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rmadridcore · 27 days ago

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Jealous Streak

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Reader

Summary: After Kylian gets mad over a silly misunderstanding, things quickly heat up between you two, turning his anger into something much more intimate.

Word Count: 2.9K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s note: I’m back to writing about Kylian! Recent events surrounding him had been so messy that I couldn’t find any inspiration to write for him anymore, but a new idea arose so here it is! I have a few requests waiting and I’ll get through them as fast as I can & now I will be taking requests about Kylian as well 🫂 hope you enjoy this one! Let me know what you think 🩷

Water droplets clung to your flushed skin as you wrapped yourself in a fluffy white towel, stepping out of the steamy shower cabin. You grabbed another towel, running it through your damp hair before swiping a hand across the fogged-up bathroom mirror. The haze cleared just enough for you to see your reflection as you applied a few drops of face oil, the soothing sensation adding to the relaxation you desperately needed. The tension from the day melted away, your muscles loose and your mind clearer after the long, steamy escape.

With the towel securely wrapped around your body and droplets still trailing down your warm skin, you padded into the shared bedroom of you and Kylian. He was sprawled on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, absently playing with the TV remote. A random documentary played on the screen, but from the way his eyes glazed over, it was obvious he wasn’t paying attention.

You glanced at him, noticing his lack of acknowledgment as you entered. It wasn’t that he didn’t see you — oh, he noticed. Kylian was angry, his mood as sour as unripe lemons.

You sighed, your annoyance bubbling to the surface. The root of his irritation wasn’t entirely unexpected. The night before, you’d gone to a friend’s birthday party, solo, since Kylian was away for an away game. You had bumped into your ex boyfriend there, exchanged a polite but fleeting conversation, and thought nothing of it. To you, the interaction was so insignificant that it didn’t even cross your mind to mention it when you spoke to Kylian later that night.

But Kylian, ever the hawk-eyed protector, had seen pictures of the party while on the plane home, one of which captured your brief exchange with your ex. He’d flipped. Your reassurances, how brief the interaction was, how little it mattered, didn’t help. He wasn’t just mad that your ex had been there; he was mad that you hadn’t told him about it.

When Kylian arrived home a few hours ago, you’d expected him to have cooled off. You were wrong. If anything, he was more wound up than before, his brooding silence a testament to his irritation. After his passive aggressive digs began to test your patience, you decided to take a shower to escape his sulking. But now, as you stood in front of the vanity applying leave-in conditioner to your damp hair, you couldn’t ignore his childish behavior any longer.

“Am I getting the silent treatment now?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.

Kylian sighed, his gaze fixed on the TV. “I’m not in the mood to talk, that’s all.”

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” You set the bottle of conditioner down with a frustrated thud.

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as his eyes stayed glued to the screen.

The double standard wasn’t lost on you. Whenever you got jealous, Kylian would laugh it off, his reassurances wrapped in humor and affection. To him, the idea of you doubting his loyalty or devotion was absurd; he loved you too much to entertain thoughts of anyone else. But when the tables turned, when he was the one feeling the pangs of jealousy, it was a completely different story.

He wasn’t unreasonable — he trusted you implicitly. He knew, without a shred of doubt, that your love and loyalty were his alone. But that didn’t stop the irrational surge of irritation when someone else tried to insert themselves into your space, even momentarily. Jealousy wasn’t about mistrust; it was about his protectiveness, his possessiveness, his inability to tolerate the idea of anyone else claiming even a fraction of your attention.

And now, here he was, stewing in his emotions, dragging both of you into his mood. It was petty, it was unnecessary, and it was maddening.

You perched on the edge of the bed, your gaze fixed on Kylian, who still stubbornly refused to look at you. Frustrated yet determined, you reached out and placed a hand on his leg, giving him a light shake.

“Come on now, I deserve forgiveness, don’t I?” you said, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes internally at how much of a fuss he was making over something so trivial.

Kylian didn’t respond, his jaw clenching slightly, but his eyes betrayed him. They flickered downward as your towel shifted, slipping just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of your cleavage. His gaze lingered, involuntarily captivated, before he snapped himself out of it, tearing his eyes away and gluing them back to the television.

You smirked knowingly. That was it — his resolve was cracking. He was on the verge of giving in, and you weren’t about to let the opportunity slip away.

“You’re really not going to talk to me?” you teased, your hand sliding up his thigh, your fingers brushing against the sensitive spot that you knew made his breath hitch.

His reaction was instant, his breathing faltered, and his eyes darted down to your hand resting on his leg. But like the stubborn man he was, Kylian quickly averted his gaze back to the screen. “I’m watching something,” he muttered, the words unconvincing even to himself.

You arched a brow, suppressing a laugh. “Oh, really?” you challenged softly, leaning in closer. You were sure he couldn’t even name what the documentary was about if his life depended on it.

Tightening the towel securely around your body, you moved to lie down beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. Your proximity was deliberate, your movements calculated. You knew Kylian better than anyone, and you could tell he was fighting a losing battle.

You scooted closer until your body was practically flush against his, your hand sliding up to cradle his jaw. You placed a featherlight kiss on his cheek, your nose brushing against his skin as you inhaled his intoxicating scent.

He didn’t protest — in fact, you could feel him relax slightly under your touch, though his gaze stubbornly remained on the screen.

“Still mad at me?” you murmured, your lips trailing kisses along the curve of his cheek, each one softer and more deliberate than the last.

“A little,” he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. You were close now, victory was within reach.

“How do I make you forgive me?” you asked, your voice dropping into a sultry whisper as your lips moved down to his neck. His breath hitched again, and this time, he didn’t even pretend to resist. Tilting his head to the side, he silently invited you to explore, giving you access to his smooth, warm skin.

You didn’t waste the opportunity, pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck, slow and tantalizing, just the way you knew he liked them. Each kiss lingered, your tongue flicking lightly against his skin, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“You’ll have to figure that out,” he said, his voice lower now, a teasing edge lacing his tone. His hand moved to tug at your towel, but you swatted it away, stopping him just before he could succeed.

“Not so fast,” you scolded with a playful smirk, pushing his hand aside. You locked eyes with him, your gaze commanding. “Turn the TV off.”

He hesitated for only a moment before obeying without question, reaching over to grab the remote and switching off the screen. The room plunged into a comfortable silence, save for the sound of your kisses as you resumed your exploration of his neck. His skin was already beginning to show the faint marks of your affection, love bites blooming wherever your lips touched.

This battle of wills wasn’t one Kylian was going to win, not tonight.

Your hand slid down his chest deliberately, your fingers gliding over the sculpted ridges of his torso. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the tautness of his abs. Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the hem of his shirt, letting your palm rest against the firm, warm skin of his stomach.

Your lips moved purposefully from his neck to his ear, where you knew he was most sensitive. As your mouth lingered near his ear, you took your time, savoring the quiet anticipation that built with every second. His breathing grew heavier, a restrained whine rumbling in the back of his throat.

Your lips closed around his earlobe, sucking gently before nipping at it with your teeth. At the same time, your hand ventured lower, cupping and massaging him through his shorts. The moment your touch landed there, Kylian let out a shaky whimper, his body betraying him despite his effort to hold back.

“Fuck, Kylian…” you murmured, your breath hot against his ear, your voice thick with desire. “You’re hard.”

He was, impossibly so. It always amazed you how little effort it took to get him this worked up. But Kylian never felt embarrassed by it; in fact, he encouraged you to embrace the power you had over him, and you did just that.

Teasingly, you paused, removing your hand from his bulge to toy with the waistband of his shorts. Your fingertips skimmed the edge, dipping just slightly inside before retreating, a deliberate game meant to drive him wild. At the same time, your lips stopped their exploration, hovering near his ear but offering no further relief.

Kylian exhaled a frustrated sigh, the tension in his body practically vibrating beneath you. “Y/N,” he said, his tone firm but undercut by an unmistakable desperation.

“What do you want, Kylian? Tell me,” you teased, your voice dripping with sultry confidence. Your hand hovered halfway inside his waistband, motionless, as you gazed down at him. His dark eyes locked onto yours, burning with need, though his jaw clenched with resistance.

“I—” he started, but the words faltered, his head falling back against the pillow as he struggled with his pride.

You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Use your words, baby.” Your mouth found the spot behind his ear again, kissing it softly before dragging your tongue across his heated skin. The reaction was instant — his chest rose sharply as he let out a ragged sigh.

“Touch me,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. His head tilted again, baring his neck to you as though surrendering completely.

You pulled back slightly, feigning a look of surprise. “That’s it?” you teased, raising a brow.

When he didn’t respond right away, you began to withdraw your hand, a silent punishment for his hesitation. That’s when he broke.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. “Please touch me. Please.”

A wave of satisfaction washed over you at his shameless begging. “Since you’ve asked so nicely…” you said with a wicked smile, sliding your hand fully into his shorts. Your fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock, pulling it free from the confines of his underwear. You gave him a few firm, deliberate strokes, feeling his length twitch in your grip.

Kylian’s head fell back, a deep groan escaping his lips as his body melted under your touch. You worked him slowly at first, savoring every reaction — the way his breathing turned ragged, the way his hips twitched upward, seeking more.

Just as the tension in him began to crest, you pulled your hand away, leaving him gasping in frustration. “Y/N,” he whined, his brows furrowing in protest, but he didn’t move, his body too overwhelmed to resist.

You silenced him with a knowing smirk, spitting into your palm before wrapping your hand around his cock again. This time, your strokes were slick and smooth, your grip firmer as you tugged his foreskin up and down his shaft. Your hand moved with precision, knowing exactly how to unravel him.

Your head remained buried in his neck, your lips grazing and sucking at his skin, leaving marks that would linger long after. You didn’t need to look at what you were doing, your familiarity with his body was second nature by now.

Kylian was a mess beneath you, his body trembling with pleasure. His head lolled back, his mouth open as soft, breathy moans spilled from his lips. His voice was broken, whimpering your name between gasps, and it only fueled your determination to drive him further over the edge.

As your hand worked its magic on him, Kylian’s body tensed beneath you, his stomach muscles clenching involuntarily. His moans grew louder, more guttural, a clear sign that he was nearing his breaking point. You smirked against his neck, relishing the power you held over him. When his hips started to buck upward, chasing the orgasm building within him, you abruptly pulled away, leaving him on the edge and visibly desperate.

“Y/N—” he started, his voice hoarse with frustration. The heaviness in his balls was unmistakable, and his cock twitched in protest, aching for release.

You silenced him with a searing kiss, your tongue slipping past his lips and tangling with his. As the kiss deepened, you reached up and tugged at the knot of your towel, letting it fall away and tossing it across the room. The cool air kissed your bare skin, but the heat radiating from Kylian was all you felt.

In one smooth motion, you broke the kiss just long enough to tug his shirt off over his head, discarding it in the same direction as your towel. Your hands explored the expanse of his broad chest, feeling the firmness of his pecs and the rapid rise and fall of his breath. Straddling him, you felt his hands instinctively grip your hips, his touch possessive and eager.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, guiding his throbbing cock to your dripping entrance. Slowly, you sank down onto him, his length stretching you perfectly. Kylian’s head fell back against the pillows, a loud, guttural moan tearing from his lips as he filled you completely.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his face twisting in pleasure.

