of an anime nerd who “loves 2D women but hates 3D women” means he’s a feminist because the 2D girl is still female?

To be frank, after some of the actions taken by these companies (ex. the firing of women for posting anything vaguely feminist) can you honestly say an “apolitical game with anime babes” is not the way the games are often enjoyed? The company Yostar who publishes Arknights in Korea literally wrote a statement saying the game is apolitical and calling feminism a dividing force. If the publisher can say something so flippantly like this just to appease their incel fanbase, how can the game be making any meaningful, hardline progressive political statements? I am of course not saying this renders any positive message you get from these games moot nor am I saying it’s impossible for the writers to be passionate about their work, I’m just relaying the thoughts of the incels/“gacha gamers” playing them because there seems to be confusion. What I’m writing here doesn’t mean the worst interpretation of these games are their defining interpretations. I’m trying to explain how the games that many people see as being antithetical to incel beliefs can have these same men as high-spending fans.

Gacha games are unique in the world of consumer media in their extremely close and constant relationship with the consumer. You have to not only love each character’s design (and sometimes story) but also be willing to drop serious gambling money to “buy” them every single month. It’s like merchandizing on steroids. I think the term “whale” has been watered down since younger kids have started playing, but these people spend thousands per patch. Over the years I’ve heard about multiple games like this being sustained by just a couple of high spenders. In 2018 there was even a western news article about a man who had spent $70k+ on FGO. The publisher can’t rock the boat too much to displease the consumer too many times without risking EoS. Every character design and story of a gacha game is affected by this FIRST while any artistic intent comes second.

A Korean woman who had lost her job due to similar “feminist hunting” tactics wrote an article describing the way these incel men think. I posted it here and part of it summarized: the men that play these games see themselves as buying and “owning” the female characters in gacha games, who are often dressed and presented to them in a highly sexualized manner and will obey their commands. In the same way they “own” these 2D women, they also want to own the thoughts of the real live female illustrators who work on the games. Therefore, if these women have expressed ideas that the male gamers find upsetting, they will be angry she doesn’t conform to what they want like the servile 2D girl and do everything to get her fired (this is where she mentions Limbus Company as the most recent example of this happening).

You can argue for some of these games, maybe the girls aren’t dressed super provocatively and give (you) shit instead of being a simpering doll, but in the end it’s not like they can physically walk away or stop speaking to you. For the “waifu” hunter guy it’s just a different type of anime girl to collect.

The stories in these games are generally not what gets targeted as much by incels. In gacha “gamer” communities, especially the Korean incel ones, their main concerns are: how revealing are the summer swimsuits? How many women work for the company designing characters? and related, Are the male characters designed for women or for men and do they “look gay”? If you search through this blog, you can see them directly speaking about these things in regards to their hatred of Genshin Impact and Star Rail. All of these have also been encapsulated in the original Limbus Company incel attack: they hated that the summer female character looked more “clothed” (wearing a skintight suit instead of a bikini) than the male summer character. They thought the collar necklace and open shirt on the male summer character meant he was “a slave” for the female viewers, so obviously it was designed by a woman. When they learned a man designed and illustrated those characters, they searched to find a female illustrator who worked in the game and went after her instead. These guys WERE FANS that played the game beforehand and didn’t think anything in the story was upsetting enough to attack the company about. They were familiar enough with the works of Project Moon to name their little group after an antagonizing force in one of PM’s previous (non-gacha) videogames. And Project Moon saw them as such a significant part of their gacha fanbase that they wrote an immediate apology and fired the artist. How do these actions in reality inform their fiction and the interpretation of it? Getting this out of the way, they were NOT in any danger, the “fans” were not clamoring to get in their offices or camping outside, they were let in and calmly had a meeting with some employees at the office. You can still find photos of them goofing around, the ridiculous write up they brought with them and a transcript of the conversation. This was not a “guy shows up at Mihoyo’s offices with a knife” situation. In the end it was a financial and moral loss for the studio with many new and longtime fans completely dropping the games and Limbus Company taking one of the biggest financial and D/MAU drops for a gacha I’ve ever seen. You can read more regarding the ramifications of this here, this post is already pretty long for this website anyway.