Your hands splayed across his chest for balance as you began to move your hips, rolling them slowly to savor the sensation of him deep inside you. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with an intensity that promised bruises. You welcomed the pressure, the reminder of how much he needed you.

“Feel so good, baby. So fucking good,” he cried out, his voice raw and unrestrained.

You couldn’t help but moan in response, the way he stretched you out and filled you making you feel like you were made for him. Every inch of his cock hit you just right, brushing against that perfect spot that sent shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

Picking up the pace, you began to bounce on his shaft, your movements growing faster and more frantic. Kylian met your rhythm with thrusts of his own, his hips driving upward to match your descent. You were technically on top, but Kylian’s firm grip on your hips dictated the pace, his control subtle yet undeniable.

“Kylian,” you cried out, throwing your head back as waves of pleasure consumed you.

He raised his head slightly, his eyes dropping to where your bodies were joined. The sight of his cock disappearing into you over and over again made him groan deeply, his hand leaving your hip to find your clit. His fingers worked slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to make your thighs tremble.

He knew your body like no one else, he could find your sweet spot even if he was blindfolded, underwater, and upside down.

“Merde, mon amour. Tu te sens incroyable,” he rasped, his words dripping with pleasure. His breaths were heavy, his moans frequent and raw as he fought to keep himself together.

Your legs began to tremble, the strain of riding him taking its toll. You gripped his shoulders tightly, using them for support as your pace faltered slightly. Kylian, ever in tune with you, took the lead, bucking his hips upward harder and faster.

“Kylian, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the tension inside you reached its peak.

“Come for me, angel,” he urged, his voice soft yet commanding. His hand on your clit didn’t relent, his movements calculated to push you over the edge.

You cupped his face with one hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. His dark eyes burned into yours, the intensity between you electric. The connection sent you hurtling into your climax, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Your moans mixed with his as Kylian’s hips stuttered, his release following closely behind yours. You felt him twitch inside you as he spilled his load deep within, the sensation prolonging your high. His head fell back against the pillow, his chest heaving as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick with heat and the scent of sex. Kylian’s hands moved from your hips to gently caress your thighs, his touch soothing where it had once been demanding.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his as you asked playfully, “So, am I forgiven?”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against yours as he pulled you closer. “I’ll let you know after round two,” he teased, capturing your lips in a deep, messy kiss.

You laughed softly, your forehead resting against his as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your love.

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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months ago

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate you — Part 21

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: please forgive spelling errors, I’m still coming out of my illness. I’d also wanted to write more but I suppose it’ll help to have a solid starting point for the next chapter! I can’t believe it’s been a year since the first part of cbmthy went up.

warnings: likely spelling errors; Deliah; reader’s miserable life

word count: 5,738

-Part 20- -Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“I know it’s difficult, but I urge you to tell your family as soon as you are able.”

Madja’s round, soft brown eyes are imploring as she looks into you, and you dip your head.

“I will,” you mumble, frowning into your lap. “I just want time to process it. Besides, you don’t know that for sure—it’s just a theory.”

“A theory that I wouldn’t tell you unless I thought there was a high or definite chance of it happening,” Madja counters, passing you the glass of water. You drink reluctantly. “I know it’s a lot, and it’s sudden… How are you coping?”

You set the glass down when you’ve had enough. “Silver lining, right?”

————

Madja’s earlier question has been echoing through the chambers of your mind all morning. Nagging for an answer until you’ve no choice but to pause, and think. A bench sits overlooking the Sidra, and you take it, choosing to seat yourself for the duration of the thoughts.

How are you coping?

Because you weren’t a while ago. That’s what got Azriel bedridden, although he seems to be on the mend. So, how are you coping now? You can barely feel the gloves around your hands, even when your curl them to scrape the fabric against your skin. There’s nothing more than a slight pressure.

To have no solution for the pain, that you’re permanently damaged… Permanently imperfect, even as a fae. You could have had something. Could have been like Nesta, wielding her Cauldron-Made magic. How stupid of you.

————

His door looms before you, the windows empty and the front garden still. Taking a deep breath you raise your hand to a fist, delivering three muffled knocks to the wood panelling, gloves softening the thuds. You take a step back, and wait. Glance about the small entry, the vines crawling up either side the door, the glass lantern hanging above your head.

The garden is dying, life slowly receding, pulling back in on itself to protect from the descent of winter. Another two weeks and the transition will be clear. Already frost is often crisping leaves and slicking cobbles, ice gleaming over the lip of windowsills and thick rolls of fog floating up from he sidra, basking the city streets in a deep cloud-cover. Sometimes it’s so thick you can’t tell where the edge of the canal lies, and you make a point to offer a generous margin of error. You’re not sure you’d have the will to fight the terrible shock of icy water or the wit to navigate, blind, through the thick mists back to a lowered platform.

You’ll stick behind the guard rails, for now.

Metal scrapes, a latch clicks, the door creaks open. A heavy, golden eye peers out from the relative darkness.

You push a smile to your mouth, weighted, subdued, tentative. “Hi, Bas.”

Golden eyes pause, taking you in from an almost passive standing point. His lips don’t shift like you’d become accustomed to, no half-amused smile curving his familiar mouth and no sweep of warmth across his face. Rather, his lips tighten, as if regretting having made acquaintance with a creature with needle sharp teeth that hook into skin and cling to flesh as it feeds. You’ll stay out of his life if he wants you gone.

You can manage to give him six months of space.

Bas sighs, his broad chest briefly deflating as his shoulders slope and the ice lessens to frost. The door opens wider and an ember of mild warmth begins to glow faintly somewhere in your chest. You take care not to show the visible relief—he hasn’t forgiven you, he’s just opening up for conversation. Maybe now he’ll tell you to stay away, maybe now he’ll tell you not to disappear again, maybe now he’ll tell you you’re forgiven, maybe now he’ll forgive you but he doesn’t want around.

You shake off the thoughts like a sparrow shaking off raindrops from her narrow, nimble wings, fluttering her feathers to rid the dampness from her warm body.

Inside the fire is lit, crackling in the hearth. Dried rosemary and herbs still hang in bunches from the thick wooden beams of the ceiling, patchwork quilts still hang over the back of plush armchairs, small, plump pillows still tucked into either end of the sofa and you sit yourself near one arm, knowing Bas usually takes the armchair to the left of the fireplace. Not directly in the way of the radiating heat but close enough to be warmed by the rolling waves as they spill out into the low-ceilinged living room. You meet his golden eyes. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” Bas nods his head. “Been doing some thinking. Sure you have too, yeah?” He takes his seat but doesn’t lean back into the cushioning. Instead he braces his forearms on his knees, feet shoulder-width apart and the fire reflects in his strong, golden eyes.

You lick your lips, placing your gloved hands in your lap. “I’m sorry for using you like that.”

Bas cocks a brow. “Just jumping straight into it, huh. No preamble.”

“I understand if you’re angry with me. If you’re upset with me. I feel that you’ve been there for me a lot…more that I can say. Through a lot of stuff I haven’t been brave enough to talk about, too.” Your eyes are hot on their surface, burning from the heat of the crackling fire but you blink away the heat, swallowing. “I was in a bad space, when I left. And I wasn’t thinking right.”

Bas snorts. “You weren’t thinking at all.”

He pushes off from his knees, settling himself at last back into the armchair. Long legs stretch out over the thick, patterned rug, arms crossing behind his head and legs crossing at the ankle.

“I’m sorry, Bas.” You tell him, firmly. Looking into his fierce gaze. He’s always been more straightforward. You’ve managed to be more straightforward with him, too, and it’s been a perk of your…friendship. “Will you… Can you forgive me?”

Silence hangs in the air, his features unmoving, eyes holding that fierce glint in their golden irises. Seconds tick by and neither of you say anything. The room grows hotter, denser, and you shift in your seat. It’s sweltering. It’s been a minute.

Your eyes lower and you nod your head. “Okay.”

You rise from your seat, straightening out your skirts, unsure whether your cheeks are burning from humiliation or the fire. “Thank you for hearing me out,” you tell him, nodding your head once before finding your own way out.

“You aren’t going to ask for my side?” Bas calls from his seat, bringing you to a halt. You turn, looking at the outline of the back of his head, the muscles in his arms are tense and his fingers are pushing into his skin. You keep to the entryway, unsure whether he’s being sincere or whether he’s waiting for an argument. You’ve never known him to be manipulative, but he’s always been ready for a brawl in the past. Bas turns his head, and piercing golden eyes bore into you.

“What’s your side?” You ask, softly.

Bas snorts and makes a sharp gesture with his hand, telling you to sit. Your lips purse but you follow, returning to the seat but this time discarding an outer layer leaving you in a top and skirts. You’re here for a conversation—not a brief exchange where nothing’s said.

“Did you even listen to me, last time you were here?” Bas asks. “Where did you go? Who did you meet? Why did you think it was a good idea to just—” He bites off the ending, his frustration and anger bleeding out. His arms brace themselves back on his knees, body hunching over as his brows narrow, exhaling in a harsh hurry. “Talk to me. You got to talk to me instead of just vomiting up a bland fuckin’ apology like that. ‘I’m sorry for using you like that’? ‘I was in a bad place’?” He stares at you, hard. “Are you kidding me?”

“I- What do you want me to say, Bas? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry for making you angry. I’m sorry for not telling you where I was going-”

“‘I’m sorry for making you feel like shit, Bas'. ‘I’m sorry for not only leaving and not telling you anything, but also then coming back and not telling you anything either, Bas’. ‘I’m sorry for creating something private and safe and then letting everyone in to tear it to shreds, Bas’.” Golden eyes gleam with heat, boring into you. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Those would have been a good fuckin’ start.”

You lick your lips, trying to buy yourself time to comprehend the words he’s spat out. Beats pass, but you have no idea what to say. You’re sorry. You regret the way things happened. They won’t unfold like that again. It all feels so insufficient when his eyes are so fierce on their surface but the tears are making them glassy. “You were my fuckin’ treasure,” he rasps. “And you fuckin' walked out without a word.”

“Bas I’m sorry,” you whisper. Heat prickles your eyes, “I just needed to get out.”

Bas laughs a wet laugh, “Fuck off with that.” His thumb and middle finger span across his eyes, bracing his temples. “You know I stopped seeing other people?”

Silence hangs in the air. Blood cooling in your veins.

Bas laughs. “Stopped drinking after you showed up, stopped sleeping around as much, started getting to bed on time. Started talking with ma again. Started to get better after pa-” He chokes off, a wet droplet breaking on the rug far below. He rubs his eyes shaking his head. Golden eyes gleam in the firelight. “You were good,” he whispers, “a good thing.”

Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. You know what it’s like to feel you aren’t good enough to be trusted. You know how it hurts.

You stand quietly from the sofa, gathering your cloak and scarf. Pause when you pass him—he doesn’t look up, keeping his head cast down, staring at the rug. Your palm settles over his shoulder and you squeeze once, firmly. I’m sorry.

You’re in the doorway, the salty citrusy coastal air mixing with the warm rosemary of his interior when he calls for you once more.

“We’ll be moving to Winter soon,” Bas says through his raw throat. He swallows, hard jaw working. “Ma thinks it’ll be good for us—to visit pa’s Court. Reconnect with the magic there.” In one movement that exudes far too much boyish embarrassment for you to bear, he dries his eyes, rolling his shoulders and standing straighter. “Thought I’d let you know.”

“You’re leaving?” You can hardly hear your voice. Bas shrugs but the edges of the gesture are too sharp to be natural. “Guess Night Court isn’t working for us.” He licks his lips. Nods his head. “I wish you well, from here.”

————

The sunlight is watery, offering an edge of warmth but you’re in a daze. You’re not even sure you know where you are in the city. Just started walking and didn’t stop, feet moving mindlessly over the cobbles, carrying you through streets and alleys, down roads and narrow tracks between shops. With the smell of food you’d guess you’re near a restaurant zone, but…

He’s moving. All the way south to the Winter Court.

Will you be able to visit? Will he even want you to visit? You can admit you’re not the most well-versed on Court politics, nor the most caught up on current affairs, but it doesn’t take much to know the Night Court isn’t a Prythian favourite after the fifty years the High Queen ruled with Rhysand at her side.

You look around Velaris, the street you’re on. Did it look like this during her reign? Before? Did it change during the attack that took so many lives, Bas’ father among them?

Inside your chest your heart is flittering too fast, fluttering against your ribcage, pulsing in your throat sporadically. Where are you? None of it looks familiar. A breeze blows and you catch the scent of the Sidra, somewhat salty, somewhat briny, but crisp. Dampness dredged up from an open-mouthed estuary far from here. It’s only a few streets away, and a trail of cold relief slithers down your spine as you recognise the canal. If you follow the water upstream you’ll probably find your way back to a spot you know—you’ve been heading mostly downhill, after all.

————

Rita’s

That’s a name you recognise. You’re nearby, back in a familiar area at least. Although being lost had been a temporary relief from the tempest tipping and turning inside of your, raging emotion crashing on your banks and you’re unsure what to do with all of it. Even having lost a lot of feeling in your hands you can tell they’re numb. More numb than usual anyway, and the cold is spreading to the rest of your body. You seem to remember the others having spoken about it in a way to suggest its busiest hours would be after dark but you wonder if they might be open during midday—just a familiar place to step into and warm up for a bit.

Well, it’s not exactly familiar. Come to think of it, you’ve only really heard Mor speak of it as someone who’s been inside. It didn’t seem to be a frequent spot for the others.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pray she isn’t inside.

As soon as you step foot within the establishment you feel the warmth on your face, washing over the frozen tip of your nose and the nipped-at skin of your cheeks, lips probably chapped and dry from the cold. The lights are on—strung up around the ceiling, hanging from wall to wall so they look like hundreds of yellow-bottomed fireflies. Paintings hang from the walls, stacked closely together and rimmed in what looks like gold, carefully crafted to carve into swirls at the corners. Pictures of flowers and bouquets, horses and riders with neat hair and long legs, dappled shade on a pair of shoes. Parted lips painted a dusty rose.

There are a few fae about the place—there seems to be a part of the large interior sectioned off for games and socialising, pool tables set up with a piano in the corner and a violin laying on its top, a guitar against the piano stool. Plush settees are dotted about the place, mauve and maroon leather with a healthy sheen beneath the glowing lights.

You make your way over to a counter that looks like a bar, nervously approaching the female behind the stand. “I’m sorry—is it fine for me to stay inside for a little bit? I got lost and-” But she’s already nodding understandingly and you’re struck dumb by her beauty. Dark brown hair that snarls about her round face, healthy and rich, full lips stretching into a welcoming smile as she clops to your side of the bar, ushering you over to take a seat on one of the sofas.

“What can I get you? Hot water? Tea? Whiskey?” Her eyes are full and dark, round and pretty as they watch you. “You’re such a small thing! What were you doing out in the cold all on your own?”

“I- sorry. I don’t have any money on me at the moment… I’m after some warmth is all. Sorry,” you say, holding your hands up and shaking them gently as though metaphorically pushing her away. But her smile doesn’t falter for a second, leaning her weight to one hip and folding her arms over her slim chest, “And I asked what can I get you? You’re half-frozen, I should dip you in candle wax!”

“Oh, I-” You swallow thickly. “Then, could I have some tea? If it’s not a bother?”

“Stay right there and don’t wander,” she smiles, nodding her head, “I’ll be back in a moment. Hang tight and don’t freeze.” Then she’s clopping away, heeled feet clicking over the polished wooden floors, thuds muffling when she passes over a rug.

You blink away your surprise, adjusting yourself to Rita’s interior. It’s nice: warm and welcoming. You lay your hand in your lap, peering at the dark green fabric of your gloves, self-consciously fiddling with the fingers. Maybe if they become frost-bitten they’ll turn stiff and fall off. At least you wouldn’t have to deal with their ugliness anymore, but it’d still be all up your arms.

It’s not long before the server is returning, a pinkish ceramic mug cupped in her palm, taking care not to spill anything as she passes it over to you. “Careful not to burn your tongue, it’s piping hot,” she warns with a smile, “unless you’re frozen stiff. Then drink away!”

You manage a grateful smile, murmuring thank-you after thank-you until she’s trotted back to her place behind the counter, a new couple of fae having also come in from the cold. You wait impatiently for it to cool, gently blowing on it from time to time but it’s difficult to hold through your gloves and you have to be careful not to spill any on yourself, or worse, any on the lovely rugs. Raising the mug to your lips, you take a small sip but it’s still scalding. How did she even make a cup of tea this hot? You’ve waited for it to cool.

Sighing to yourself, you shift on the sofa, making to lean back against the cushioning then thinking better of it when you remember your layers. It would be nice to remove them, but you won’t be stopping for long—just waiting to warm up. Until you’re certain blood has returned to your fingers and toes. You try the tea again but only succeed in scorching your upper lip. You’re so preoccupied with willing your tea to cool that you fail to notice the fae approaching from the far end of the room.

A body fills the space beside you and you’re pulled from your thoughts. The female’s lips are a bright slash of blood red, white teeth glittering inside her mouth as she offers a smile. You give a polite smile in return, thinking nothing of it as you return to gently blowing on the steaming liquid.

“You’re new here…”

You blink, then turn back to the female. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost black. Not a suctioning void of darkness, but more like a peaceful midnight or experiencing a restful sleep. They’re enlivening, not draining. “Yes…I heard someone speaking about this place so when I recognised it I thought I might come in to warm up,” you reply, shifting in the seat so you’re facing her a little more.

Black silk trousers cover her lower half, a sheer, silky band hugging her slim waist before flaring into wide, sweeping hips. On her top is a sleeveless, rouge, lace-covered shirt that hugs her full breasts, exposing a sharp but surprisingly deep V of moon-pale skin. Around her collar bones sit pretty pearls, matching the ones pinned to her ears, and you wonder if she’s the kind who’s always so finely dressed or whether you’ve accidentally stumbled in during a special occasion. Blood red nails delicately clasp a stout, crystal glassful of amber liquid and from the smell of it you can guess the contents.

“You’ll warm up faster if you let the heat touch your skin,” she muses, reclining into the far arm of the seat, her crossed legs pointing in your general direction. A stray curl of rich, chestnut hair escapes over her shoulder, flaring outward in a neat curve. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be here for long…” you laugh, gently shifting the mug in your hands.

“Why not?” The female muses, swirling her glass in deft fingers. “We won’t be getting busy until at least six; it’s not even three yet.” She sips from her glass slowly, savouring the flavour. A pink tongue swipes at her lips, collecting the remaining taste. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. It’s what we’re here for.”

“I’m sorry—you work here?”

“I’m the owner.”

Your brows raise. “You’re Rita?”

The woman laughs through her lips, eyes twinkling faintly. “No. Rita was a friend.” She winks as she says it, like it’s some funny secret she’s decided to share between you. “And we’re all friends here, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. Stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you.” You flush at her warmth. How welcoming she is.

“Who told you about Rita’s?” The female asks, drawing you again from thought. You pause, unsure how to label your relationship with Mor. Instead you simply settle for giving her name. “Mor,” you answer, shifting in your seat before offering an unsure smile, “she’s a…friend.”

The female nods like she’s understanding part of a larger puzzle. You suppose it makes sense though—you’ve gotten the impression Mor is somewhat a regular, of course the owner would be familiar with her. Anxiety begins to crawl up your spine, bone by bone, piece by piece. What if she knows who you are—what you’ve done to upset Mor. But instead the female’s eyes twinkle, sparked by something.

“A friend of Morrigan’s,” she drawls, elegantly settling deeper into the cushioning, finishing off the knuckle’s-depth of her whiskey, knocking it back like it’s nothing. “Well then, you can call me Deliah.”

————

It wasn’t until the clock had struck five that you’d realised how long you’d been speaking with her. She’s a master of conversation, and you were swiftly swept up and away, almost forgetting your tea entirely, warmed beneath her attentive gaze. When you’d finally gotten up to leave, she’d wrapped you in a warm embrace, like you’d been friends for much longer than a few hours, and had pressed a departing kiss to your neck before you’d wrapped yourself in a scarf and headed back out into the much colder outdoors.

But still, the icy winds bite at your throat and nip at your cheeks, and you hug your cloak tighter to your body.

————

Night has fallen by the time you reach the River House, carefully hanging your cloak upon one of the iron hooks and removing your shoes. A surge of voices sound from your left—coming from the living room with windows overlooking the front lawn—and you quickly slip past into the kitchen searching for something to eat before tiptoeing up the stair to bed.

You don’t want to touch what Bas had told you—that he’s leaving. What if you hadn’t visited? What if you had put it off? What if he had decided not to tell you? What ultimately persuaded him to let you know? After all, he’d only mentioned it when you’d been leaving…perhaps he hadn’t intended to tell you, but something good in him had known the kind of emptiness you’d feel if you went to him one day to find the house packed up and empty? With no trace of him to be found?

The thought alone has a pit opening up in your stomach, eyes pressing together hard to keep tears at bay. He wouldn’t have done something like that, surely. Had you hurt him so badly?

For someone you had thought close to leave so abruptly without any notice…no reasons, no goodbye…just gone. How many methods of torture the mind could create with that. How the unknowing would surely swallow you whole. Regret feeding off every second, wishing to have a second chance.

Guilt weighs in your stomach.

“You’re back.”

You snap back to reality, ice flooding your veins as you spot Mor stood the other side of the kitchen counter, poised to pop open another bottle of wine. Your throat closes up but you nod, walking further into the room—it would too childish and obvious to exit as soon as you’d seen her. Her caramel eyes drop back to the cork, skewering the nail through the stopped and twisting. “Looking for something?”

“Just a bite to eat,” you manage, eyeing an apple in the fruit basket. Buttered bread with something on top would have been nice, but an apple will be great, too. Cool, and crisp. Hopefully not too tart.