Again I’m not writing this to shame anyone who plays these games, loves their characters or enjoys their stories. I don’t really care either way, and I obviously find the genre interesting or else I wouldn’t have been monitoring it and the fans for a decade. I just want to shine a light on the thoughts of the more “incel” gamers that play some of these games since I have seen a lot of genuine confusion as to why they would play them. In the future my aim is to write a more in-depth post about these issues, their history and the way antifeminists think.

#Arknights #yostar #hypergryph #project moon #limbus company #Genshin impact #long post #korean incel #incel ideology #gacha #fate grand order #fgo

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lomlhwa · 10 months ago

Text

get out of my head (c.yj)

pairing: soulmate!yeonjun x soulmate!reader

preview: when you turn 18, you can hear your soulmate's voice in your head. you have to work to find each other, no matter the distance.

tags/warnings: fem reader, ITALICS IS YEONJUN IN READER'S HEAD + BOLD IS READER TALKING BACK TO YEONJUN, lots of dirty talk, monster cock!yeonjun (it's me, what do you expect), oral (m.receiving), face fucking, crying, pussy slapping, pet names (baby, pretty girl, good girl), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 1.6k

song recs for this fic: yes, and? by ariana grande, 3d by jungkook, nonesense by sabrina carpenter

a/n: hey guys.... it's been a long time T-T hope you didn't forget about me. this is my first time writing a fic in a WHILE. hope you like it and i hope to post more maybe idk

“3! 2! 1! happy birthday!” your friends cry out at midnight on your birthday. you blow out the glowing candles on your birthday cake eagerly. you make a silent wish for your soulmate to be hot.

your friends look at you expectantly. “has he said anything?” one of them says. you shake your head. your brain is still dead silent. no soulmate talking to you. “it is literally midnight, so he could be sleeping,” you shrug. your friends murmur among themselves as you slink down your chair.

“hellooo? anyone there yet?” a male voice appears in your head and you jump at the sound. your friends look at you concerned. “hello?” you sit in silence for a moment again, your friends remain unmoving. “fucking finally. took you long enough to turn 18.” you laugh and your friends relax.

“he sounds pretty,” you say to your friends. they shake their heads. you’re the last one out of your friends to turn 18, therefore you’re the last one to hear your soulmate. your friends have been with their soulmates for months at this point.

“my bad, i have a late birthday,” you respond to the voice in your head. your friends disperse through your house to let you talk to your soulmate for a few moments.

“what’s your name? mine’s yeonjun. are you pretty? where do you live” you chew on your bottom lip while you listen to him talk to you. “my name is y/n,” your leg bounces as you answer the first question. “my friends think i’m pretty,” you add.

you stay silent, debating if you should tell him exactly where you live or just the general area. saying you live ‘around seoul’ is too broad though. “well? where do you live?” you shake your head and just decide to give him the general area.

“i live in busan.”

________________________________________

you stand outside a cafe nervously checking your phone every minute. you’re waiting for yeonjun. you’re meeting your soulmate. how terrifying.

“i’m almost there. are you outside?” you jump when his voice rings out in your head. you’re still not used to having a whole other person in your head.

“yeah, i’m just waiting,” you lean against the wall behind you and observe your surroundings. yeonjun picked a really cute cafe to meet at. you watch as people walk mindlessly past you.

you look down at your phone until you hear yeonjun’s voice again. “what color are you wearing?” you look down at your outfit before replying. “pink.”

before you can say anything else, you feel a presence in front of you. you look up and make eye contact with one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. he gives you a smile that lights up his entire face.

“y/n.” it’s his voice. it’s his voice but outside your head. he’s in front of you. your mouth hangs agape as you realize this beautiful man is your soulmate. you flatten your hair and smooth out your outfit before you speak. “yeonjun.”

________________________________________

before you know it, you’re back at his place with your back crashed against his front door. your date didn’t last long. he wanted you as soon as he saw you.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” his lips are attached to yours. being able to speak to each other telepathically really comes in handy when your mouth is otherwise occupied.

his hands grip your hips and guide them to grind against him. he groans into your mouth. you can feel his hardening length through his jeans. it’s huge.

“are you big?” you feel him smile against your lips at the question.

he grabs your hand and drags you towards his bedroom. “does the pretty girl wanna find out?” yeonjun says before pushing you down onto his bed. he stands between your legs, just looking at you. your face turns bright red under his dominant gaze. he’s basically fucking you with his eyes.