“There’s food next door,” Mor tells you, neither of you really looking at the other, and you pluck the apple from the basket. “Olives, bread, cheese, grapes, wine.” She lifts the bottle, gesturing to the second one she has on the table beside her. “Probably apple slices and raisins too-”

Silence beats between you, and then fabric is rustling. You look up to find her almost upon you.

You jump when her hands rip the scarf from your shoulders, staring wide-eyed in…shock?

“Mor?” You ask, slightly defensively as you take a step back. “What-”

She grips your arms tight, pain flickering up through your flesh and your stomach clenches. “Stay away from her,” Mor hisses, her nails digging in through the fabric of your gloves. A low moan of discomfort escapes your mouth and her eyes again widen, inhaling sharply as she drops your arms. Mor recovers quickly, a mask sliding into place that’s cold and icy, not even a fragment of the previous hurt you’d seen to be found. “I don’t know how you met her, how you ran into her, and I don’t care. Just stay away from her.”

You’re breathing heavily, a light sweat on your skin but the light pain’s vanished as quick as it appeared, leaving you feeling cold and tingly all over. Flesh once again fading to numbness. “I don’t…Who?”

A small beauty mirror materialises out of thin air and she flips it open, showing the dark red imprint on your throat, a stamp of a woman’s lips. Deliah’s lipstick must have been pressed into your skin. A flush of regret rises up from your stomach and you slap your palm over the skin, hoping to conceal the blazing proof that you’d visited Rita’s. She’s never claimed it as her space, but it’s Mor’s domain.

“I’m sorry,” you splutter, trying to explain. “I was just cold, and I got lost, I didn’t mean to intrude, I swear I won’t go there again, I just needed somewhere to-”

“I don’t care where you go,” Mor hisses, a tissue appearing out of thin air, tipping your jaw to one side. “Stay in Rita’s all day if you like it. But don’t get involved with her. Does she know you know me?”

You nod your head, shame warming your cheeks. Mor sighs, rubbing harshly at your neck to remove the stain. It doesn’t take intelligence to tell she’s frustrated.

After a while Mor pulls away, the tissue a dark rouge colour, blood dried and faded to black. “I’ll talk to her. Tell her to stay away from you.” She turns, tossing the tissue in the bin. She shoots you a hard look over her shoulder, “Don’t go near her. Do you understand?”

You nod again.

Mor sighs, and you can hear her lips purse. “I’m serious. She’s a bloodsucker.”

“I won’t go near her,” you say, reaching for the apple and shifting it between you palms. “I promise I won’t this time.”

Silence hangs in the air, and you think you feel the tension disperse. She nods, once. “I believe you.”

Your lips press together, and you peer at the apple, turning it around in your hand to shift your awareness from the weight of Mor’s gaze. At last it lessens, and you look up to see her walking away, heading out of the kitchen and probably for the living room, where it sounds like the others are. She pauses on the threshold. Looks over her shoulder. “You can join these ones too you know. It’s not just the dinners people spend time together.”

You look at one another quietly, but before you can reply she’s vanished off into the hallway, the voices rising a few seconds later when she reaches the living room.

You can join these ones too, you know.

The waxy red of the apple shines beneath the faelights.

It’s not just the dinners people spend time together.

————

You pause in the doorway. One foot in the room with all of them, the other out in the hallway, already poised to depart. You feel it as attention openly shifts to you, not coming in, but not leaving either. For the first time, you’re openly wanting of their focus.

Your skin prickles as you feel the room quiet, but you’ve already taken the first step which you know from having heard so many people say is the hardest. It’s a lie. You know from experience it’s never the first step that’s the most difficult, but the one you have to make in the present. The present is always the worst.

You meet the blue-grey eyes of your youngest sister, Nyx held to her front, Rhysand at her side. “Will you sit down, for this?”

Feyre stiffens, and you can feel the room itself grow stagnant. The air that had previously been alive and bubbling growing colder. Even the warm lighting, the fae-lights and the candles seem to have dulled. A nervous laugh rattles her shoulders, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so serious.” Your features remain solemn, and the little mirth she had left in her eyes winks out. Feyre settles on the arm of one of the big, cushy armchairs, Rhysand sliding in beside her.

You swallow thickly, fierce, lionlike eyes passing through your head. Your head bows. “Madja believes she knows what’s wrong with me.” You clear your throat, and correct yourself, “With my magic.”

Silence hangs in the air, and you have to force yourself to continue, fingers leafing together. “It is a little serious,” you say, glancing briefly to Feyre with a tired, guilty smile, “so I’ll try to be as concise as possible.” Feyre nods her head, and you last a small breath before starting.

You lift your chin to dress the room.

“I only found out I had magic about two months ago. It caused me a lot of pain, and still does when I try to use it, though not as much as those initial attempts.” Your gloved fingers wring together. “After some poor experiences, the side-effects of my magic became apparent. You might have noticed I’ve been wearing gloves a lot lately—it’s not a new fashion craze.” A half-smile appears on Elain’s mouth and you could kiss her cheek for it. “Rather, it began to damage my body physically, externally. My hands became dry, and…there were some other things I’ll leave out, but there was obviously something wrong with them.”

You try to keep your voice steady, try to keep your hands from shaking as you pinch one tip of a finger and begin pulling the glove from your skin. The patchy, discoloured flesh of your arm appears, scabbed and flaky, skin ashen where it’s begun to peel. You remove the other, and fold them over your hands, clasped together at your front.

“After I…After the House Of Wind happened, the dryness spread further to my shoulders. I’ve lost almost all sense of touch in my hands, and most of my arms are numb, but they still hurt a lot if I knock into something.” Are you taking too long? Is this stupid? You try to imagine finding Bas’ house empty. “Madja’s been very attentive, an absolute blessing, and she’s figured that my magic wasn’t existing externally, because it was festering internally.” You pause, lips trembling, but swallow past the lump in your throat. Your voice is hoarse when you add, “For two years.”

The room itself shifts—Feyre sitting straighter; Nesta leaning forward, Cassian squeezing her hand tighter; even Mor’s shifted in her corner, no longer slouching against the wall; only Elain is frozen still.

“What does that mean?” Feyre asks, her voice like a finger dragging through sun-softened butter.

“Madja says she can’t reverse the damage; what’s happened to me. That two years is too long for her to even attempt to undo.”

“So…what?” Feyre’s voice is quiet, softer than you’ve ever heard it. “It’s going to keep spreading? There’s no way to remove the pain?”

“Kind of.” You nod, shifting on your feet. You can’t help wanting to look into a hazel set of eyes in the far corner of the room. You wonder what he’s making of this big speech. Whether it’s all stuff he already knows, and he’s waiting for it to be over already. Old news.

“Madja says she can’t erase the pain. It’s always going to be there because it’s been able to sink too deep.”

Feyre’s hand is covering her mouth; Nesta’s expression is focussed but her knuckles are white where she’s gripping Cassian’s hand; Elain’s eyes are wide, and her skin is sickly pale.

You bite your lip, shifting once again in the doorway. Shifting to stand just over the threshold, teetering on the edge of the living room and the dark, empty corridor.

“She’s given me about six months to live.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think someone, somewhere, had plucked the final string of the harp and frozen time. It’s unnerving—being in a room filled with living statues.

You almost flinch when Mor pushes off from the wall. It’s not a sudden movement by any means, if anything it’s more subdued than you’ve ever seen her, but with a swift look around the room, locking gazes with four pairs of eyes, she takes her drink with her and makes to pass you, exiting the room. Cassian glances at Nesta, squeezing her hand tight before standing; Rhysand remains still, his and the High Lady’s eyes glazing before he’s pushing a kiss to her temple, scooping up Nyx and following after Azriel and Amren.

You almost crumble now it’s only you and your sisters.

It’s too much for you to bear.

You’d thought you were okay with your silver lining.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader series #azriel x reader multi-part series #can’t bring myself to hate you #can’t bring myself to hate you part 21 #cbmthy #azriel angst

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strawberrykidneystone · 9 days ago

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the blast that changed everything

sevika x female! reader

summary: your wife came home after being gone at work for more than a day with a limb missing and it was definitely an adjustment

a/n: i did do research for this fic about limb loss but if there's anything that i can do to improve this please don't hesitate to let me know!!

tags: loss of limb, angst to fluff, emetophobia tw, domestic moments, weed, making out, reassurance,

ao3 version

thank you for requesting anon!!!

when sevika had first told you that she was switching to work under silco, you were more than confused. but once she explained her reasoning and promised that she would be careful, you slowly got on board with her work. you knew that she wanted action instead of whatever "passive bullshit" that vander was negotiating with piltover, but you knew you couldn't talk her out of it even if you tried.

sevika got so many nasty looks whenever she was out in public for "betraying" vander, but a betrayal is a stab in the back, not the front, which is what sevika did when she left vander.

but working for silco meant going along with his scientist's experiments, which you were less than keen to learn about. sevika didn't tell you much because honestly, mainly because she didn't know much about it herself. she did tell you to never touch the substance, a shimmering purple substance would bring nothing but trouble.

so here you are, waiting on the couch for your wife to come home from work. you glanced up at the ticking clock in the living room, it was well past midnight, where was she? sure, she had late nights before, but she would always send someone to at least tell you that she was going to be late. you tried not to worry, but you felt a pit in your stomach that something just wasn't right.

your suspicions were confirmed when you heard a frantic knock on the door. bolting up and throwing the door open, you're met with a panting ran who takes a deep breath and rambles out something slightly incoherent, but you pick up the words "sevika" and "hurt". quickly throwing on a jacket and slipping on the nearest shoes you urge ran to bring you to her, the two of you tearing down the street until you go down a huge spiral staircase into a lab that had an open window view of the ocean.

frantically looking around, you raced to sevika's side as you saw her passed out on a crude surgical table and cupped her hand in yours, reassuring her that you were here even if she couldn't hear you.

then you saw her other arm.

it was charred as it she had stuck it directly into a fire, but it was glowing... blue? she had a scar running up from her shoulder to her cheek with blue cracks as if her skin were a glass that shattered. you had never seen an injury like this before. singed was working on her shoulder with a bone blade and you covered your mouth with her hand, there was no way that this arm was salvageable. you squeezed your eyes shut as you heard the crunching of her bone, she was losing her dominant hand and you had no idea how she would adjust to losing her primary arm. you felt nauseous and dizzy, quickly kneeling down by the nearest trash can and barfing your brains out. you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and took a shaky breath. you had to be strong for her, especially after she woke up. eventually, you fell asleep at her side and didn't wake until you felt movement near your head the next morning.

you quickly perked up and almost started crying when shew finally showed signs of life. sevika groggily looked around, clearly very disoriented until her eyes locked in on you. "baby? what happened?" she asked raspily, trying to shake the brain fog out of her head.

you gulped and took a deep breath, clutching her hand in yours, "after you pushed silco out of the way, the blast had some sort of blue technology in it, it wasn't a regular explosion. singed tried everything he could, but he had to amputate your arm up to you shoulder and there is some blue scarring going up your face that he couldn't explain to me how they got there."

sevika slowly nodded along and looked to her side at the stump that was now her arm. she seemed oddly calm, but sevika was never really one to let her emotions overtake her. by this point, you had tears streaming down your face and profusely apologizing as if you had been the one to set off the blast. she shook her head and placed her hand on your cheek, rubbing her thumb against your cheekbone, "baby it's okay, i'm okay. it's just an arm, silco's probably commissioning a new one for me as we speak. it's gonna be alright."

you sniffed and covered her hand with yours, leaning into her palm, "i'm supposed to be the one comforting you dummy, you're the one who got hurt."

she snorted and shook her head, "as long as i have you, i know everything's going to be alright."

you wiped your tears away and kissed the inside of her hand, "okay okay you sap, I'll stop worrying. but you're not going back to work until you feel ready, capeesh?"

"caposh, now get up here and kiss me," she said with a grin. you basically lunged up to her and pressed a hard kiss to her lips, throwing your arms around her neck as you smothered her in entire face in kisses. sevika was a little thrown off when she went to wrap her arms around you, but only one actually showed up.

this was definitely going to be an adjustment.

over the next few weeks, you had taken sevika to a decent physical therapist that you had found in zaun and worked with her to improve the handwriting in her right arm. her center of gravity was entirely off and she was unconsciously leaning to the right side when she walked, which she also had to work on in physical therapy as well as outside of it. she opens up to you after a while about how she swears that she can feel every finger in her left hand still, sometimes still reaching for things with a limb that is no longer there and mourning what she lost. she also asked you to cut off the left sleeve of her shirt to make it easier to dress herself, which you happily obliged as you had an excuse to practice your sewing.

when she started getting phantom limb pain, you started massaging the area and sitting down with her with a stand-up mirror so her mind gets tricked into thinking it still has all of the pathways in her body.

and smoking weed.

she joked that the doctor had basically given her a prescription to smoke weed, but that is kind of what happened. you would smoke with her and she loves it when you shotgun into her mouth, her brain releasing tension with the pain in her missing limb soon forgotten. it became a nightly ritual for the two of you to sit out on your bedroom balcony and smoke a shared blunt that usually ended up with you perched on her lap in a sloppy make-out session. life was slowly starting to feel normal again with her adjusted lifestyle. it took her a while to ask for help when she needed it, even from you, her close loved one. sevika was nothing if not resilient, but her patience usually wore thin when tasks started taking her twice the time it did before the accident. you were always there to lend a hand and reassure her that asking for help was nothing shameful, that you wanted to help her. it took her a while to accept, but when she did, her life drastically improved for the better.

during all of this, you were hounding silco's ass about her new prosthetic arm that he calmly said was still getting worked on. he would never admit it aloud, but he was a little scared of you.

when she came home one day with a new prosthetic arm attached to her shoulder, you looked at her in awe as your wife had the cheesiest grin on her face. she immediately wrapped you up in her arms and chuckled as she felt you shiver with her cold metal arm against your slightly exposed back. even though she had the new arm, she didn’t like wearing it around you since it was technically a weapon.

being able to write with her left hand again was. a huge relief for her, sure she made do with writing with her non-dominant hand, but this was different, it was almost like having her own arm back again.

plus, now she could write with both hands.

you were less than thrilled when she added a shimmer component to her arm, lecturing her on how it was hypocritical of her after she was so adamant about not using it when singed was first experimenting with it. however, silco kept sending her on harder missions and shimmer helped her do her best work, so you slowly came around, especially after seeing how feral the substance made her (especially in bed, shimmer strap who?)

eventually, things settled down and she was back at work with new additions to her arm every so often that she loved to show off to you. you admired them and asked about the new features, simply happy that she had new tools to keep her safe while she was out doing silco's dirty work.

it was all worth it for zaun to slowly take steps forward to becoming independent and governing themselves instead of the ever looming presence of piltover stopping them.

a/n: silco having workers comp??? maybe he's not so bad /j

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

#sevika #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x female reader #sevika angst #sevika fluff #reader x sevika #sevika season 1 #ao3 #sevika fan fic

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whispersofascorpiomoon · 18 days ago

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Toxic Mercury in The Signs

Mercury in Aries ♈️ : Fast-talking, selfish, and dismissive in bed. They bulldoze boundaries and justify it with “just being honest.” This can scream antisocial tendencies, fueled by a reckless disregard for emotional consequences.

Mercury in Taurus ♉️ : Silent treatment champion. They avoid tough conversations about intimacy, letting resentment fester. Their stubbornness reeks of passive-aggressive behavior, leaving their partner feeling trapped in a loop of unmet needs.

Mercury in Gemini ♊️ : Masters of gaslighting and breadcrumbing. They’ll flirt with someone else right in front of you and then laugh it off as a joke. Their chaotic communication mirrors histrionic manipulation, making you question your sanity.

Mercury in Cancer ♋️ : Crying one minute, guilt-tripping the next. They weaponize emotions to control their partner, mimicking borderline traits with a clingy, smothering edge.

Mercury in Leo ♌️ : The sex is about them, always. They’ll fake vulnerability to keep you hooked but ignore your needs entirely. Their inflated ego channels narcissistic traits, leaving you feeling invisible.

Mercury in Virgo ♍️ : Obsessed with picking apart every detail. They’ll critique your performance like it’s a Yelp review, crushing intimacy with their obsessive-compulsive need for control.

Mercury in Libra ♎️ : Sweet words hide a manipulative core. They’ll charm you into compliance and avoid accountability when things go wrong. This covert toxicity creates a relationship built on lies.

Mercury in Scorpio ♏️ : Silent treatment? Check. Emotional blackmail? Double check. They’ll dig into your insecurities to gain control, embodying paranoid and borderline traits with a side of sadistic pleasure.

Mercury in Sagittarius ♐️ : Zero tact. They’ll tear you down with brutal honesty, then ghost you for asking for emotional depth. Their recklessness mirrors antisocial traits, leaving a trail of emotional casualties.

Mercury in Capricorn ♑️ : Cold, calculating, and transactional. They treat intimacy like a business deal, devoid of emotional warmth. Their detachment channels schizoid tendencies, making you feel more like a contract than a partner.

Mercury in Aquarius ♒️ : Overly rational and emotionally clueless. They’ll intellectualize sex, making you feel like a science experiment. Their lack of empathy reeks of alexithymia, creating a disconnect that feels robotic.

Mercury in Pisces ♓️ : Escapist and delusional. They’ll avoid real conversations by drowning in fantasies or substances. Their blurred boundaries reflect dependent traits, leaving you in a fog of confusion and unmet expectations.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 12 days ago

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Word List: Psychology

more psychological concepts as reference for your poem/story

Mental fog - (also called clouding of consciousness) a mental state involving a reduced awareness of the environment, inability to concentrate, and confusion.

Metaworry - persistent worry about one’s own thoughts and cognitive processes.

Numbsense - the ability of some people who have lost feeling in part or all of their body to respond to tactile stimuli in the insensible area. Such individuals insist that they are not aware of any tactile sensations but can nevertheless discriminate between stimuli and point to where they have been presented.

Object love - in psychoanalytic theory, love of a person other than the self. It is a function of the ego and not the instincts as in object cathexis.

Oneirodynia - a form of dreaming characterized by nightmares or unpleasant dreams.

Passive joy - a feeling of extreme gladness, delight, or exultation of the spirit arising from a sense of well-being or satisfaction that involves tranquility and a feeling of contentment with things as they are.

Sauce béarnaise effect - a colloquial term referring to a conditioned taste aversion. If a person happens to become ill after tasting a new food, such as sauce béarnaise, they may subsequently dislike and avoid that food. Regardless of the actual cause of the illness, the sauce will be identified with it.

Sensitive soul - in the thought of Aristotle, the type of soul possessed by nonhuman animals. The sensitive soul has the capacity to receive and react to sense impressions but does not have a capacity for rational thought.

Symbiotic marriage - a marriage or partnership of codependency, whereby the individuals are entirely reliant upon each other for the gratification of certain psychological needs.

Synergic marriage - a marriage or partnership that is enhanced by the contributions the partners can make in satisfying each other’s psychological needs in a positive manner.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Part 1 2 3 4 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#psychology #writing reference #writing prompt #writeblr #character development #literature #writers on tumblr #poetry #words #lit #dark academia #studyblr #poets on tumblr #langblr #writing resources #word list #spilled ink #creative writing

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gfmima · 1 year ago

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category : 米哈游原神 work title : he’s not lover approved by traveler/paimon

there is nothing lyney wouldn’t do for you. if he can, he will; if he doesn’t have the means, he will find a way — no matter if it means standing still as a deer in the forest in front of the traveler and paimon, who shot him with icy glares upon discovering your romantic relationship.

he stands at your front door, in his hand a small bouquet of flowers he purchased in the city; his heart beating madly in his chest. the moment was surreal, like a suspense novel.

questions swirled, each one more bewildering than the last. why were the traveler and paimon, individuals he weren’t exactly on the best terms with, standing by your doorway? where were you? and most importantly, how did you know one another?

he didn’t know you had a personal connection with the pair, let alone be a close friend whom they held in high regard. he feared they might reveal the truth about his fate and ask you to end things, two outcomes he hoped to avoid.

the unmistakable tension in the air pours through like a fog, making it difficult to breath. he, though, was determined to dull his unease in a strained yet cheerful sing-song manner.

“ta-da~!”

alas, his attempt at levity fell flat.

“eh? paimon didn’t know you knew each other!” she yelps, a blend of surprise and curiosity in her voice. the traveler, too, nods in agreement.

lyney, feeling like an uninvited visitor in his own lover’s cozy home, removes his hate and rests it on the standee that you had thoughtfully bought for his stay. with a sense of discomfort that he tried to bury, he takes a seat on your old armchair and crosses his legs.

a faint, near inaudible, sigh was his feeble attempt to soothe the racing thoughts within his head.

“i can say the same.” his nimble hand grazes the nape of his neck. “speaking of, where might she be? and, please, do not take offense, what lured you two into her humble abode?” his eyes dart between their scuffed attire, their fatigue state raising alarms. this cannot be good…

“uh, how does paimon explain this?” she trails, and shares a glance with the traveler.

the latter, taking the lead, starts to disclose how you’d been caught in a struggle on your journey to the city. fortunately, you held your ground, battling alongside the duo.

it didn’t mean you returned completely unscathed.

his concern heightened with every single word, and once he finally reached your bedside, he knelt down. his hand gently guides your gaze to meet his.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he espies the myriad of deep cuts and bruises that marred your delicate skin, the frown on his face deepens with every discovery. “why did you hide your injuries from me? do you wish to be the demise of your poor lyney? look, i’ve sprouted a forest of silver strands thanks to the harrowing distress you’ve inflicted upon me!”

as a joke, you roll your eyes at him, which elicits a theatrical and melodramatic whine of your nickname.