“shirt.” his voice is commanding and you find your hands moving with a mind of their own to take your shirt off. you throw it on the floor next to his bed. you’re left in your pretty white bra and your pretty pink skirt.

“fuck, so pretty,” his voice in your head makes you blush. he hasn’t even touched you yet and your panties are practically soaked through.

he trails his big hands up your thighs, lifting your skirt in the process. he licks his lips at the sight of your soaked panties. he runs his long index finger over the wet patch, causing your hips to jerk.

“you’re soaked. i haven’t even done anything, baby.” yeonjun’s tone is full of fake pity.

out of nowhere, he grabs you by the hips and forces you onto the floor. you’re on your knees in front of him. the tent in his pants is massive and you can tell that it probably feels unbearable.

he undoes his belt and pulls his jeans down to his knees. he pulls his boxers down the same length and his cock flies out. it almost smacks you in the face. you look at it in pure shock. how is this natural?

“suck,” he orders. your jaw falls open and you welcome his length into your mouth. you take it slow and steady to try and prep your throat for his monster cock. you can tell that he’s getting impatient within just a few moments.

“please let me fuck your mouth, pretty girl.” the question sets something off in you and you feel like you would do anything for him. you stop all your ministrations and go limp. “do it.”

yeonjun gathers all your hair into a ponytail and uses it to move your head back and forth. you open your throat as much as you can but you could never manage to take all of him. there’s just too much.

his hips snap to meet the movements his making with your head. you cough and choke around him. saliva drips out of your mouth and onto the floor, creating a puddle. your eyes water and threaten to ruin your makeup.

you look up at him with teary eyes and you can tell that he’s close, even through your blurry vision. “cum down my throat, jjunie.” your words in his head mixed with your teary gaze causes him to finish almost immediately. you choke a final time before he pulls out and watches you swallow.

he lifts you off the ground with a foreign softness compared to his length in your throat. he lays you down and wastes no time in removing your panties. he leaves your skirt and bra, finding them particularly cute.

he forces your legs apart to full take in your glistening pussy. he runs his palm over it before bringing his hand down and slapping it. you squeak, jerking back. your pussy continues to drip, so he does it again.

“jun, please, need you,” you whine. your legs close to try and keep him from bringing his hand down again. tears well in your eyes out of the desperate need for pleasure. your core is throbbing.

yeonjun pries your knees apart and settles between your thighs, his cock brushing your core. “are you ready, baby? can you take it?” your eyes flicker down to his member, slight fear coursing through you. you nod hesitantly.

he brings his hand down to stroke himself before lining up with your weeping hole. “deep breaths pretty girl.” he pushes his cock in slowly, inch by inch. the stretch is painfully intoxicating. your eyes cross as he bottoms out.

“baby, breathe,” yeonjun says. you had been holding your breath while he pushed into you. you breathe sharply, trying to keep yourself from falling apart on his cock immediately.

“please, move jjunie,” you beg. you dig your nails into his forearms as he pulls all the way out and slams back in, balls slapping against your ass. you choke out a moan, throwing your head back into his pillow.

“you suck me in so beautifully,” his voice rings out in your mind through the buzz of pleasure. you look at him to find his mouth slightly open, whines of pleasure escaping. his sweaty hair hangs over his eyes deliciously. you could cum just from seeing him like this.

you clench around him, pleasure building up quickly. his fast pace thrusting into you has your mind going numb. you remove your hands from his forearms and grab him by the hair, forcing his lips to yours. he meets you in a feverish kiss, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

“i’m gonna cum, please fill me up jun,” you run your tongue over his bottom lip as he nods in acknowledgement. you wrap your legs around his waist as he uses your hole to get off.

your arms fall limp on the bed by your head and yeonjun takes the opportunity to hold your hands with his. he intertwines his fingers with yours in an attempt to ground himself.

“c-cum-” you stutter as your walls close in on him for a final time before you hit your high. he finishes immediately after you, your clenching becoming too much for him. his hips stutter and he lets out a high pitched whine as he spurts white hot cum into you.

you pant, trying to catch your breath. you squeeze his hands gently. he collapses onto you, nuzzling his face into your neck. you brush your hair out of your face, finding that it’s sticking to your forehead.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers before kissing your neck gently. you giggle, biting your swollen bottom lip.

“my perfect soulmate.”

#lomlhwa #txt #tomorrow x together #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #yeonjun smut #choi yeonjun smut

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