“i didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“but it’s my duty to worry about you?! and you’re well aware such secrets are forbidden from me, mon couer,” he scolds, rather mischievously, his finger tracing the outline of a particularly prominent bruise. it was clear that he genuinely couldn’t bear the idea of seeing you in pain.

he didn’t need to look to know the traveler and paimon were silently mocking him. you’re the very last person to say that, he can hear one of their voices answer.

the following hours unfold as a strange experience… the trio find themselves navigating the ‘intricacies’ of caring for you and your wounds, their interactions were a pleasant balance of teamwork and arguments.

it was a bit of an overstatement, you were merely sporting a couple of bruises and cuts here and there, far from laying at death’s door. at one point, they even engaged in — a passive aggressive — discourse about the meticulous art of wrapping bandages and the hours of your antibiotics intake.

“while i do appreciate your concern, traveler. i know what’s best for her.”

lyney, adopting a firm posture with arms crossed, ushered a resolute stare at the traveler. the atmosphere brimmed with an unspoken challenge as the latter counters, “it’s impressive how informed you are… i wasn’t aware the world of magic held such peril and risk.”

“what i’m trying to say is she needs a period to rest alone.”

“however,” traveler concedes, “she also needs the support of her friends. she doesn’t need to be isolated.”

he counters with a wave of his hand, punctuating his words,“i’m not advocating for such a thing! i’m only expressing my worry about overwhelming her.”

“if you’re both going to argue, do it outside.”

there was no longer space for disagreement, the severity of your expression conveys a message that leaves no room for uncertainty or lightheartedness in your tone.

one last glimpse of your resting silhouette and he returns to the comfort of your living room, on the settee, exasperated yet cautious. meddlesome eyes preying on him, the friction amongst them was obvious to see, beneath it lays a shared regard for you wellbeing.

“can paimon stay?”

quick question, can you positively say your friends and lover get along? the short answer, no; the long answer, not really, no.

ignorant, oblivious, and unaware… there exists a plethora of words to describe the profound state of confusion you felt regarding your friends’ steadfast reluctance to embrace the wanderer as your lover. their hesitancy remained an enigma, though, you can take a ganderw and guess it might be due to his crabby demeanor.

yet, when you allude to it, they refuse to utter a word.

although it did prove to be considerably simpler to gather a proper answer from paimon than traveler. she wasn’t shy, she expressed her thoughts about him. very freely. it began with her calling him short in both stature and temperament, and eventually led up to a blunt end, saying the problem lies in his attitude.

she was in complete denial, the notion you were in love with HIM, of all people, a sentiment underscored by her disbelief at the idea.

your warm presence rendered you a person whose kindness knew no bounds. in stark contrast, he was the epitome of a grump, a less than delightful company. if you were searching for a partner, she could’ve found a more ‘suitable’ match for you!

uh, maybe a compassionate and mellow personality, a man akin to kazuha, might be the perfect choice? she entertains the idea of opening it up to the traveler.

while privy on the subject, the traveler chose to stay hushed the entire time. despite their initial resolve to be neutral, you couldn’t help but notice the bitter expression that manifests when you utter his name.

it was clear to see something occured in the past…

however, your frequent line of questioning over the passing weeks eventually wore them down. after all, alongside paimon, you were a good friend of theirs! and it only seems fair to reveal their lingering apprehensions.

the fateful encounter with wanderer, a narrative that — you had to suspend your disbelief — went back to a time before his very existence had been erased by the use of irminsul and the assistance of lesser lord kusanali. as they wove this convoluted tale, you struggle to keep pace with the details, but your patience compelled you to still try.

“well, if it isn’t sumeru’s resident grouch!” paimon interjects your conversation by greeting him with a self-satisfied grin, thinking she just coined the most clever nickname since the inception of ‘tone-deaf bard.’

with a wry smirk, he chuckles, “i wasn’t aware they allowed pets inside the tavern.”

he was an absolute menace, you inwardly comment, stifling a giggle at her antics. her tantrum-like foot stomping in the air cemented your impression that they were far from being the best of friends.

“WHY YOU!” she shrieks, and he aptly interjects by sticking his tongue out at her. naturally, it only provokes her further. “paimon seriously doesn’t like you! c’mon, traveler. let’s find a table outside.”

the latter of whom sends you an apologetic glance, one that you reciprocate, before trailing after her.

not a second later, your dear wanderer eases in close to you. his knee brushes against yours — and if he sat any nearer, it would surely invite disapproving stares from the patrons at neighboring tables. he drapes his arm around your shoulder and leans his head next to yours.

it was rather audacious of him and out of place for the aura within the restaurant.

“was it necessary to tease her?” your amusement deepens now that paimon was out of earshot.

he shakes his head then lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “it was funny and there’s no hiding it, i know you were amused as well.”

“all lies!” playfully, you narrow your eyes at him. “i’m a good person and a good person like me does not take pleasure in other’s misfortunes.”

“then what are you doing with me?”

“hm, consider it an act of kindness.”

he was going to scoff at your retort when he met your gaze, a spark of affection and desire flickers. the blithe undertone gave way to a moment of intimacy. he leans closer, his eyes locked onto yours, and in that fleeting, heart-fluttering instant, it feels as if the entire world around you waned into obscurity.

“lucky me, then.” his lips, warm and inviting, met yours in a chaste yet rousing kiss, leaving you both breathless.

unbeknownst to either of you, paimon was on her way back witnessed the scene. the traveler asked her to tell you to go outside because the food they ordered arrived. however, seeing how happy the ‘good-for-nothing grump’ made you, her perspective shifts.

she returns to their table without a sound, deciding to give you two some privacy for a little bit longer.

#kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #lyney x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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literallys-illiteracy · 2 months ago

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Project Moon 8'th anniversary stream overview:

Cut for spoilers

God fucking bless this company, "nervous, one minute *clears throat*"

//as per last time, i will have some thoughts on each section which will be elaborated on in a marked subsection of each area, primarily it will be an overview and analysis of the content shown

Note at the start "This may be a long stream".

Revealed timeline.

Year in Review:

(Graph 1, Pictured, Monthly average players this year)

(Graph 2, Pictured: Daily Active Users)

New ID and EGO extraction:

Devyat association Sinclair (seen in a prior teaser) and Asymmetrical Inertia He EGO Heathcliff.

Sinclair 000 ID:

Likely a rupture ID similar to Rodion's Devyat.

This ID appears to use the same Courier system that Rodion used as well, being able to retreat from battle.

Skill 1 appears to be 2 Blunt coins. Skill(s) 2,3, and 4 seem to each be 3 Blunt coins.

Rather than a skill 4 it seems to be just an empowered skill 3 however, without the coin reuse at all.

It will be interesting to see if this ID can stand to beat Talisman Sinclair's bench passive slot.

Heathcliff He EGO:

Likely a tremor EGO due to its seeming relation to the "bell of truth" abnormality named Clockwork-Time Roly Poly in Mirror Dungeon.

Both the corrosion and awakening appear to be blunt damage EGO with either 1 or 2 coins, however there is a chance for a coin reuse system on the awakening due to the repeated animation before the final strike.

If this EGO is in line with the Roly-Poly, it will likely relate to fragile somehow, and may introduce a new tremor type, or reintroduce Tremor-Fracture to relate its Fragility concept.

Mirror Dungeon 5: Mirror of the Dreaming:

It is noted that this Mirror Dungeon changes are going to be long in explanation and extensive.

Party revive is noted, alongside "Combat changes" likely to include the new Chain Battle system, and abnormalities/EGO that are designed to use said system such as the Devyat ID and latest Fell Bullet EGO.

New EGO gifts, Choice Events, and Theme Packs. This confirms the return of the mirror dungeon floor pack system, allowing us to complain about getting the bosses we chose to fight.

The "new choice events" is likely referring to those that appeared in both Canto 7 and RR4, being "Dreaming Electric Sheep (which likely will be the source of Imitative Generator)", Portrait of a Certain Day, King in Binds, 400 Roses, Rose Hunter, and Hurting Teddy Bear.

There are changes to the pack system, allowing us to change between the hard and normal packs in the selection menu as shown, also i checked the EGO gifts shown in the image, they're all ones we've seen before.

Within Hard mirror dungeons, you have a selection choice between 4 EGO gifts, and the ability to select 2 of them, alongside both their associated Mounting Trials

In this hard pack, a "special shop" is able to spawn.

Within normal difficulty dungeons, the final floor is moved to the 5th rather than the 4th as is current, similar to how current Hard dungeons work.

Shops and rest stops are now one in the same it appears (once again, no new EGO gifts shown).

The aforementioned "Special Shop" that appears within hard packs.

This allows to swap out more skills, it will contain more EGO gifts, and will be able to fuze up to 5 EGO gifts together at once, which likely is due to the increased number of gifts that will be received specifically at floor end.

Duplicates of EGO gifts, they do not apply stacking bonuses, but rather are able to be fused.

When revived, sinners will have their SP set to zero, however all other sinner's SP will remain the same on floor start.

More abnormality battles will be present, and upon winning battles against said abnormalities (boss fight abnormalities encountered in elite or normal encounters), one will receive the EGO gifts related to the abnormality, as if they completed the fight through an encounter.

Hard mode fog of war changes, allowing you to see 2 nodes ahead rather than the current one.

EGO gifts are planned, for the aforementioned abnormalities most likely, and several that are unrelated or completely new.

In both images, fusion "tree's" are mentioned, with fusion gifts that are able to be fused (currently impossible as tier 4 gifts may not be fused), where new and weaker EGO fusions are added, which may be fused into double fusion, or fusion^2 EGO gifts.

Next Week, 28th of November.

5th of December.

some point this season, we will be able to gain achievements, and challenge the dungeon past floor 5 without the rewards, as an added Roguelike challenge mode.

Monthly ID rotation, reoccurring missions, and Quality of Life UI improvements such as a clear timer.

There are plans to release this in stages, as:

which is the reasoning behind the weekly additions that are listed above, which allows for Consistent quality assurance and constant content rather than a large release and a dead period.

Seasonal ID:

The Manager of La ManchaLand Don Quixote:

actively making use of the bloodfeast keyword, akin to the other bloodfiend ID's

This ID's kit will vary depending on the present allies, specifically changing when other La Mancha Land ID's are present.

Specifically, skill 1 is the Priest, skill 2 the Barber, and Defence skill The Princess.

This ID's skills will be adaptive to multiple situations alongside their defensive skill,.

The defence skill was not shown, however, i believe that this ID's skills will be Slash, Slash, and Pierce respectively.

Wealth and Fame:

"We will need to increase our revenue to make the following a reality: add more enjoyable functions and high fidelity cutscenes; To Begin Production on a new game; or to release animations (Advertisements, previews, Short episodes, full length movies, and/or anime)

Sinner Target Extraction Changes:

Sinner Target extractions will now feature event extraction ID's and EGO from the preceding season, not including those obtained through the event itself such as Chef Gregor, or Multicrack Heathcliff.

In the future, target extractions may have association or syndicate themes, such as a blade lineage themed extraction

Returning Intervallo's with Voices:

Most intervallo in the game are unvoiced, this was due to the ease in creation and flexibility that it allowed them to create and release, with less strain caused by alterations and adjustments within the dialogue.

Adding voices to these intervallo in post is fareaser as the dialogue is already set in stone, which means that there is no worry of future alterations.

These intervallo will be returning with higher level in a "hard mode", each featuring 2 EGO relating to the intervallo's theme.

Why EGO? the sinners tend to receive id's of increasingly powerful characters and LCB's story progresses, releasing ID's for intervallo returns means that they may be, story and lore wise, held back by the strengths of the characters present in past intervallo. However, EGO are free from these concerns, which makes us believe that they are a better choice for the intervallo returns. This does not rule out the release of ID for intervallo reruns, if there is a valid inspiration an ID may be released, however it will primarally be EGO. When an intervallo is voiced, characters will be featured as paid announcers such as the Gnomes, Jun, and Aeng Du.

(Paraphrased) (quoted because Tumblr decided i couldn't have images)

Announcers will be extractable from Ideality (yisang) and from standard extractions, {green marker}: More Money For Anime

Ideally they will also be adding voice acting to the mini episodes between both intervallo and canto's.

5th Walpurgisnacht:

Library of Ruina theme.

2 Full Stop Office Fixers, Hong Lou Liwei and Gregor Stephan (or so appears).

Der Freischütz EGO, sinner unknown, likely Heathcliff due to his being the only Sinner yet to receive a Walpurgisnacht release, and his lack of inclusion in the aforementioned ID.

Intervallo 7.5 1:

Regular Check Up:

episode about health checkups for sunners, specifically their mental corrosion and distortions(?).

This will take place in T Corp.

Refraction Railway Line 5, The Merry Go Round:

As of now there are no definitive gimmicks for this event, however it will cycle similar to RR2.

Yield My Flesh to Claim Their Bones Rerun:

Intervallo 2: Nocturnal Sweeping:

Ill give you two guesses what SWEEPING is going to be about, especially a NIGHT in the BACKSTREETS

Canto 8: The Surrendered Witnessing:

Hong Lou Canto.

Ill let @lu-is-not-ok pick this apart, as they are far better at Hong Lou analysis than i am, as it has been aeons since i read Hong Lou Meng and i don't plan to re-read it any time soon.

Mili Asia concert tour:

this year was delayed due to Cassie's delivery, the current goal is for the concert to be held during the 9th anniversary sometime around the 18th of November 2025.

live tickets will be sold separately for Korea and Japan.

Concert will only feature Mili songs from the Project Moon games.

Starting in Korea, and ending in Japan.

Collaboration:

(Slow, manual movement of powerpoint to the centre of screen while the vtuber model dissapears)

Arknights Collaboration video plays.

(re aligning of the presentation while talking)

"We were invited into Hypergryph headquarters, exchanged merchandise of our games and had a fruitful discussion"

KJH's signed Lappland poster.

4 sinners will be receiving crossover content.

Though it is too early for a full on reveal, the sinners who are getting said EGO have been revealed.

Faust, Hong Lou, Ishmael and Gregor.

We do not currently know who each sinner will be paired with for this collaboration, however if i were to wager it would be Kal'tsit for Faust, and potentially texas for Ishmael (they're both stoic lesbians i think it works).

Reimagined outfits and combat skills will be used as inspiration for the EGO skills. Why EGO skills? see above rendition of this same question. ID's are representative of the power that a certain character may hold, which would alter perceptions of the ID.

One (1) operator from arknights will be featured as a (presumably Paid (more money for the anime)) announcer for the game

Long Term R&D Goals:

ID Skin functionality: Akin to layered armour, using growth materials (shards n threads) to use one ID's animations and moveset layered on top of another's.

EG. Barber Outis appearing as Magic Bullet, and that (the Yi Sang) is a skin and not an ID being San from the Streetlight Office in Library of Ruina, which is not going to be released as an ID, but only a visual.

They are learning how to monetise this game it seems.

However, this is a long term goal, as each ID has different cinematics, effects, and coin counts on each skill, such as altered effects due to charge.

HHPP Store expansion:

Enhance Immersion by making use of panoramic projection.

the physical store is being expanded, separated into different areas, the cafe, a Ruina themed section, followed by a section representing each Canto of Limbus Company.

2024 AGF (anime games festival):

merchandise being sold:

ID acrylic cards

Limbus Company zip-up Hoodie and attachable patches. note that these hoodies are the same in design as to those worn by the sinners in the Intervallo 1 teaser Image.

Employee ID card and casing. Employee cards for each sinner excluding dante.

W corp Cap (like the ones worn by the ID's, Outis, Don, Faust, Meur, Etc.)

2025 EGO callender.

Paper bag

EGO can badges, including: Sunshower Yi sang, Everlasting Faust, Lesbian Don Quixote, "Contempt, Awe" Ryoshu, Yearning-Mircalla Meursault, Cavernous Wailing Hong Lou, Fell Bullet Heathcliff, Blind Obsession Ishmael, Hex Nail Rodion and Sinclair, Sunshower Outis, and Solemn Lament Gregor.

The Director will have an autograph signing at saturday and sunday from 4-6pm.

HHPP Popup Cafe:

In Busan there will be a popup cafe of HHPP selling several popular dishes.

There are currently conversations being had with other pop up retail booths and locations, namely PAX west 2025.

The merchandise sold at the AGF will later be sold at the popup cafe's, and then later at the main HHPP itself.

In Game rewards:

*director clears his breath*

1300 Lunacy and a 10 pull dextraction ticket.

Thanks You for watching.

Also Thank you for reading this~

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perlelune · 10 months ago

Text

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iv.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“Oh, do you mind if we take a little break?” Clemensia asks almost as soon as you’ve begun working on the task she gave you. You blink, a little confused as your gaze roams across the table. There’s still so much to do. You’re not sure if the girls are just that slow but it’s clear that it will take at least a few hours to get all of it done.

But Clemensia is in charge of the ball committee. You don’t picture yourself telling her what to do or how to do it. After all, you are an outsider. A foreign element infiltrating their ecosystem. You have to play by their rules.

If they want to take a break, who are you to argue with that?

You begin to rise.

“Oh, a break, sure…”

Clemensia’s lips pinch as you try to follow them. “It’s just that…we’ve been doing this for so long, all by ourselves. I even broke a nail.” She pouts, showing you her hands. “But it needs to be finished today.” She nibbles her bottom lip and sighs, eyes pleading yours. “If no one stays behind…”

You mull it over. While you’re not thrilled over the idea of working on the decorations by yourself, you did just get here. You suppose you could hold the fort while they stretch their legs…or whatever Clemensia and her friends like to do when they hang out.

“I guess I could stay,” you concede.

Clemensia flashes you a broad grin.

“You’re so sweet,” she chimes. “Thank you. We won’t be long, promise. Ten minutes tops.”

You shrug and return to your chair. Ten minutes. That sounds reasonable. You pick up the scissors and start cutting more of the tree shapes.

“No problem.”

But one issue arises.

The promised ten minutes expand into thirty. Then an hour. Then two. At first, you don’t let your mind dissect it too hard. It’s a stupid thing to overthink, isn’t it? A silly thing to chop into pieces until your mind bleeds with doubt and insecurity. You surmise it was more of an approximation. People do that all the time, say something while meaning another. At least you believe they do. Besides, you find ways to keep yourself busy, even getting started on the sparkly globes lying on the side of the room. You figure out how to use most of the tools on your own and get wrapped in your own bubble of quietness.

Silence is a familiar companion, the one constant that never judged you, never asked for more of you. In your Silence, you get to be you. Nothing more; nothing less. So you let yourself sink in its warm, snug embrace.

Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, thoughts meander passively… What is taking them so long? You steal a glance outside the window. Orange and purple hues are already bleeding into the sky, a sign of the evening nearing its end.

You retrieve your pocket watch from inside your skirt. A frown wrinkles your brow. At a time like this, you would usually be home, curled up with Walter on your bed as you go over your notes for the week. It often takes you hours just to decipher the course transcripts.

“Wow, you did such a great job,” Clemensia whistles from behind you.

You gasp and whirl. All smiles, the girls fill your sight.

They approach the table and examine some of the decorations you put together on your own. Realization sweeps through you as the fog of your thoughts clear. It didn’t hit you before, not until you absorbed the current state of the crafts table, brimming with the results of your solitary labor. You’ve been busy. Spinning crystal balls, pine cones, silvery garlands and a heap of snowflakes meant to hang on the walls and ceiling. Clemensia admires your handiwork, seemingly impressed.

A little peeved, you point out, “I mean…had you guys even started? Most of the decorations needed to be cut, glued or assembled…”

“I have delicate hands,” Livia sighs, examining her manicured nails.

“I’m very slow, sorry,” Ivy says apologetically.

Your frown deepens. Was this whole thing a setup? You sacrificed precious time to be here and you shudder to think the entire purpose of your presence is some kind of childish prank.

Coriolanus’ words echo in your mind. He argued the girls weren’t like that and that they left the immature tricks back at the Academy. You truly want to believe that none of this is designed to embarrass you, that perhaps, again, all of this is in your head. But your aching fingers, sore from doing crafts most of the afternoon, suggestotherwise.

Unleashing a sigh, you gather your satchel and head towards the exit.

Clemensia obstructs your path, holding up her hands in apology.

“I know we should have been back earlier. I’m so sorry. We ran into the Dean and it turned into a whole thing.” She seizes your hands, remorse twisting her pretty features. “I feel so horrible. I invited you so we could do it together as friends.”

Your shoulders slump. As you soak in the look of genuine contrition on her face, doubts lurk inside you. Your confidence about being the victim of some prank wavers. Perhaps, you overreacted. Incidents happen. Besides, the chances of you joining Clemmie’s committee are slim, as you’re already swamped with assignments. A promise was made and you kept it. But this likely will be a one time thing. School dances are at the bottom of your priority list right now.

So you discard it all with a wave of your hand and a contrived smile.

“It’s okay. No apology needed. It’s not your fault.” You note how much darker it’s gotten outside. “I should go back home though. It’s already so late-”

Clemensia stops you again, her hand tightening around yours as she offers excitedly, “Wait, you should come to game night at Liv’s.”

“What?” Livia snickers. Clemensia shoots her a withering glare and the blonde clears her throat, correcting herself, “I mean…yeah, you totally should come.”

You fidget and adjust the strap of your satchel. You may have heard whispers of those game nights. Mystique surrounds them as only a few chosen people are invited to attend. You, of course, were never invited. And it isn’t hard to gather how Livia feels about you coming from her reaction. Why force your way into places where you aren’t wanted?

“I’m already behind on my revising for the day. If I don’t go over my Molecular-”

“Boring,” Ivy sings sarcastically.

“Don’t be mean, Ivy,” Clemensia scolds, elbowing her in the rib.

Clemensia tilts her head, her tone turning beseeching.

“Please…I really want to get to know you better.” She huffs out a long breath as she seems to sense your hesitation. The brunette leans closer, hands clutching your forearms. Sympathy twinkles in her onyx orbs. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Always striving to be the best at everything I do.” A hollow giggle slips through her lips. “It’s how I got in trouble with your mother actually…I wanted to win so badly and she decided to teach me a lesson.” Sadness pinches her delicate features. “But by always striving for greatness, you miss out on life. I learnt that during the Games...”

“...Surviving isn’t living.”

She studies you before saying, “And it’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Surviving.”

Eyes on the ground, you chew on your lip. You never imagined someone like Clemensia Dovecote - the most beautiful, popular girl at the University - could feel this way…let alone relate to you.

“Clemmie…”

She hunkers a little so your eyes meet.

“Come on, I really want to make up for today.” She laughs. “Show you I’m not a bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” you say.

She places her palm on your cheek. “See? You’re so nice. That’s why I want us to be friends.” She bends over your ear, the words she mutters almost too quiet to be heard, “I can barely stand those two on most days, but appearances must be kept.”

Your gaze swings upward, shock pulsing through you.

She beams at you. “It’ll be an intimate gathering of just a select group, close friends. We play cards, chat, and have a few drinks. That’s it.”

Your forehead creases.

“I don’t drink.”

Squeezing your shoulders, she assures you, “Then I’ll make sure not a drop of alcohol passes your lips. Promise.”

“It’s casual, I swear. You can even leave early if you want.”

This grabs your attention, as you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night without craving to return to the safe, familiarity of your apartment. The potential for escape makes the offer far more enticing.

Obviously, Clemensia cares about you showing up. While you don’t fully grasp why, you also never had anyone go out of their way to spend time with you. During the Academy days, everyone avoided you like the plague, either finding you odd or fearing you were as terrifying as your mother. The University doesn’t seem much different so far, groups having already formed from previous camaraderie. Bonds that were forged years ago and cemented over time while you endured in the back of the class. The forgotten one. And you always figured it is the most you can aspire for. Being ignored and left alone.

Until now.

“Really?”

Clemensia’s smile widens.

“Yes. You can stay as long as you want and leave.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a party,” you muse, pursing your lips. Your tiny, limited wardrobe has always prioritized function over fashion. There are your Academy uniforms, a few loose, unflattering clothes you rotate between. A single formal dress more suited for a funeral than a game night. Nothing impressive because you never had anyone to impress.

You also have no sense of fashion, the trends shifting too quickly for you to keep up. So you’ve stopped trying to.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” she chimes. “The girls and I always get ready at each other’s house anyway. And you’re one of the girls now.”

You peer down at you and Clemensia’s entwined hands. One of the girls. No one’s ever spoken about you that way. As if your mere presence made something better, uplifting it instead of leading it to its ruin. As if you were solid, more than a wisp of air, a waste of breath. As if you mattered. So, despite the sizzling weight of Livia’s blue eyes on you, you smile back at Clemmie and give a bashful nod.

Your eyes feast on every detail of Clemensia’s living room as you enter her home. Her parents’ apartment is every bit as large and opulent as you imagined. Every exquisite detail screams wealth. The unabashed, showy kind that stoked the embers of bitter unfairness in the Districts, leading the Capitol to where it is today. A city risen from the ashes. Your attention lingers on the expensive artwork exposed in glass cabinets. A lot of it appears to be memorabilia from before the war. You’re willing to bet the combined value of every overpriced trinket in the house could feed an entire District. Paintings of Clemmie’s illustrious ancestors hang over the damask walls, their stern stares seeming to follow you. Almost as if they were ready to leap from the eroded gilded frames and berate you for being an intruder in their family home.

Clemensia tugs you along.

“What are you dawdling for? Come on,” she urges.

You trail behind her as she takes you to her bedroom. You smile when you see it. The somber, tasteful hues are so very her. The hinges of her wardrobe whine as she opens the large, wooden doors. A vertiginous row of clothes crowd your sight. You gawk, a little amazed but also slightly terrified. Who needs this many clothes? A sour expression scrunches her features.

“I know,” she sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “This is a little embarrassing. Most of these are soo last season.”

You tilt your head at her dizzying collection of shoes, clothes, accessories…the kind a legion of girls would kill for.

“Right,” you blindly agree. Nevermind you can’t even tell the difference. You glance around. “Shouldn’t Livia and Ivy be here too?”

Her brow twitches as she sits on her massive canopy bed. She pats the spot next to her and you awkwardly plop down. The plush silk and soft mattress dip under your weight.

“We decided to meet later,” she reveals. She pauses, a heavy sigh fluttering through her painted red lips before adding, “Besides, I told them to be nicer to you and they got upset and pretended not to know what I was talking about.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

She waves her manicured hand dismissively.

“No, don’t be. This isn’t your fault.” Clemensia licks her lips, her face etched with reflection, as if she were assessing the weight of her words before releasing them. Her hand settles on your arm.

“Look, here’s the thing. Livia’s had a crush on Coriolanus since he returned and they had a sort of fling.” Your mouth drops open. This is news to you. You didn’t catch any hint of lingering longing between the two back at their lunch table. But now that you’re mulling it over, perhaps…Perhaps, Livia’s eyes kept seeking Coriolanus’, while his treaded their own path, never crossing hers. “Things were going pretty well...for a little while. But then, you came along.”

Your brows furrow. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Clemensia’s bell-like laughter resonates in the room.

“God, you’re a sweet thing…just like Snow said.” She beams at you. “Don’t worry. Liv will get over it. She’s all bark and no bite, trust me.”

Her attention travels to the dark fabric peeking from your bag.

“What’s that?” she asks, pulling out the garment.

“The only dress I have.”

She inspects it with a displeased frown.

“Were you planning on wearing this?” She shakes her head as your mouth clamps shut. “Oh, this will not do.”

She takes your hand and drags you to her wardrobe. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she rummages through a numberless heap of garments.

“I have some clothes that my cousin left,” she explains while frantically searching. After a while, victory flares in her orbs. She unhooks a sleek, crimson dress with a tight bodice and flowing sleeves from a hanger. She holds it against your body, chiming, “She’s about your size so they should fit you.”

“I can’t accept this, Clemmie.”

You attempt to push her hands away but the brunette shoves it in your arms, insisting on you at least trying it on. You press the soft fabric between your fingers. It’s more revealing and form-fitting than you’re used to. You gather it would cling to your body like a second skin…one you aren’t used to wearing. Still, you must admit that it’s a lovely dress. One that could look good even on you. Temptation claws at your resolve, digging deeper and deeper grooves, right into every insecurity you ever had. That thing other girls had that always eluded you. That little secret you were never privy to. The key to that door that never opened. The dress is the key. And you find yourself unable to resist turning the lock to find out what secrets lie beyond that mysterious door.

Beneath Clemmie’s eager stare, you remove your clothes and slip on the dress.

Smug satisfaction hovers on her lips as you peer at your reflection. Words fizzle out on your tongue. You are looking at a complete stranger.

Clemmie rests her chin on your shoulder. “See? I knew it.”

She then has you sit at her vanity to help you do your makeup. Do your makeup…The words sound alien even in the private confines of your thoughts.

As she draws a neat black line over your eyelids, she says, “It hasn’t been long since makeup’s returned to the Capitol again. It used to be near impossible to find.” When she’s done, she turns you towards the vanity mirror. “Those colors will bring out your eye shape and color.”

The air leaves your lungs in a quick rush. You lean closer to the mirror, once again in disbelief that you are truly looking at your own face.

Fingers twisting the delicate fabric of the dress, you pivot to Clemmie.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you blurt out.

Her eyes widen briefly before her expression softens.

“You remind me of me.”

Confusion surges through you. There is an ocean of glaring differences between you and Clemmie, one you couldn’t swim through if you tried.

“What?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this confident.”

Your brows knit, Clemmie’s statement making little sense. If confidence wore a face and had a name, it’d be Clemensia Dovecote’s.

Gripping your shoulders, she turns your focus back onto your dolled-up appearance.

“Alright. Look in the mirror, what do you see?”

You blink. You see a girl playing dress-up, pretending, but you don’t utter those words aloud. They sound lame, even in your own head.

“Nothing,” you tritely respond, dipping your head.

She lifts your chin, moving her head to disagree.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes twinkle. “I see infinite potential. So stop selling yourself short.” Covering her mouth, she laughs. “His jaw is going to drop.”

“Whose jaw?”

She smirks at you. “You know whose jaw.”

Heat sneaks inside your face.

You fidget in the chair. It’s not like what he thinks matters, right? He is no one to you, just that boy with the unsettling blue stare who won’t leave you be for some strange reason.

So why is there a tiny shiver of excitement coursing through your veins when the thought of him seeing you like that permeates your brain?

A vigorous gust of common sense sweeps away your wayward musings.

You don’t care what he thinks. Of course you don’t.

“I-It’s not really my style,” you stammer as you get to your feet.

The sparkle in her onyx orbs doesn’t waver.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have a style yet…so how would you even know?”

“Shouldn’t we be at Livia’s already?” you ask, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

She considers you as if you were the most endearing thing in the world. She grabs your hands. “Here’s another rule. Never be on time for anything.” A haughty smirk creeps upon her red lips. “Make them wait for you, not the other way around.” She cocks her head. “One of the things about confidence is knowing that you are the sun, and standing in your orbit is a rare privilege.” She scoffs, “People should feel lucky you even bothered showing up.”

She approaches you and touches up parts of your hair, visibly elated with the result.

“Perfect,” she trills. “Like I said…potential.”

She herself finishes getting ready. As you absently meander about her room, the doorbell chimes.

Clemmie pauses as she applies powder on her face. She sets aside her makeup tools and escorts you to the lobby, arm threaded with yours.

“Must be our chauffeur,” she states.

Your eyes round. “You have a chauffeur?”

She cloisters herself in cryptic silence, humming as she drags you along.

When the brunette swings the door open, a towering, familiar figure darkening her doorway, time hangs still for a few seconds.

Your mouth opens wide enough to catch flies.

A smug smile unfurls on his lips.

“Angel,” he greets, gaze locking with yours as he completely ignores Clemmie.

Her sharp irritated tone shatters the spell.

“You’re late, Snow.”

Coriolanus snickers.

“As if you’re ever on time.”

You trail behind Clemmie as she and Coriolanus keep bantering, his presence still swaddling you in sheer shock. When she tries to take the passenger seat, he drapes a placating hand over hers.

She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly heads to the back of the car.

He opens the car door for you. Recalling the fruitlessness of arguing with him, you climb into the seat. Still, saying you feel awkward riding in the front while the brunette is sulking in the backseat would be a massive understatement.

Few words can accurately describe how peculiar all of this is for you.

“You look surprised,” Coriolanus notes as he takes his own seat and slams the door shut. Your heart misses a beat when his hot breath caresses your earshell. “I did say I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

You look down at your lap. Breathing is laborious, the air in the vehicle coated with the lingering smell of his pricey cologne. You are literally choking on Coriolanus Snow with every breath you take.

“Will you just drive, Snow?” Clemmie snaps, crossing her arms.

“Relax. Patience is a virtue,” he says, not sparing her a glance, zeroing in on you instead. The drumming of your heart swells to an uproar in your ears when he reaches across your body. You hold still while he ties your seatbelt for you. Blue eyes rake over your form in brazen appraisal, his deep voice lowering. “And good things come to those who wait.”

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